Page 52 of Saint Valentine

Without another word, I led my wife to the car. The drive back to my mother’s house was silent, the weight of what had just happened settling between us. She kept turning the ring on her finger.

I carried her over the threshold, her laughter soft and unexpected, like a crack of light in the darkness. Just as I set her down and started pulling her toward the stairs, a sharp knock echoed through the living room.

Aria stiffened beside me, her grip on my arm tightening. I reached for my weapon, but her fingers wrapped around my wrist, stopping me.

“Don’t,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

Slowly, she exhaled, meeting my gaze. “I’m sorry.”

Before I could react, the door opened.

I blinked. Drake Heart. How was her father standing there, alive and whole? His presence felt like a betrayal from Aria. She could have told me.

I looked at her, anger coiling my muscles. “Aria—”

She just shrugged, her expression unreadable. “There’s old sleeping pills in the cabinet. I drugged your water. While you were knocked out, I did ask the Uber driver for help...”

Then I heard a second set of footsteps enter the house. Before I could say anything or react, pain exploded in my skull, and I was falling. The last thing I saw was Aria’s face, her eyes filled with something that looked like regret, before everything went black.

Chapter twenty eight

Saint

The first thing I felt was the cold, then wet. The sensation hit me like a slap, hard and sudden, jolting me awake. My head snapped up, water dripping from my hair, my face, my clothes. My vision blurred, then cleared, and there she was—Aria. Standing over me with a bucket in her hand, her eyes blazing like fire.

“Wakey wakey, husband,” she sang. She dropped the bucket with a clatter, and it rolled away, the sound echoing. My hands were tied behind the chair, the ropes biting into my wrists. I tested them, but they were tight—too tight. Whoever had tied me knew what they were doing. I looked around, but there was nothing but darkness. Had I imagined Drake Heart? Who in the fuck had hit me? My brain was muddled, a migraine pounding in my temples.

Aria walked to my side, grabbed a handful of my hair, and twisted her fingers into it, yanking my head back, forcing me to look up at her. Water dripped from my lashes, blurring the edges of her face, but I could still see the amusement dancing in her eyes. She was enjoying this.

I clenched my jaw, staring at her as she loomed over me.

She let my hair go, stepped back, reared her hand above her head, and brought it back down, putting her weight behind it, slapping the shit out of me. My face burned, but I refused to react.

“Remember when you told me not to hit you anymore?” she taunted. “Well, I just hit you. That’s my third strike. What happens now?”

I tucked my lips and squeezed my eyes shut.

“What?” she sneered, her voice sickly sweet. “Nothing to say? The great and terrifying Saint, silent for once?” She leaned in close, her breath hot against my skin. “Where’s all that controlling behavior now?”

I inhaled slowly, letting my breath steady. I wouldn’t give her what she wanted.

Another slap. Then another. Each one sharper, meaner, her nails raking against my jawline. My skin tingled, blood pooling where she scratched. She was seething, and I let her get it all out in silence.

“Come on, husband.” She spat the word like it disgusted her. “Say something.” She gripped my neck and dragged her fingernails down my throat. “Or do you only like playing rough when you’re the one in control?”

My mouth was filled with the taste of iron, but still, I said nothing.

Her grip on my hair returned. My scalp burned. Suddenly, I felt the cold press of metal against my temple.

“Because of you, Daddy had to come rescue me,” she hissed. “And I don’t like disturbing his peace. He’s already been through too much shit.”

A light turned on to the side of me, but I never broke eye contact with Aria. “Get the gun away from my son-in-law’s head.” Drake Heart’s voice was amused, like he was watching a child play instead of his daughter beating the hell out of me.

Aria hesitated, her finger still on the trigger, her eyes locked on mine. For a moment, I thought she might actually do it. But then she lowered the gun, stepping back. She tossed the gun onto a nearby table and crossed her arms, glaring at me like I was the one who’d betrayed her.

“I let you have your fun, daughter,” Drake continued. “And Brooker knocked the shit out of him. Y’all are even for him taking you. Let him up. Brooker, cut him loose.”

Confusion coiled in my gut, thick and tight.Had their fun?What the fuck did that mean? And how in the hell were they tied to Brooker Creek? A man infamous for the kind of violence that turned people into legends.

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