Page 108 of Savage Saint
I feel his fingers gently tracing the scar on my neck. His fingers, calloused from years of fighting, move with surprising delicacy over the raised skin, a constant reminder of my past battles and the pain I've endured. His touch is gentle, almost reverent, but his expression is troubled, brows furrowed in thought.
"Does it hurt?" he asks softly, his deep, gravelly voice barely above a whisper. There's a vulnerability in his question, a rare glimpse into the emotions he usually keeps locked away.
I shake my head slightly, my hair rustling against the pillow in a soft whisper. "No. Not when it's dormant," I reply, my voice steady, though the memories it brings are anything but. "The pain comes and goes, but right now, I'm okay."
Angelo's fingers linger, his molten brown eyes, usually so unreadable, now flicker with a mix of concern and curiosity. He seems to be grappling with something internally.
"Tell me about it," he says softly. There's a cautious edge to his words, as if he's unsure how much to probe. "What does it do to you? How does it work?" There's vulnerability in his question, a rare crack in the armour of indifference he so meticulously maintains.
I take a deep breath, steadying myself against the weight of what I'm about to share. If we're going to Chicago tomorrow, he'll need to understand exactly what could happen when my past catches up with me. The consequences, the triggers, the moments when my body might betray me without warning. He deserves to know what he's walking into.
35
KASIA
Itake a shaky breath, my fingers unconsciously tracing the small scar at the base of my skull where the device sits beneath my skin. The memory of it makes my stomach turn.
"It starts with a sound," I whisper. "High-pitched, like feedback from a microphone, but only I can hear it. Then comes the disconnection, like someone is severing the wires between my brain and my body."
I pause, watching Angelo's face harden with each word. "My thoughts become... Muffled. Like I'm underwater, screaming at the surface, but no sound comes out. My body moves, but it's no longer mine. I can feel everything. Every touch, every sensation. But I can't react. Can't pull away. Can't fight back."
"It's like—" I pause, searching for words to describe something that defies description. "Imagine watching yourself from outside your own body. You're screaming inside, begging yourself to stop, but your mouth won't form the words. Your hands move without your permission. Your feet carry you places you don't want to go."
Angelo's hands go still on my skin, his whole body going rigid.
"I can see everything," I continue, my voice detached even as my throat tightens. "Feel everything. The disgust when he'd make me…when business partners needed convincing, and he'd use me as currency. I'd be there, trapped behind my own eyes, watching my body seduce men I despised. Feeling their hands on me while my mind screamed."
The temperature in the room seems to drop. Angelo's breathing changes, becomes measured, controlled, the way it does before violence.
"He'd use it for punishment too. When I was sixteen, I questioned an order. Just once." My laugh is bitter, broken. "He activated it and made me stand in the training room for three days. No food, no water, no rest. Just standing there, muscles screaming, body failing, but unable to move. Unable to fall. I pissed myself on the second day. He left me standing in it."
"Butterfly—"
"That's not even the worst part." I meet his eyes, needing him to understand. "The worst part is the violation of it. Your body becomes a prison. You're aware of every second, every degradation, but you're powerless. It's like being buried alive in your own skin."
Angelo's jaw clenches so hard I hear his teeth grind. "Arrow's working on a jammer, but," he hesitates, and I see the calculation in his eyes. "It could take time. And with us leaving tomorrow—"
"He'll have another device." The certainty in my voice makes him look at me sharply. "Jerzy doesn't leave things to chance. He'll have backups, failsafes. He's paranoid like that."
I pull away slightly, wrapping my arms around myself. "When I saw the device at the casino, I thought he'd found me. But it wasn't until Eclipse that I realised the truth." My voice drops to a whisper. "I was never lost. He knew where I was all along."
The implications hang heavy between us. Every moment of freedom I thought I'd had was an illusion. Every choice, potentially orchestrated.
"There's another option." Angelo's voice is careful, measured. His body tense beside me. "Surgery."
"Yes." The word comes out before he's even finished speaking. "Whatever it takes. The thought of him having any control over me makes my skin crawl."
Angelo's hand cups my face, forcing me to meet his eyes. "The device is embedded at the C1-C2 junction," Angelo explains, his voice taking on the clinical tone of someone who's studied anatomy obsessively. "That's where the spinal cord is most vulnerable. Any damage there could cause complete paralysis from the neck down. Or worse, the brainstem connection is so close that one wrong move could stop your heart, your breathing, everything that keeps you alive."
He pauses, his jaw tight. "Even a successful removal could leave you with permanent nerve damage. Loss of fine motor control, chronic pain, or incomplete paralysis."
"I don't care." My voice is fierce, desperate. "I won't let him have any power over me. Not anymore. Just take it out."
He shakes his head slowly, but I see the war in his eyes. "The procedure would require precision most surgeons don't have. And that's assuming we could find someone willing to operate on unknown tech without proper scans or—"
"You know a lot about this." The observation cuts through his explanation. "Medical terms, surgical risks. How?"
Something shifts in his expression. Pain flashes across his features before he schools them back to neutrality.
