Page 125 of Rage
Saint’s face goes still. “It became about me the second they put her name on a list.”
My pulse jumps.
That fact that they’re arguing about me scares me more than I want to admit.
Azriel’s jaw flexes. “You lose control around her.”
The words hit Saint somewhere deep. I can tell because for once, he doesn’t have a cruel answer ready.
Azriel steps closer. “That’s why they don’t want you near her. Not because you’re dangerous. We already knew that.” His eyes cut to me, then back to Saint. “Because she makes you worse.”
Saint’s voice comes out quiet. “No.”
Azriel doesn’t blink. “She makes you reckless.”
Saint takes one step forward. “She makes me precise.”
I don’t really know what’s happening. I still don’t know why Monica disappeared. But I know this. Azriel is afraid of what Saint will do. Saint is afraid of what will happen if he doesn’t.
Azriel looks at me. “I don’t like this,” he says.
“Then don’t agree to it,” Saint replies. “It’s like I’m giving you a choice. Amy stays with me.”
My throat tightens.
Saint’s gaze stays on me. “My house,” he says. “No one gets in unless I let them. You know you’re safe with me.”
My thoughts go immediately to what he did to Roman, but I push the now-deleted image from my phone away.
Azriel exhales sharply, like agreeing costs him something. “You keep her inside.”
“I wasn’t planning on letting her out.”
“I mean it, Saint.”
“So do I.”
Then Azriel looks at me again, and this time, his expression softens just enough to make the fear feel worse. “Go with him. He’s unhinged, but I know he will do anything to protect you.”
My fingers go numb around my bag strap. “I know.”
“No.” Azriel’s mouth tightens. “I’m not fighting him on it because of him. I’m doing it because I care about you, Amy.”
Azriel’s honesty has me sliding my hand into Saint’s outstretched hand. His fingers wrap around mine like a promise.
The courtyard blurs around me. The whispers. The security radios. Monica’s name floats through the air like something already dead.
During the light of day, Saint’s house sits behind a wall of pines at the far edge of the university grounds, tucked away where the road narrows and the trees grow thick enough to swallow sound. There are no cars in the drive like the night of the party.
Saint parks inside a garage that closes before I’ve even unbuckled my seat belt. The moment the door comes down, the outside world vanishes.
He doesn’t speak as he gets out and walks to a keypad hidden behind a panel. He presses a code as I get out and shut the door.
Inside, the house is silent. The kind of quiet made by thick walls, sealed windows, and someone who has planned for every way the world might try to get in.
I follow him through a narrow hall into the main room. I notice what I didn’t the night of the party. Dark floors. Low lighting. Heavy curtains drawn across every window. Monitors mounted discreetly on one wall show different angles of the property—the drive, the trees, the back path, and the front gate.
“You live like this? With this much security?” I ask.
