Saint

I opened my eyes the moment she left the room. That little angel. That tiny, perfect, infuriating girl who had no idea what kind of trouble she’d just stepped into.

My chest tightened as I watched her go, and I couldn’t help but notice how small she looked in that big-ass skirt, the loose top slipping off her shoulder slightly. Who dresses like that these days? Honestly. It made me want to groan out loud, but I couldn’t—my body felt heavy, every movement a battle.

Fuck you, Mateo.

I gritted my teeth as I tried to shift, every inch of my body screaming in protest. The bastard had shot me after trying to run off with our shipment. Our drugs. I had killed him on the spot, but not before he put a bullet into me.

Now, here I was, bleeding, bruised, and lying in a church basement with a tiny girl I barely knew taking care of me like I was some wounded puppy.

The irony wasn’t lost on me.

I tried sitting up, just a little, and pain shot through my side. Sharp, insistent, demanding attention. My vision blurred, and I hissed through my teeth. God, I hate being helpless. I hated it more than anything. But there was nothing I could do, not now.

Voices drifted down the stairs, soft and careful, but to me, they were loud enough to make every nerve in my body snap taut.

I froze, chest tight, muscles coiled like a spring. Someone was coming. I could hear them talking, whispering, voices tense and cautious.

“I think she’s hiding something, Edna,” a man said, low, but with a note of suspicion.

“Just keep your daughter in check,” the other voice replied. “I don’t think there’s anything here.”

Edna. That had to be her mom. My teeth clenched. They stayed just long enough to mumble a few more words, pacing around, sniffing around the edges, before their footsteps retreated.

Relief washed over me in waves, sharp and brief, leaving behind a strange tension I couldn’t shake. I could’ve been caught, exposed, and if that had happened… I didn’t want to even imagine.

I exhaled slowly, wincing as I adjusted back onto the mattress. Every movement set fire along the wound in my side.

I bit down hard on my lip to keep from groaning. Stupid, stupid.

The blood on my shirt had dried into stiff, sticky patches. God, I needed a shower. Or at least a sink. Or anything that would stop me from smelling like burned gunpowder and blood. But there was no way I could move that far without collapsing.

I pulled my phone from the pocket of my jacket, fingers trembling. The dim light from the screen felt harsh against my eyes, but I needed it. I needed Jake.

I dialed, holding my breath, trying to keep my voice steady when he picked up.

“Where the fuck are you?” He barked, sharp enough to make my head spin.

I winced at the volume. Great. I could practically hear every syllable bouncing off the walls upstairs. “Fucking Mateo shot me,” I said, voice low, urgent, slicing through the pain. “The bastard switched sides, Jake. He was with the shipment we were supposed to deliver to Amani.”

There was a pause. Then: “What the fuck?” His voice went from sharp to disbelief so fast I thought the phone might crack. “When the hell did he switch sides?”

“I don’t know!” I snapped, pressing the phone tighter against my ear. Pain flared again in my side, hot and insistent. “I didn’t know, man. Didn’t see it coming. Didn’t expect… fuck.”

“Where the hell are you?” He cut me off, urgency layering his words.

I hesitated. The word "church" felt ridiculous, almost like a joke I wasn’t ready to explain. But what else could I say? “I’m at a church,” I admitted, voice tight, low, and almost embarrassed.

“A fucking church?!” Jake’s laugh was incredulous, sharp, and loud in my ear. “What the hell are you doing at a church?”

“I had nowhere to run,” I said, clipped, terse. Every nerve screamed in pain with each shallow breath. “No one I could trust, nowhere safe. Just… I can’t talk for long. I’ll call you later.”

There was silence on the line for a moment, just enough for me to hear the pounding of my own pulse. “You better not die on me,” he muttered finally, quietly, almost like he was scared for me.

“Yeah,” I whispered, not answering.

I ended the call and let my phone drop to the mattress beside me. My head fell back, sinking into the damp, slightly cold bed, and for a few seconds, I let the quiet of the basement swallow me.

I couldn’t stop thinking about her. Evie. Tiny, stubborn, infuriating little girl who had saved my life without even knowing it.

My chest tightened every time I thought about how soft she looked, how pure, how… innocent. And yet she had just let me lean my head on her lap like some kind of lost child. She didn’t even flinch when my blood smeared across her hands when she cleaned me up like I was worth saving.

Worth saving. That was a phrase I hadn’t heard in years directed at me without sarcasm or calculation. And it threw me off balance, made me sit up a little straighter despite the pain, and stare at the wall as if it could give me answers I didn’t have.

I groaned softly, pressing a hand to my side. Every movement reminded me that I wasn’t invincible, that I had limits, and that Mateo’s betrayal had left me exposed in ways I hadn’t accounted for.

Why the church? I asked myself silently. Why her? I didn’t even know why I’d run here; what made me think a church would be safe.

But the second I’d walked in, something in me… eased. Something like instinct told me to go there. And then I saw her—small, bright-eyed, cautious, and willing to risk herself to help me.

I couldn’t stop thinking about how her fingers felt in my hair. So soft, gentle, and careful. And yet, the weight of it… it unsettled me. I wasn’t used to anyone being gentle with me. Not like that. Not since… well, no one.

I closed my eyes and tried to stop the spiral of thoughts. Focus, Saint. You’re bleeding. You’re vulnerable. You’re a target. She’s… irrelevant.

Irrelevant. I hated that word now. Because the second I’d called her angel, I realized she wasn’t irrelevant. She mattered. Her presence mattered. The way she looked at me, the care in her touch—it mattered.

I let out a slow, shaky breath.

Pain tore through my side again as I tried to shift, forcing me to hiss through my teeth. I cursed under my breath, swearing at Mateo, at myself, and at the world that had somehow twisted into this mess.

The quiet was broken again by the faintest creak of the floorboards upstairs. My pulse jumped. I froze, pressing my back against the mattress, trying to make myself as small as possible. Who was it this time? Anyone else coming? Could I get caught? Could she—no, I couldn’t think like that.

I pulled my phone closer and checked the time, letting my finger hover over the screen. I could call Jake again, but no. He’d chew me out for being reckless, but worse, he’d ask questions I didn’t have answers for yet. Answers I wasn’t ready to give.

My hand lingered near the phone as I exhaled, slow and deliberate. I was alive. I had survived Mateo. I had survived the shooting. And I was here. In this church. With her.

I couldn’t tell if it was luck or fate or some cruel twist of irony that made me end up in this place. But I had a feeling… a very strong feeling… that this wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.