Page 16 of Saint's Preciosa
"Back room, last door on the left," he replies, eyebrows raised at my intensity. "You've got five minutes. Don't make me come in after you."
I nod my thanks and push past him into the building. I move quickly down the hallway, checking rooms as I pass. Empty massage tables that have seen too much, storage closets hanging open, a small office with files scattered across the floor where we've gathered intelligence.
Finally, I reach the last door. It's partially open, and through the gap, I see Luna frantically gathering items into a backpack.
I push the door open, and she whirls around, eyes wide with fear before recognition sets in.
"Saint?" She clutches the backpack to her chest like a shield. "What—how?—"
"We need to go," I tell her, fighting to keep my voice level despite the rage still churning inside me. "This place is about to be dust."
Confusion clouds her face, followed quickly by defiance. "What are you doing here? What's happening?"
"No time to explain. We've got five minutes before this whole place blows."
"Blows?" She takes a step back, eyes darting to the door behind me. “What…what…who are you? What is this?"
"I'm the man who's trying to save your life," I growl, patience wearing thin as precious seconds tick by.
Her face drains of color, and I see the terrible dawning of understanding in her eyes. She sways slightly, and I step forward, steadying her with my hands on her shoulders.
She nods, then abruptly pulls away, her expression hardening. "Why are you here? How did you know about this place?"
“We’ve been watching Popov for months," I explain, checking my watch. Four minutes. "He works for a larger human trafficking organization we're dismantling."
Her eyes narrow. “Your motorcycle gang?"
"Club," I correct automatically. "And yes, the Shadow Reapers. We handle problems like Popov and his boss."
"Handle?" The word drops between us like a stone. "You're going to kill him."
It's not a question, but I answer anyway. "He deserves worse than death.” For what he was planning to do to her alone, I'd gut him slowly and feed him his own entrails.
She steps back, wrapping her arms around herself. "I can't be involved in this. I can't. I'm undocumented, Saint. I can't have any contact with police. If I get arrested, if they check my status?—"
"I know," I cut her off, surprising her. Of course she is. Why else would she work at a place like this? Put up with a boss like that?
Her eyes fill with tears but she blinks them back fiercely. "You don't understand. I need this job.” She gestures wildly. "How will I pay rent? Buy medicine for my grandmother? We just got an eviction notice. Three days and Abuela and I are on the street."
"I'll help you," I tell her, reaching for her again, drawn to her like gravity.
She evades my touch. "Why? What do you want from me?"
The question is like a slap, but I understand it. In her world, nothing comes without a price.
I want you, I almost say in a moment of raw honesty. But not like this. Not forced by circumstance. I want her to choose me, so instead I say, “Right now, I just want you safe."
Her expression softens just slightly, but she's still hesitant. “I-I don't know..”
“We’ll talk about it later. Right now, we need to move."
As if to emphasize my point, a muffled explosion sounds from somewhere in the building—the first charge, ahead of schedule. The floor beneath us vibrates, dust drifting down from the ceiling.
Luna jumps, eyes wide with renewed fear. "What was that?"
"Our timetable moving up," I growl, patience gone. "We're leaving. Now."
When she still hesitates, looking around at the meager belongings she's gathered, I make the decision for both of us. In one swift motion, I scoop her up and toss her over my shoulder, ignoring her startled cry of protest. She's light as a feather, all slender curves and delicate bones.
