Page 61 of Saving Saul

My stomach knots.

"I can guarantee that Patrick won’t be found because I burned most of his body and buried what little remained here.”

I stare at the red dot on the screen, my pulse roaring in my ears.

“No one will ever find his dust here," he continues. “He’s buried twenty feet below ground, right next to a riverbed. The water will slowly erode any evidence of his remains.”

A shiver runs through me. It’s not fear. It should be. But it’s something else I don’t have a name for.

“But aren’t brothers looking for him?” I ask. “Do the authorities know he attacked your grandmother?”

He shakes his head, a slow, knowing smirk curling his lips. “Good question. No one is looking for Patrick because Patrick planned to be in Ireland with my sister by now. We intercepted his communications when he was released. He told his family members he was kidnapping her. The sick bastard.”

I swallow hard.

“I have an automated service sending messages to his brothers occasionally. They think he’s lying low in Europe for a few months. Soon, though, I’m sure they will get suspicious. But we will be in Africa by then.”

I exhale, my grip on his shirt tightening. “So... what? I pick up and move to Ghana. Indefinitely? A year could be two or five. Selene will have afit.”

He studies me, his expression unreadable. “Tessa, I’ve carefully considered our options; this is the one that will keep us together and give us the most security in the long run. You’re the only person on this earth who knows all my secrets. You could bury me. But I trust you. I hope you can trust me just as much one day.”

I hesitate, but his words nearly break me.

“You know I’d never turn on you.” My hands hold his face, forcing him to look at me. “Your secrets are mine, and that bastard deserved to die, so I’ll never judge you. Do you believe me?”

A slow, almost relieved smile spreads across his lips. “Of course I do, baby.”

A lump forms in my throat. “I’m sorry that you had to go through that. I’m sorry you had to kill.”

He inhales sharply, his eyes flashing with something raw. “Tessa...”

“Tell me how it made you feel,” I whisper. “Tell me how it made you feel to spill the blood of the man who killed your mother.”

He does.

When he’s done, I don’t run. I don’t shrink away.

I stare at Saul, the man who has bared every dark, twisted part of his soul to me. His confession, past, and the weight of his actions should scare me. Maybe a part of meisscared, but not ofhim. Never of him. I’m afraid of how much I still want him, how deeply I love him despite everything.

His eyes search mine, waiting, bracing for the rejection he thinks is coming.

But instead of pulling away, Imove.

I push him back onto the mattress, my hands firm on his chest. He lands with a grunt, his muscles tensing beneath my touch, but he doesn’t resist. He lets me take control, lets mehavehim. His dark eyes flicker with something between surprise and anticipation, his hands gripping my thighs as I straddle him, claiming my place above him.

I slide my hands down his bare torso, tracing the ridges of his abs, feeling the steady, strong heartbeat beneath my palms. His skin is warm, taut, pulsing with restrained power, but he doesn’t rush me. Heletsme set the pace.

"You think you can just tell me all of that and not let me remind you who I am to you?" I murmur, my voice husky as I grind against him, teasing, taunting.

His breath hitches, his grip on my thighs tightening. "I don’t think I’ve everforgotten, sweetheart," he rasps, his accent deepening with want. "But feel free to remind me."

I lean forward, my lips brushing against his, barely there, just enough to tease. His breath mingles with mine, warm and wanting, but I don’t give him what he wants—not yet. Instead, I trail my mouth down his neck, my tongue flicking against his pulse point before I bite down just enough to make him groan.

"Fuck, Tessa," he hisses, his hips jerking upward, seeking more friction.

I smirk against his skin. "Patience,lover."

His hands slide up my back, his fingertips digging in, but he doesn’t take control—not yet. He’s waiting. Watching. Letting me burn through every ounce of my anger, love, and desperation is the only way I know how.

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