Page 30 of Savage Saint
Because we are both aware I wasn’t just defending myself. I was poised to kill.
A slow, shaky breath shudders through me as I try to process what just happened. I need to let him go, need to step back and put space between us. But I don’t. Not yet. Because my body is still wired, still on edge, still responding to a past I don’t remember.
I want to be horrified at myself. I should be.
But I’m not.
Instead, I feel something else beneath the shock, beneath the confusion. Something dark and unsettling.
It makes sense.
The way I moved. The way I struck. The way I anticipated his next step before he even made it.
None of it was new.
None of it felt strange.
I knew exactly what to do, and I did it without hesitation, without a second thought, without anything holding me back.
And that terrifies me more than anything.
11
ANGELO
Iwatch as Kasia releases Antonio, like a snake uncoiling from its prey. Careful, planned, and almost sorry to release him.
Her fingers uncurl one by one from his throat, her posture shifting from lethal to deceptively casual in a heartbeat. The transformation is... fascinating.
Antonio scrambles back, his hand flying to his neck, where angry red marks bloom across his skin. His face flushed, partly from lack of oxygen, partly from wounded pride. After all, he's just lost a fight to an injured five foot nothing woman in a spectacular fashion.
"What the actual fuck?" He wheezes, eyes darting between Kasia and me.
But I'm too focused on her to care about his bruised ego. The way she holds herself now—weight perfectly distributed, hands loose at her sides—speaks volumes. I can't believe I hadn't noticed it before. The way she moves, the way she reacts to situations… What just happened was not born from panic or survival instinct. Her movements were honed, practiced, deadly.
A smile tugs at my lips as I catch the flash in her eyes. That split second before she masks it. Satisfaction. Pure, dark satisfaction at having dominated a threat.
Something tightens low in my gut, dark and deep, awakening in me something primal. I thought my little Butterfly was running from monsters. But she isn't just running. She's something else entirely. Comfortable with violence. Perhaps even craving it, the same way I do. The thought shouldn't excite me. But fuck, it does.
"I—I'm sorry." The words sound like a forced habit, like she knows she should say them but doesn't believe them.
But her eyes meet mine, steady. Measuring.
Are you sorry, Butterfly?
Or are you just wondering if I see you for what you really are?
My fingers itch to trace the tension in her shoulders, to unravel the mysteries written in her muscle memory. Who taught her to fight like that? What else is she hiding behind those blue eyes?
I lean back against the counter, crossing my arms. The smirk spreading across my face is impossible to contain. "Tell me, Antonio, how does it feel to have your ass handed to you by a girl?"
Antonio shoots me a dark look, rubbing his throat as he pulls himself to his full height. "She caught me off guard."
Bullshit. I watched every second of that encounter. I almost feel bad for him but he had no chance. The moment he stepped into her space, Kasia had already mapped his weak points. Her attack wasn't some lucky strike. It was calculated precision. The way she positioned herself, using his own momentum against him... No, that wasn't a beginner's luck or desperate self-defence.
But I keep that observation to myself, letting my smirk deepen as Antonio straightens his jacket. There's something delicious about knowing something no one else in the room does, that the woman we all dismissed as a helpless victim is so much more.
My gaze drifts to Kasia. She stands there in those oversized clothes, looking deceptively fragile. But now I see the predator lurking beneath that vulnerable facade. The way her fingers still twitch, ready to strike. The slight shift in her stance that keeps her perfectly balanced.
