Page 8 of Saint's Preciosa
“How ‘bout pleasure then.” He steps closer. My nose wrinkles involuntarily and Carlos’s eyes narrow, a muscle in his jaw twitching. "You're late on your payments. You owe fifty dollars.”
"I don't owe you anything," I say, trying to sound braver than I feel.
"Everything from Sixteenth to Thirtieth is our territory. And everyone pays for protection. Even pretty little things like you."
My grip tightens on Paco as I calculate escape routes. The busy street is half a block away—too far. The vet clinic entrance is closer, but I'd have to get past them.
"Protection from what? You're the only ones threatening me."
The two others laugh, but Carlos doesn't. He reaches out to touch my face, and I jerk back.
"I don't have fifty dollars," I say truthfully.
"Then I guess you’ll have to work it off another way." His gaze travels down my body, making me feel naked despite my baggy clothes.
The young one snickers, nudging his friend. “Business it is, then. We just so happen to have a position open.”
"I need to go," I say, trying to step around them but Carlos grabs my arm. Paco starts to growl, which triggers a coughing fit. I need to keep him calm and get him home.
As Carlos’s fingers dig in hard enough to bruise, I reach into my pocket, my hand closing around the small canister of pepper spray I carry. It won't stop all of them, but it might give me a chance to run.
"Stay back," I warn, my voice stronger than I expected. I shift Paco to my left arm, keeping my right hand on the spray. "I don't want any trouble, but I'll defend myself if I have to."
They roar with laughter, clearly not intimidated at all.
"You hear that, guys?" a skinny guy with pock marks snickers. "She'll defend herself."
Carlos grins. "Go ahead, chiquita. Try."
Paco growls again, a tiny soldier ready to fight despite his illness.
As my finger rests lightly on the nozzle, I hear the rumble of a motorcycle engine. The sound is faint but distinctive. Powerful. Like a coming storm.
Hope surges in my chest.
Chapter4
Saint
"You want to explain what that was about?" Blade’s knowing smirk tells me he's enjoying this rare glimpse of me giving a shit about someone.
I try to appear casual. “Not sure what you mean.”
“Right." He snorts. “You practically threw your wallet at my ol’ lady and told her to cover all treatments for some scrawny aging mutt—past, present, and future."
I shrug, avoiding his gaze.
“Do you know that chick or something?”
I ignore him, but Blade refuses to let it drop. “Wait a minute. Is she the one those punks were hassling outside the bar last night?”
“Yep.” I glance toward the clinic door, half hoping to catch another glimpse of her before she leaves. Luna. According to Sophie, her name’s Luna.
Blade whistles low. "Never seen you hung up on a woman before, brother. Usually it's fuck 'em and forget 'em with you."
I shoot him a warning glare that would make most men back off, but Blade just chuckles. We've spilled blood together, saved each other's asses more times than I can count. He's earned the right to give me shit.
Before I can fire back a response, my burner phone buzzes. Ghost's number flashes on the screen.
