Page 17 of Savage Saint
“You’re nothing without me,”he says, his tone low and menacing.“Remember that, Kasia.”
The sound of my name echoes in the darkness, and everything stills.
Kasia.
My chest tightens, and my breath catches as the world crumbles around me.
I bolt upright, my heart pounding so hard it feels like it might break free from my chest. Sweat clings to my skin, cold and clammy, and the hoodie suddenly feels too heavy, too constricting.
The room is dark, but the faint glow of the moon filters through the windows, casting long shadows on the walls.
Kasia.
The name reverberates in my mind, louder than my heartbeat. Myname. It’smyname.
I press my trembling hands against my face, trying to steady my breathing. The nightmare, no, the memory, lingers, each piece sharp and vivid. The voice, the commands, the need to prove myself.
I don’t know why I call for him, but his name escapes my lips before I can stop it.
“Angelo,” I whisper, my voice hoarse. Then louder, “Angelo!”
8
ANGELO
Ihalf-watch the TV, but the flickering screen barely registers as I mentally replay the events of the last few hours. The sound is nothing more than white noise, a poor attempt at filling the stifling silence around me. So much has happened since I foundher,bruised and unconscious in the container just over a day ago. My leg bounces restlessly, a telltale sign of my mind running in circles, fuelled by an anxious energy I can’t seem to shake. Trying to quiet the swirling thoughts in my head, I focus on the flashing images on the screen. It doesn’t work. It never does.
I can’t sleep. Not tonight. Not while she’s here, vulnerable and trusting me to protect her.
The house is silent. Too silent. The glass walls make the space feel larger than it is, the cold light of the moon filtering in, casting sharp shadows across the hardwood floors. The darkness stretches outward, swallowing the edges of the living room. I built it this way, an extension of myself. A place where no one gets in. Where I don’t have to let anyone in. There are no guest bedrooms because I’ve never wanted anyone here. Never envisioned anyone but me in this space.
And yet, she’s here.
Not just in my home, in my bed, but in my fucking head. Throwing me off balance.
Her presence scratches against the carefully constructed control I’ve spent years perfecting. I can’t sleep. I never do. But tonight, it’s not the usual insomnia. It’s not the ghosts of the past creeping in, or the weight of the blood I’ve spilled keeping me awake. It’s her.
Butterfly.
I exhale sharply, running a hand through my hair. This isn’t me. I don’t let people in. I don’t let them affect me. And yet, here I am, my body thrumming with an unfamiliar tension, my mind stuck on the way my name sounded in her sleep, the way she clung to me like I was something safe.
She doesn’t know me. If she did, she’d know there’s nothing safe about me.
The thought alone should be enough to plant me firmly where I am, but it isn’t. Before I even register what I’m doing, I’m pushing off the couch, my movements too controlled, too calculated, like if I pretend I’m just checking on her, it won’t mean anything.
The stairs creak softly under my weight as I ascend to the master bedroom floor. My pace is steady, measured, but my pulse betrays me, beating a little too fast, a little too loud.
I pause on the last step, hovering just out of sight. I tell myself it’s just so I can listen, to make sure she’s still breathing, to ensure she isn’t having a nightmare. That’s what this is. A precaution. Nothing more.
Her breathing is soft, uneven. The faintest sound, but somehow, it reaches me, like a fucking whisper in a storm.
I exhale through my nose, jaw tightening. This is a mistake.
And yet, I take a few steps in and slink out of the shadows. The room is bathed in moonlight, illuminating the way she’stangled in the sheets, her face scrunched in distress. Her body twists, fingers clutching the fabric like she’s holding on for dear life. She looks small in my massive bed, fragile in a way that doesn’t suit her.
I should turn around, I should walk back downstairs and sit my ass down on the couch. Not creep over her. Instead, I cross the room quietly and settle into the wingback chair in the corner. My eyes locked onto her.
Watching.
