Page 25 of Saint's Preciosa
Luna looks perplexed, clearly trying to reconcile the professional veterinary technician with the woman before her—comfortable and at ease in an outlaw motorcycle club.
"We’re here to help—your reinforcements,” Angel offers, nodding toward Abuela's sleeping form. "Sophie and I will take shifts sitting with your grandmother so you can get some rest."
"That's very kind, but I couldn't ask?—"
"You're not asking," Angel interrupts gently. "We're offering. That's how things are around here. We take care of our own."
Our own. The phrase sends a surge of satisfaction through me. That's exactly what Luna is now—mine, which makes her one of us. Watching her interact with Angel and Sophie, I feel a weight lift from my shoulders. If Luna's going to stay—and I have every intention of making sure she does—she'll need friends here, women who understand this life. Women who can help her find her place in our world.
"I don't know what to say," Luna admits, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.
“Nothing to say. Just go get some sleep while we keep watch," Sophie suggests, stepping further into the room and scratching under Paco’s chin. “This little guy looks so much better. Give him here. I’ll show him around the place and introduce him to my dog.”
Luna's resistance crumbles visibly as exhaustion wins out. She hands Paco to Sophie, then leans down to press a gentle kiss to Abuela's forehead.
"I'll just be gone for a little while," she whispers in Spanish. "These nice ladies will watch over you."
"Go," Angel urges, already settling into the chair beside the bed. "We've got this."
"Thank you," she says again, the gratitude in her voice almost painful to hear. She's not used to help, to kindness without strings. I'm going to change that.
I place my hand at the small of her back, guiding her toward the door. "Let's get you settled, preciosa."
In the hallway, Luna's shoulders slump as the adrenaline that's been keeping her going finally begins to ebb.
"Where am I staying?" she asks, stifling a yawn.
“My room,” I tell her, my tone brooking no argument. “With me.”
Her eyes widen slightly, but she doesn't protest.
"We're on lockdown," I explain as we walk. "Every brother is here on the compound until the situation with Kovalev is resolved. Rooms are full. Besides," I add, pulling her closer to my side, "you're my woman now. Your place is with me."
A flush creeps up her neck at my words, but I notice she doesn't contradict me. We turn the corner toward the residential wing, and I'm already imagining her in my bed, her scent on my sheets, her beautiful body curled against mine.
"Saint!" A shrill voice shatters the moment as Cherry, one of the club whores who's been around too long for anyone's comfort, sashays toward us with exaggerated hip movements. Her makeup is too heavy, her smile is too practiced, and her skintight dress leaves nothing to the imagination.
Before I can steer Luna in another direction, Cherry is on me, pressing her body against mine, her hand splayed across my chest in a gesture of familiarity that makes my skin crawl.
"Hey there, handsome," she purrs, completely ignoring Luna. "Heard you'd be staying in tonight. Thought you might want some company." Her long, fake nails trace a pattern on my chest through my shirt. "You know I can make all that tension just...melt away."
I feel Luna stiffen beside me, her body going rigid. A surge of anger courses through me—at Cherry for her presumption, at myself for putting Luna in this position. I don’t even know where this is coming from.
"Get your fucking hands off me," I growl, taking a deliberate step back and pulling Luna closer to my side. "I've got an ol’ lady. Show some respect."
Cherry's eyes narrow as they finally land on Luna, taking in her exhausted face, simple clothes, and the way she's pressed against my side.
"Her?" The disbelief in Cherry’s voice could not be more insulting. “You’ve got to be kidding. I've known you for years, Saint. She's not your type."
“You don’t know my type," I say coldly. "And if you want to keep hanging around the clubhouse, you'd better get the fuck out of my face—fast."
A flash of something ugly crosses Cherry's face before she can mask it with a forced smile. "Whatever you say, Saint." Her gaze slides to Luna, assessing and dismissive. “If you ever decide you want a real woman, you know where to find me.”
Before I can respond, she saunters away, her sky-high heels clicking aggressively against the concrete floor.
"Fucking bitch," I mutter, already planning how to have her banned from the clubhouse permanently. I've never touched her, never given her any reason to think I would, but bitches like her thrive on creating drama.
Luna's gone quiet beside me, her eyes fixed on the floor. I turn to her, tilting her chin up gently so I can see her face.
