Page 26 of Saint Valentine

“And don’t you hit me,” he warned again, just before I got ready to.

“Put me down!” I yelled, kicking my legs wildly, trying to throw him off balance.

His big ass was strong as fuck, though.

He carried me out of the room. He had guards lining the hallways now. Him killing the Dillinger’s wasn’t sitting right with some of the men who had been invited to his dinner. They were worried he would come for them next. There was plotting.

I kept struggling.

“Look at you embarrassing yourself,” he muttered, his voice calm, like he was bored by my struggles. “And wasting time.”

“I hate you!” I screamed, the words leaving my throat in a guttural shout.

“No, you don’t,” he said, his voice dark and unyielding. “Even if you do, you’re still coming with me.”

I fought, cursed his ass in every language I knew a curse word in. He didn’t care.

By the time we reached the car, I was exhausted from the effort of trying to fight him. He set me down on the passenger seat, and I just glared at him, my fists still clenched in my lap.

“I’m going to make your crazy ass regret this,” I hissed, my voice venomous.

He leaned into me, one hand on my thigh, the other on the doorframe. He ignored what I had said, but I guess calling him crazy or insane had lost its sting since I said it so much.

“You’re being dramatic. When we get to this bakery, you’re going to smile and be happy to be there.”

“What if I punch you in your smug mouth instead?”

He looked at me and laughed.

“You’re cute when you’re mad,” he taunted me and started the car.

In my head, I was screaming, and I wanted to try my best to fuck him up, but he had me at a disadvantage.

When we pulled up to the bakery, I didn’t move. My hands were in my lap, my jaw tight.

Saint turned to me, brushing a strand of hair from my face. I almost slapped his hand, but in the back of my mind, his warning about hitting him kept me from doing it. That pissed me off. He was fucking with my mind now.

“Let’s go,” he said, his voice firm. “Walk, or I’ll carry you. And remember what I said. Smile, Aria.”

I walked, but I didn’t fucking smile.

In the small bakery with cupcake wallpaper, the smell of sugar and butter was heavy in the air. Saint sat next to me, his arm slung casually over the back of my chair, his presence dominating the space like always. He was a big fucking tatted-up goon in a suit. I had to admit he looked kind of sexy, though. He smelled good too. The thought irked me. The baker, this cute little granny type with white hair and a pink cardigan, placed a tray of cake samples in front of us.

“These are our most popular flavors,” she said, gesturing to the tiny cakes. “Let me know which ones you like, and we can customize your wedding cake from there.”

I stared at the cakes, my stomach churning. It felt surreal, sitting here with him like we were doing something normal, something people chose to do. Saint, the man who had kidnapped me, was actually planning our wedding like it was a fun activity. He leaned forward, his attention fixed on the cakes as he stabbed a fork into a piece of chocolate. He took a bite, he chewed.

“Too sweet,” he muttered, pushing the plate aside. “What’s next?”

The baker handed him another sample, and he repeated the process. Meanwhile, I couldn’t bring myself to eat. Was I reallyabout to marry this man to save Isabella and Jason’s lives? I had to.

“Aria,” he called me all gruff-like, cutting through my spiraling thoughts. “You’re not even trying. Do you want your friends to live or die?” He didn’t even care that the baker lady was standing right there, listening to his unhinged ass.

I forced myself to look at him. “I’m not hungry.”

He frowned, his nostrils flaring. I expected a “eat the cake, Aria” moment, but he didn’t press further. Instead, he turned back to the baker. “We’ll take the vanilla with raspberry filling. Make it three tiers.”

The baker’s hands trembled slightly as she wrote it down. She looked scared as hell, but I didn’t blame her. Saint had that effect on people.

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