Page 9 of Saint Valentine

Saint threw his head back and laughed, but it was devoid of humor. He stood up to his full height, finally releasing me, his grip on my neck fully gone.

"That won’t work on me, Aria."

I shifted my approach, desperation creeping in.

"What will it take to let us go? Remember, I tried to save you once. You owe me."

He didn’t answer right away. He looked like he was contemplating, then suddenly, his eyes went dark.

An unnatural smile spread across his face.

My blood stalled in my veins because I knew, deep down, that what was about to come out of his mouth would be heavy.

“Marry me,” he said.

It took a moment for the words to sink in. Marry him.

My brain short-circuited, and I forgot why we were there. Forgot my friends' lives were on the line.

I opened my mouth, but I didn’t think. My response was automatic.

“Fuck no,” I spat, the words coming out hard and harsh.

Chapter Three

Saint

I screwed my eyes shut, dragging in a sharp intake of air after the words “marry me” left my mouth. I had never thought about being married before, but now all I wanted was to be married to her. Hearing her say no made me feel animalistic. It was irrational, but fuck rational.

“All of you, get the fuck out,” I ordered the men out of the house and waited until their footsteps faded.

I crouched down beside the chair Aria sat in, close enough to feel her heat, smell her sweet scent. Her eyes were hard. “Why not? You wear my mother’s ring,” I pointed out. “Your father gave me his blessing. He said if I survived, I’d need someone strong like you. I survived. You also said yes, Aria. Very enthusiastically, if I say so myself.”

Her laughter was quiet and bitter. “My father was just trying to make a beaten-down, sad pre-teen boy feel good about himself, Saint. He didn’t mean it. And I damn sure didn’t. I was eight, playing pretend with a cute boy.”

Ouch! That hurt, and she knew it. I saw the satisfaction flash across her eyes, but it didn’t matter.

I sneered, “Is he here to tell you whether he meant it or not?” Her father had been dead for years on my father’s order, but she didn’t know that. She had killed the man she thoughtresponsible, and technically he was—he’d pulled the trigger, but Donato paid him. I knew mentioning him would hit a nerve.

“Fuck you!” she spat.

My hand gripped the gun at my waist, fingers tightening around the handle.

My feet carried me to her friend. I pulled the gun from my waistband slowly, making sure I had her attention. The sound of the bullet clicking into place was loud and clear against the silence in the room as I pressed the barrel to the male’s temple. I watched her eyes widen, enjoyed seeing panic flicker across her face.

“Fuck me. That’s your final answer?” I asked her.

Her dead friends voice shook, the desperation in it permeating the room. “Aria, please, please, stop him.”

Her pleading didn’t matter. I had heard hundreds. It never did. Unless Aria agreed to do what I asked, they were both dead.

Aria’s voice was colder than before when she responded. “This is who you are now, Saint?”

“Yeah, Aria. This is who I am,” I said, my throat becoming tight. “Are you judging me? You handed me a gun when you were seven and told me to kill my father. Ten years later, you shot the man who killed your father point-blank in the head. Shades of gray color us both. So who the fuck are you to judge me?”

She didn’t answer, just glared at me.

“Marry me, Aria, or bury them,” I demanded, my words coming out sounding like steel to my own ears.

---