Page 77 of Savage Saint
"The girls won't say anything. The ones still alive are too scared. And without information—"
I hear him pacing now, his footsteps heavy against the hardwood. Five steps one way, turn, five steps back.
"Fine. I'll be there in a couple of hours."
The call ends with a sharp beep. I wait a moment before descending the rest of the stairs, making it look like I've just woken up. Angelo stands in the kitchen, his bare back to me, knuckles white as he grips the counter. The muscles in his shoulder ripple with tension.
"More girls are dead," I say. Not a question.
He turns sharply, eyes narrowing. "How long were you listening?"
I don't bother denying it. "Long enough."
"It's not your concern." His jaw is tight, the muscles there jumping with tension.
"They're branded, like me. Itismy concern."
Angelo runs a hand through his hair. "Those girls... they're not like you."
"No," I agree quietly. "They weren't trained to be weapons."
A look passes over his face, something between surprise and understanding. He doesn't argue the point. He knows what I amnow. What I've always been. We both have come to the same realisation.
"I can help." The words come out before I've fully formed the thought, but as soon as they're in the air, I know they're true. "I'm not just another traumatised girl. I'm not just a victim. I can get inside. I can get them to talk to me."
"No." His response is immediate, firm. "Absolutely not."
"I'm not asking for permission."
"You'd be walking into a trap."
"I'd be walking in with eyes wide open," I counter. "Which is more than those girls had. Nico has been looking for me anyway, I'll just turn up. Tell him I escaped."
He steps closer, towering over me, using his size to intimidate. But I don't back down. Can't back down. "You don't understand what these men do to women."
"I understand better than most." My voice doesn't waver.
"It's suicide."
"It's purpose," I whisper. "For the first time in my life, I could use what he made me for something good. Don't you see?" I was built for this.
Angelo's gaze locks with mine, searching. For what, I'm not sure. Fear? Doubt? Weakness? He won't find any. Not about this.
"You want revenge," he says finally.
"Don't you?"
His silence is answer enough.
"Let me help," I say again. "You need someone on the inside. Someone who can handle herself. Someone who can get close and not break." I take a deep breath. "That's me."
Angelo steps back, studying me. I can almost see the calculations happening behind his eyes, weighing risks against rewards, measuring my capabilities against the dangers.
"This isn't a game, Kasia."
"Has anything in my life ever been a game?" I ask quietly.
Those words hang between us, heavy with the weight of all he now knows about me. All he suspects. All the years of training, of being shaped into something lethal and unfeeling.
