Page 19 of Saint Valentine
He now had a steak knife sticking out of the older Dillinger’s shoulder and a Desert Eagle pressed to the son’s head. I couldn’t help it.
My thighs clenched, my stomach tightened, and my pussy pulsed—my lust for this man was a shameful, traitorous thing.
He looked dangerous. I suddenly had a thing for dangerous men.
There was dead silent, except for the sound of my blood rushing in my ears.
“I don’t like your tone when you’re speaking to her, Dillinger,” Saint said, his voice low and dangerous. “Apologize.”
Dillinger clutched his shoulder, blood seeping through his fingers. His face was pale as a light-skinned Black man’s could get, his eyes wide with fear. “I-I’m sorry,” he stammered, his voice trembling. “I’m sorry.”
Just like that, Saint holstered his gun and stepped back, his gaze sweeping over the room. “Now that we have an understanding, Aria and I are going to excuse ourselves. We won’t be joining you for dinner. We have reservations.”
The switch-up was head-spinning. Saint’s long legs ate up the distance between us, his grip was tight on my hand as he pulled me toward the door. The cool night air hit my face, but before I could take in a full breath, my eyes landed on Jason and Isabella. They were standing by an SUV, dressed nicely, surrounded by four men dressed in black, holding guns pressed to their heads. They both looked weak-kneed and ready to pass out.
“Saint—what the hell is this?” I demanded, trying to pull away from him, forgetting I wasn’t supposed to be speaking to him.
“It’s a surprise. I wanted you to see what holding up your end of a bargain looks like,” he said smoothly. “Your friends are safe, see? And they’re even coming to dinner with us. You and Isabella can discuss our wedding, isn’t that right, Isabella?”
Isabella shook her head violently. Her dark hair obscured her pretty face slightly. But I could see he looked like she was a second away from bursting into tears. Poor girl.
Saint leaned down. “I think I deserve a kiss.”
I barely had time to process his words before he moved. His teeth sank into my bottom lip, forcing my mouth open. His tongue slid inside, slow, tasting me, taking what he wanted before pulling back. His mouth tasted like fruity candy. He had prepared for that kiss. That pissed me off.
The breath I sucked in burned.
Saint smirked. "See? That was nice, wasn’t it?"
My body moved before my brain stopped it.
Crack.
My hand connecting with his cheek echoed through the night, sharp as a gunshot, vibrating in the empty space between us.
Saint barely flinched.
Everybody and everything froze. Saint’s head snapped to the side, but when he turned back to me, the corner of his mouth was curled up. His tongue swept over his lower lip.
Then he laughed.
“That’s strike two, Aria. Please hit me again,” he said, his voice low.
For a second, I entertained the idea of doing it. Just to see what he’d do.
He knew I wouldn’t.
He turned his focus to one of his men and ordered them to take Isabella and Jason to the other car. Then he whispered something to one who nodded, and he went back into the house.
I watched as Isabella and Jason were led away, my stomach twisting with worry, but there was nothing I could do that wouldn’t get them killed.
Saint opened the car door for me, and I slid in, scooting as far into the corner as I could. He didn’t let me stay there long. His hand shot out, gripping my hips and pulling me next to him.
I gritted my teeth, trying to shift away again, but he was faster. Anticipating it. He leaned in, his voice a low growl. “If I have to move you again, I’ll sit you on my lap.” He threatened.
I couldn’t let that happen. He’d find out how saturated my pussy was.
He smiled—slow, knowing, and wicked. Like he was able to read my thoughts. That look crawled under my skin, then it seeped into my bones. He wanted me to try him.
