Page 42 of Savage Saint
A chill runs down my spine that has nothing to do with the morning air. One name on repeat in my head—Nico. Could this be him? Would he be as bold to come this close just to show he knows where I am? If it is, it changes everything.
The fragile sense of security I've built so carefully in Angelo's glass castle shatters. I should run, alert Angelo. Get out of here as quick as I can. But my feet remain rooted where they are as my eyes scan the body in front of me. There is something familiar about this scene, like a half-remembered nightmare. I'm almost certain I've seen this somewhere before. And the niggling feeling I was a part of something terrible chills me to the bone.
The thoughts swirl in my mind as I stand up, a dizzying whirlpool of dark possibilities. This is a message for me, of that I am almost sure. But why?
Has the game Nico been playing changed? And more importantly, am I a pawn or a player? And for God's sake, can someone please remind me what the rules are?
With a deep breath, I force my analytical mind to take over. Do what it has been doing best. Observe. Remember. Survive. Even if I don't remember why, I know without a doubt I can trust my instincts. They have yet to fail me. At least since I woke up with my memory gone.
And despite my pride wanting to figure this out on my own, my instincts are screaming for me to get back. Get Angelo and tackle this together. With a sigh, I turn around the bend ahead of me. The tall trees ahead block the view of Angelo's house and suddenly the fact I'm out of his sight is no longer comforting.
A twig snaps behind me as my body tenses, ready to fight or flight. The peaceful morning jog feels like a lifetime ago. Now it's just another battlefield.
"There you are." The voice cuts through the air. Rough. Unfamiliar. Dangerous.
My body moves on pure instinct, spinning around and dropping into a defensive crouch before my brain can catch up. The man towering before me is built like a brick wall, all bulging muscles and sharp edges. His eyes are cold and calculating.
"Who are you?" I demand, proud that my voice doesn't waver despite the fear coiling in my gut. My gaze darts around, cataloging my surroundings. The steep incline to my left, the dense trees to my right. A fallen branch that could serve as a weapon if needed.
His lips curl into a cruel smirk as he takes a deliberate step closer. "Just a friend. What's taking you so long?"
The question hits me like a slap. I blink, momentarily forgetting my fear as confusion takes over. "What do you mean?"
His expression shifts, brows furrowing as uncertainty flickers across his face. But the moment passes quickly, replaced by his earlier coldness.
"Doesn't matter," he grunts, eyes hardening to steel. "Do whatever you need to. But make it quick. We're all getting bored."
My mind spins like a broken compass. What am I supposed to be doing? Is this connected to my past, to the memories that refuse to surface? The gaps in my mind feel like open wounds, but I can't afford to focus on them. Not now.
"I have no idea what you're talking about," I say, taking measured steps backwards. Every muscle in my body tight, coiled and ready to spring at a slightest sign of danger.
He moves faster than someone his size should be able to, lunging forward with surprising agility. "You want to play games? Let's play."
I duck under his grabbing hands, muscle memory taking over. Pivot. My elbow connects with his solar plexus, forcing a grunt from his lips as he stumbles backwards. A growl rips from my throat as I follow through with a kick to his knee. The satisfying crunch tells me I hit my mark. But beneath the adrenaline, I'm screaming inside. He can't take me. I'll die before I let that happen.
His recovery is too quick. A meaty hand wraps around my wrist in an iron grip. I twist, trying to break free, but he's too strong.
"Still playing hard to get, huh?" His chuckle washes over my face, hot and rancid. "He said you like to be difficult."
Panic rises in my throat, threatening to choke me, but I force it down with practised ease. My mind races through options, cataloguing every detail of my surroundings like pieces of a deadly puzzle. The steep incline. The loose dirt beneath my feet. The way his weight shifts forward telegraphs his next move. I can't let him see how lost I am, how each word he speaks opens new chasms of questions in my mind.
I let my body go slack, becoming dead weight in his grip. His fingers loosen for just a fraction of a second, surprise flashing across his face, and that's all I need. I drop, my knees hitting the ground as my free hand scoops up a fistful of dirt. In one smooth motion, like I've done this a thousand times before, I'm throwing it straight into his eyes.
He roars, the sound more animal than human, his hands releasing me completely to claw at his face. I scramble backwards, my feet finding purchase on the uneven ground as I turn and put distance between us.
"You little bitch," he snarls, eyes red and streaming as he blinks furiously. "I'm gonna love putting you back in your place."
Ice spreads through my veins at his words. Back in my place? The phrase echoes in my head, setting off warning bells I don't understand. But I can't afford to chase that thread now. Can't let the questions pulling at my mind distract me from survival. "You can try," I challenge, my voice steady despite the fear and confusion.
His face contorts with rage, all pretence of control abandoned as he launches himself at me. He's bigger, stronger, and right now he's running on pure fury. I plant my feet, ready for his attack. If I'm going down, I'm taking chunks of him with me.
Just as I prepare to dodge his incoming assault, a voice cuts through the air, momentarily startling me. "Youdon't fucking touch her."
Relief floods through me, followed by something else. Something warm and electric that makes my heart stutter. I turn to see Angelo standing there, his face carved from stone, eyes burning with a fury that makes my attacker's rage look like a child's tantrum.
Everything goes still. Silent. The air. The forest. The birds. Even the brute's heavy breathing quiets. The only thing making the sound is the blood roaring through my veins. Then, just as quickly, the world resumes.
What happens next is so fast, so brutal, that I can barely process it. Angelo moves like liquid violence, closing the distance in a heartbeat. One moment he's standing there, radiating cold fury, the next he's on the brute, fists flying with deadly precision.
