PAST
Two Years Prior…
Paisley is 16. Saint is 34.
I told my father not to apologize to Saint on my behalf after the flower incident a year ago… Because I wasn’t sorry! People like Saint never learn. Besides, what was I even apologizing for? Apart from a minor privacy breach, I did nothing wrong. He’s the one who crushed my lilies and young woman pride!
Saint could have simply apologized, and we could have moved on. Instead, now, a year later, I’m still thinking about the heat of the fire that rumbled inside me when his gorgeous blue eyes landed on me in his fateful hallway.
That one conversation between my father and Saint, one I wasn’t involved in, was all it took for my life to become ten thousand times worse. Ever since that day, they’ve become close friends and it’s an instant boom backfiring in my face. I knew it was a possibility with my father only being four years older than Saint, but I guess I just didn’t expect it to happen so soon…
After being a professional boxer for the past ten years, Saint Lisconti retired at the end of last year. Now at thirty-four, Saint is a personal trainer at Fearless Fitness. It’s a respected and successful fitness studio he cofounded with his close friend and ex-coach, Nico Quivez. Nico’s also the man who was by the moving truck and told me to mind my own business when Saint moved in last summer.
For the better half of a year, there hasn’t been a week where I didn’t see the Devil of Sacramento at my house with my father… okay, the hot devil, but still, looks are nothing when you have the attitude of a fly on the wall. So, no matter how attractively beautiful Saint may be, and gosh how much he is, it doesn’t change the way I feel about him—utter hatred.
Whenever I see him, I rush into my room to study or out the door to attend to my flowers. Saint always has that conniving smirk on his face that I’d love to wipe off with my bare hands. It’s as if he’s winning this invisible race between us, but there isn’t any and even if there were and Saint was my prize at the end of the race, I’d start running backward.
So, okay, perhaps I shouldn’t be doing this right now, but somebody has to be a good citizen and look out for danger in the neighborhood, right? I swear that’s all I was ever doing. I didn’t intend to witness a scene between Saint and two other men out of The Godfather.
Because I adore the warm, sultry breeze, I usually do my homework on the balcony outside my bedroom and while today should be just like any other afternoon after school while my father is at work, it isn’t because of one single aspect…
Saint.
My balcony partially overlooks some of his backyard and I was in the middle of a math equation when a shout had my eyes wander there. My pen fell from my grip, and I sat up on my heels to see better, and now five minutes later my gaze still hasn’t been able to return to my page. In fact, the math book is long forgotten, spread out on the terracotta-tiled ground.
Saint and Leo—the other man I saw moving a few furniture items the day Saint moved in—have another man cornered in the backyard, a few feet away from the crystal clear in-ground pool. From where I’m standing, I can’t see the victim’s face, but his hands rise in surrender as pleas escape him.
“You don’t have to do this! I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again! Please!”
“It isn’t the first time you’ve said that, Anderson,” Saint hisses, crossing his toned arms over his black short-sleeved V-neck. “And to be fair, I’m getting a little sick and tired of all the running around to make sure you have your head in the fucking game. It ain’t my job, understand?”
“I know, Saint, I know it’s not your job. But lately my whole life has gone to shit. My job is the only thing I have, and yes, I slipped up, more than once, but there won’t be a third.”
“I don’t know, Nico told me to finish you off good, and seeing as I own half of the business…” Saint shakes his head, veering his gaze off to the distance before glancing toward Leo. “What do you say, Leo? Should we believe a word that comes out of his mouth, because I already have my answer.”
Leo laughs mockingly and begins shaking his head. In a domineering stance, Leo rakes a hand through his dirty-blond hair and slowly rubs his clean-shaven jaw as if in thought. “I say do what Nico asked and what you called him over to do.”
Anderson’s hands lower and he makes a run for it, rushing past Saint and around the pool in a flash, but he doesn’t get far. Leo bolts after him and the thuds of his feet over the grass section by the shed violently echo in my chest. Anderson is seconds from reaching the pocket doors before Leo takes him down from behind and slams him to the ground.
Still stationed by the perimeter fence dividing our homes, Saint slowly shakes his head. “You know not to run from us, Anderson,” he says, striding toward them. “When are you going to listen, huh?”
