Page 66 of Saving Saul

I force a smile even though my heart is pounding. “Always am,” I reply, my words lighter than I feel.

But he doesn’t smile back. Instead, in a single stride, he closes the distance between us and pulls me into his arms. His kiss is fierce, consuming, claiming—like he’s memorizing every curve of my mouth, every taste, every sigh as if he’ll never get the chance again.

“Come back,” he breathes against my lips, the faint hitch in his voice betraying his fear—the vulnerability in his tone slicing through me, raw and unguarded.

“Of course,” I answer, my voice steadier than I feel. But as I turn away, my confidence falters, the tremor in my chest threatening to rise. I can’t let him see it. Not now.

A blacked-out Range Rover emerges from the shadows, its sudden presence commanding. The vehicle is massive and built like a tank, and its tinted windows give no hint of who—or what—might be inside.

“Where the hell did that come from?” I murmur, my breath catching as the SUV comes to a stop.

Saul’s lips press into a tight line, his jaw flexing as his eyes dart to the vehicle. His hand lingers on my lower back, protective and firm. “Never mind that,” he says, his tone low and clipped, though his gaze stays locked on the car.

For a fleeting moment, I wonder if he’s more than a man running from his past. The precision, the readiness, the sheer presence of him—it’s as if he’s been preparing for this his entire life.

The driver steps out, dressed in all black, their movements smooth and calculated. Saul nods to them, and without another word, I’m guided toward the waiting SUV.

“Trust me,” he says softly, his hand tightening briefly on my waist before he releases me.

I glance back at him one last time before sliding into the passenger seat, his silhouette framed against the cabin’s warm light. He stands there, unmoving, a fortress of strength and fear, watching me like I’m the most precious thing he’s ever held—and the one thing he’s most terrified to lose.

* * *

The ride to my house is a blur of streetlights, the rhythmic hum of the engine fading into the background as my thoughts race. My fingers tap nervously against the seat, my mind replaying Saul’s words and the lingering heat of his kiss. His urgency is etched into my chest, but so is the uncertainty of what comes next.

When the Range Rover pulls up in front of my apartment, my stomach drops when I see Selene’s sleek black BMW X3 parked neatly out front. Irritation pricks at me, sharp and immediate. I should’ve never given her a key, but beneath the annoyance is a flicker of relief. Selene always shows up when I need her most, even if her timing makes me scream. I wanted to speak to her after I had a few stiff drinks.

I barely make it up the steps before the door swings open. Selene is standing there, arms crossed, and her expression unrelenting. Her sharp brown eyes bore into mine, and her disapproval practically radiates from her.

“Where have you been?” she demands, her tone immovable.

“Out,” I reply flatly, brushing past her into the apartment. I dump my purse on the kitchen counter, ignoring the tension that follows me like a shadow.

“Out where?” she presses, trailing me. “Tessa, the police were looking for you and your mystery man. What the hell is going on?”

I spin around, exhaling sharply. “Selene, can you just give me a minute?”

“Give you a minute?” she snaps, her voice rising. “Tessa, you’re disappearing into the night with a man with two names, and now the cops are involved. You expect me to sit back and wait while you get into God-knows-what?”

Her words land hard, and I struggle to keep my composure. She’s relentless, but she’s not wrong.

“It’s complicated,” I say, my tone softer now.

Selene’s laugh is harsh, her frustration palpable. “Complicated? Tessa, you’re out here playing Bonnie to some guy’s Clyde, and now it’scomplicated? What did Marcus—Saul—whatever his name is—get you into?”

Her accusation stings, but the concern buried beneath it twists something inside me.

“It’s not like that,” I say, shaking my head. But the words sound thin, even to me.

“Then what is it like?” she shoots back, stepping closer. “Because from where I’m standing, you’re diving headfirst into a mess you’re not ready for. The cops don’t just show up for no reason, Tessa. What aren’t you telling me?”

I glance away, the weight of her question pressing down on me. “Selene, I can’t—this isn’t something I can just explain.”

Her frustration simmers, but her voice softens enough to let me know she’s not all bark. “I’m already involved, Tessa. The second those cops came to my door, I was in it. So stop shutting me out and tell me what’s going on.”

"Selene, what did you tell them?" I ask, dread pooling in my stomach.

She throws her hands up, frustration radiating off her in waves. "Tessa! You know damn well we don't talk to the police! I'm not the Ops. Now tell me, what kind of shit has Marcus or Saul or whatever his name is gotten you into?"

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