Page 41 of Savage Saint
I want to watch them beg. I want to hear them scream. I want to see Angelo become exactly what they deserve.
"Not in the slightest."
His smirk deepens. "Little liar."
14
KASIA
He hasn't stopped watching me since dinner yesterday. In fact, all he's done is watch me and it's getting stifling. Needing the fresh air, I decide it's time to do a bit more exploring. I'll stick to the mountain road this time. I don't fancy meeting any more bears, considering Angelo took the gun I swiped from him away. Quite rude if you ask me.
With my shorts on and hoodie over a white tee, I bend over to tie the shoelaces on my trainers. After our run in the woods Angelo has been just a tiny bit less obsessive about me staying inside, so without a second thought I plaster on a huge grin, wave 'bye' to him, then slip through the front door.
For someone so determined to get rid of me, he sure is not making any moves to actually go through with it. In fact—gasp—he's coming across as downright caring. Making me breakfast, applying oil to the burn on my hip—I refuse to call it anything else. He's always making sure my bruises and cuts are healing nicely. I don't know what caused this personality shift, but I've got a feeling it's something to do with me saving his life. He's most likely feeling like he owes me. That's definitely it.
I finish stretching, then move into a slow jog. As soon as the gravel is finished, I pick up speed, sticking to the dirt path. It's uneven beneath my feet. Each step kicking up a small puff of dust. The air is thick with the scent of pine, damp earth, and the lingering chill of the morning mist. A crow caws overhead, the sound sharp, startling me. I have this distinct feeling that it's warning me to go back. Back to the safety of Angelo's glass house. But I don't turn around, instead I continue down the path. My lungs burning, not just from exertion, but from the sheer bite of the mountain wind.
My back heats, not from the morning sun, but from Angelo's ever-present scrutiny. I can just imagine his scowling face against the window as he glowers at my figure.
Well, he can glower all he wants.
Despite my memories still not making a comeback, my body is finally starting to feel like my own. My muscles are screaming for me to work them out. To put them through the ringer.
I pick up speed, trying not to think about Angelo and his deep brown eyes, and focus on the smell of the trail instead. The winding road I'm running alongside is downhill and I just know it's going to be a bitch coming back up to Angelo's house. The place I have been caged for the past week. I should hate it. I should hate him. But I don't. And that's the most dangerous part. Because when he looks at me, watches me like I'm something fragile. Something worth keeping safe, I don't hate it at all.
There's something about his house I love. Something that makes me feel like despite the glass walls, despite being so open for the first time in my life, I'm safe. It's a weird feeling, one I am not sure I felt before. Safe. Cared for.
Maybe it's the amnesia talking. I mean, how can I say I felt safe before if I can't remember ever being in danger? But there's something about the house and Angelo's steady gaze that makesme question my past as murky and broken as my memories of it are.
"Gaah!" I roar into the air, making a flock of birds take into the sky with a cacophony of chirps. I need to stop thinking about Angelo and how he's making me feel. Enough is enough. "Just give me my memories back," I whine to my brain. But the brain doesn't listen.
The first bend is up ahead. Any minute now, I'll be out of Angelo's line of sight and maybe then I'll finally be able to breathe. Iknowall he'll have to do is go one floor up. His sprawling glass mansion gives him a perfect view of the mountain road and the city below. But in my head, the winding road and the sprawling trees offer much needed cover.
My gaze lands on a broken branch, like a large animal barrelled down this path not too long ago. I slow my pace, instinct prickling at the back of my neck. I don't want to run into another predator, having only just left one watching me from his glass castle. There's a piece of dark fabric clinging to a low-hanging tree branch, frayed at the edges. Windblown. It's dirty, covered in mud and something else. I scrunch my brows, slowing to a walk and taking in the surrounding area. My steps become light, muscles coiled and my breathing slows as I focus on the sounds around me.
Something's wrong. I can feel it in my bones.
With my senses on high alert, I continue down the dirt path, reaching the bend in just a few short steps. The hair on the back of my neck stands up as the birds go silent. Bad sign. My body shifts into automatic as I stop, slinking closer to the tree line, my back pressing against a small tree, and scan the area for any movement.
My breathing picks up as I wait for… what? A threat? Something. Anything. But the air stays still and the birds stayquiet. Just as I'm about to move from my spot, the smell hits me. Foreign, yet so familiar, my blood turns to ice.
Copper. Blood. Decay.
At that moment, I know for certain. I've smelled death before.
My legs move before my brain processes what I'm doing, instinct taking over. There's more broken branches, more details I can discern and cannot ignore as I move through the brush. Closer and closer to the dark shape I can no longer ignore. There's something lying near the tree line. Half on the path and half on the road.
A hand, unnaturally pale and caked with dirt. A leg bent at an impossible angle. It's not something. It's someone. My legs pick up speed and I start running towards the figure, hoping I'm not too late. But my heart knows my hopes are empty before I even get there. Before I'm crushed by the realisation, this was no hit and run. No accident.
The man lying on the ground has been dead for a while. No. It's definitely not an accident.
It's a message.
I crouch down, pushing down the panic I can feel creeping up. It's a luxury I can't afford right now. I need to think.
The man looks like he's in his thirties, with dark hair matted against his forehead and blood-stained business attire that speaks of someone important. Have I seen him before? His face tugs at my memory, but the bruising makes it hard to be certain. Could this be one of Angelo's or Dante's men? His body is positioned in a grotesque display, spread-eagled on the ground like a twisted snow angel, with each limb arranged deliberately at unnatural angles. His arms are stretched out perpendicular to his torso, palms facing up in mock supplication, while his bent legs have been forced wide apart, creating a disturbing symmetry. Most unsettling is the way his head has beenpositioned—tilted back at a sharp angle, throat exposed, as if offering himself up to some dark deity. Even in death, his expression is frozen in a silent scream.
My mind races. Who did this? And why here? So close to Angelo's house. Almost daring to be caught.