Leo has Anderson pinned down and that seems to be the only security Saint needs before his big fist collides with the poor man’s jaw. He doesn’t stop there. He keeps going and going until the man’s light skin turns all bloody and crimson stains Saint’s hand. Loud groans come from the man, who attempts to fight back, only for Leo to restrict his hands from moving.
Anderson’s body weakens as he spits out blood into the grass, his eyes still widening in fear as Saint seems to settle down… for now. “Please, please don’t do this. I have a son.”
Saint lets out a cold chuckle while pulling out something from inside his jacket. I cover my mouth, desperate to mute my gasp as the shiny blades of his Swiss Army Knife catch the sun, blinding me for a split moment.
Oh no! Holy sunflowers!
He’s going to kill him!
Saint’s going to kill this man. Right here, right now.
“You have a son? And what did you think that was going to change after you fucked with my business, huh? Thinking you can do some dirty work under the table and steal money and then pledge my name like you want to drag me down with you. Sorry to break it, man, but that’s fucking low.”
“Saint, please.”
“I SAID WHAT IS THAT GOING TO CHANGE?” Saint roars, lifting the knife for a beat, but when Anderson does nothing but thrash his arms in Leo’s grip, he lunges the knife down toward him and my heart aches in disbelief.
“NO! DON’T DO IT!” I scream, my throat burning, just in time for the tip of the knife to halt an inch from Anderson’s chest.
It takes one breath, two at the maximum, for Saint’s head to snap over his shoulder in the direction of the scream… my scream. Holy… Saint eyes my house and his gaze quickly lands on me, widening for a split second before darkening back to his signature style.
Heated fear rushes around my heart.
Oh no.
Trembling, I let go of my sweaty grip on the metal railing and feel my body begin to shake. I don’t like the look in Saint’s eyes. The look of death. It’s lethal and sickening. As if he was actually capable of digging that knife into that man’s heart with no regrets or second thoughts.
I know Saint and I are from completely different worlds. I understand from the conversation that Anderson was stealing money from Fearless Fitness, but what Anderson did… could it really merit death?
Saint hands Leo the knife and stands to his feet. Leo glances toward me, narrowing his gaze before Saint screams at Anderson to run, which he does, bolting through the side gate and down the street, away from the property.
I want to move. I want to go back inside and lock the door, but a devious numbness has overtaken my entire body, immobilizing me from taking a single step. My eyes snap from Saint’s clenched jaw to the speckles of blood on his face and clothes as he walks toward me.
I stare down at him from the balcony, nervous about what exactly Saint is capable of. And just like that… I learn. He climbs the dividing fence between us, despite my pleas to stay away. But he doesn’t care. It’s as if this is our own version of Romeo and Juliet, except we are not fateful lovers and the poison comes from his stare, not a little toxic bottle.
From the fence, Saint latches onto the metal railing of the balcony and pulls himself up with his toned arms. It’s there where adrenalin kicks in and I rush backward, only to trip on my math book and fall on my ass. Meanwhile, Saint casually perches himself on the edge, swings his legs over, and jumps into the balcony, always with those same speckles of chaos clouding his big blue eyes.
He brings a finger to the center of his lips, signaling silence.
I scurry to get myself up, using the outdoor wooden chair to steady myself, but there’s barely enough space between us on this tiny balcony. Saint inches away, ready to pounce… I’m in trouble.
Locking his jaw, Saint gestures toward the door behind me. “You go inside. I go back down.”
“You let him run… Were you going to kill him?”
“Get. Inside. Now.”
I shake my head at the sensory overload of the metallic smell of blood. It’s even worse up close, worse to see the fresh crimson sprayed and smeared all over his beautiful face like he’s some wolf disturbed while going in for the kill.
“Were you going to kill him or was it a warning?”
“Inside, kid.”
“I—”
Saint cuts me off. “Paisley, I’m going to say it one more time.”
“I don’t trust my back to you. I don’t know if you have any other weapons on you… like a gun.”
Saint lets out a frustrated breath. “I don’t own a gun.”
“Prove it.”
