Page 29 of Savage Saint
Like muscle memory.
Like a dance I’ve danced before.
Like I’ve done this a thousand times.
My elbow slams into his ribs, the sharp thud vibrating through me, a familiar sound. Comforting. Ignoring the pain in my body, I pivot, moving way too fast for someone who just woke up in a hospital bed a day ago. In one fluid motion, I catch his wrist and pull, using his own momentum against him.
He stumbles, cursing under his breath. But I don’t stop. I don’t think.
My knee connects with his stomach, my forearm pressing against his throat before he can recover.
I could break his windpipe.
I should.
His hands scramble against my arms, struggling, gasping, but I don’t let up.
My pulse pounds in my ears, drowning out everything else.
I have him.
I have control.
And God help me, it feels amazing.
A thrill courses through me, hot and raw, something dangerous and primal twisting inside me, something that feels like it belongs.
I could kill him if I wanted to.
And worst of all?
The thought doesn’t disgust me. It doesn’t make my moves falter. It feels natural.
A voice cuts through the moment.
“Jesus Christ, Kasia!” The sound is distant, as if I’m hearing it through water, through static.
Alessa.
My grip loosens just a fraction, just enough for me to finally see the man beneath me.
His face is red, his lips parting as he tries to suck in air. There are bags filled with clothes scattered around.
“You can let go of Antonio, Butterfly.” Angelo’s voice slides through the tension in my body like a sharp knife, smooth and deliberate.
I should release him immediately. I should push myself back, put distance between us, force my fingers to let go.
But I don’t.
I inhale slowly, trying to calm my instincts. Telling myself the fight is over, there’s no real threat, and that Antonio is not my enemy.
Tension slowly uncoils limb by limb, but my mind lags behind, stuck on what I was about to do. What I almost did without thinking. There was no hesitation, no fear, no second-guessing. Only the need to react, to defend, to make sure I wasn’t the one left on the ground gasping for air.
My grip loosens as Antonio stares up at me, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his breaths uneven. His grip on my wrist is tight, but it’s more like he’s trying to steady himself, not fight back. Like he’s trying to make sense of what just happened, of the fact that a woman half his size just handed his ass to him.
And it’s not fear in his eyes.
It’s disbelief.