Saint glances off to the side and lets out a deeply irritated sigh. His chest must be pounding, beating so fast because it rises and falls beneath his top out of control. I’m so caught up in the moment that I don’t realize the blood-stained T-shirt gets closer until a hand covers my mouth and the other lifts me up against his chest.
I let out a muted scream, kicking and screaming for him to let me go, but he doesn’t. My cheek grazes against his stubble as he whispers in my ear to calm down.
Calm down?
How can I calm down?
No matter how many times or how hard I slam my fists into his chest, it doesn’t faze him. The only thing it does is transfer some of the blood to my hands. Tears burn down my cheeks as Saint walks us inside from the balcony, through my bedroom, and out into the hallway.
Another hallway.
Saint’s eyes meet mine and my whimpers soften, but my throat already begins to ache from my restricted screams. “If I set you down here, promise me you won’t scream. Nod if you won’t scream, kid.”
It takes a full moment, but I eventually slowly nod.
Saint continues staring for what feels like years before he must see something in my eyes he’s willing to surrender to and puts me down. Finally. His hands instantly move inside the pockets of his jeans, while mine rub my tender cheeks from just how tight his grip was.
“You didn’t have to do that,” I grumble, staring at the smeared blood on my hands.
“You saw nothing, Paisley, understood? You saw nothing.”
“But I did! I saw you and Leo—”
“You saw NOTHING.”
“Okay.” I blink away the harshness of his tone, my voice a bare whisper when I say, “Just promise me you won’t kill him.”
Saint’s eyes roll and he blows out another impatient sigh. “Yeah, yeah, I won’t kill him. Promise.”
“No, you’re just saying that!”
“No, I’m not. I promise we were just giving him a warning.”
“Really?”
“Yes. I made a promise to you, kid. A promise is a promise.”
“Except I don’t know you and it seems as though you hate rules.”
“Fuck.” Saint pinches the bridge of his nose. “Okay, fine, listen to this. You don’t say a word to your father about what you saw, even though it was just a warning, and I’ll pay for some new lilies out the front, deal?”
“Mmmm…” I ponder the thought.
This could be a good deal… Maybe.
“And you won’t step on them this time?” I ask out of curiosity.
Clenching his jaw, Saint shakes his head. “No, I won’t step on them this time. One hundred dollars. I’ll give it to you right now, deal?”
“And I can put my sign back up too?”
“Yes, kid. That too. You can put that damn sign of yours back up too. Now, is there anything else?”
“Yes.”
“God help me…”
“You have to promise to be nicer.”
“I don’t do nice, kid. If you really knew me, you would know that.”
My brows furrow. “But you’re nice to my dad and I met you first!”
“Look, kid, I’m busy. One hundred dollars for the damn lilies and we’ll both go back to our lives as we know them. The altercation outside and this deal right here never happened.”
“One hundred and fifty dollars and we’ll be even.”
“One hundred.”
“One fifty.”
Saint’s jaw ticks. “One hundred.”
I cross my arms over my chest and narrow my gaze up at him. “Okay, two hundred.”
“One-fucking-hundred.”
“Two-freaking-hundred.”
“One fifty.”
“Two fifty.”
“Two hundred. Shit, I mean—”
“SOLD!” I grin as Saint recoils, raking a hand through his hair as a curse word spills.
Eventually, Saint reaches inside his back pocket, pulls out his wallet, and fishes through his bills. All hundreds. I eye a photo of him and an adorable little girl who can’t be more than three or four in the photograph section. It seems like the photo was taken a few years back as he seems younger and she’s cutely kissing his cheek and hugging him, while he’s grinning at the camera with his piercing ocean eyes and hugging her back. I step closer to see it better, but he notices and slams his wallet shut with a grunt before I can take in anything else.
“Who is she?”
Ignoring the question completely, Saint hands me the money and I take it. “This never happened, okay?”
“Okay.”
And then just like Saint entered, he leaves, walking through my room and smoothly maneuvering himself down from the balcony like it’s an Olympic sport. Only when I know he’s truly gone, do I step into the bathroom and almost lose my footing at the brush of blood on my face from where he held me.
As I wipe it away and stare down at the red blotches on my damn face towel, I can’t help but cringe and whisper to myself, “But it did. It did all happen.”
