Page 36 of Martyr (Sterling Falls Rogues #3)

We move Saint—okay, Reese and Kade move Saint—up to one of the VIP sections.

The whole way up, I have flashbacks to Jace and Wolfe carrying in Nyx.

We brought her here after she died, covered her in a sheet…

It was traumatic. We were all watching Saint like he was made of glass, waiting for him to shatter.

Apollo and I had missed it. Her death, I mean. We’d missed it because we were off in another part of Sterling Falls, investigating the closed, abandoned subway tunnels. And nearly getting blown up in the process.

I thought we had it rough, and then the ground dropped out from below me when I learned about my best friend.

I brush a tear away, and Reese looks over at me. When they’ve set down Saint, he approaches and wraps his arms around me. I sink into his hug and exhale roughly. His scent, the cedar and smoke I’m so familiar with, is buried under gunpowder. But it’s still there.

He didn’t used to smell like that. In Terror, he had a different aftershave. His taste has refined… or he wanted to separate his current self from the boy who was forced to participate.

“You okay?” he asks the top of my head.

“Getting there.”

After another minute, I straighten. I unstrap my Kevlar vest and remove the rest of the weapons, setting everything down on another table. I take inventory of the ammo I used, the magazine and a half left remaining. The longer I fiddle with everything, the less my hands shake.

Jace comes over and sits across from me. He watches me silently, but I feel his quiet judgment. I’m the one who brought Gabriel back, after all. I’m the one who thought he could be redeemed.

“What?” I finally ask.

“Sit down, Tem, your legs are about to give out.”

I glare at him, then follow the order. I lean back in the booth and take a deep breath. Then another. My pulse is fast and fluttery.

Someone nudges me deeper into the booth, and I move automatically. I don’t bother opening—I assume it’s Reese or Apollo. Either would be a welcome comfort.

“Artemis.” It’s Kade’s voice beside me. The low rumble. “Drink this.”

I squint at the table. The tall glass filled with ice and a clear liquid.

It’s either liquor or water, and I don’t suppose either would taste bad at this moment.

Even so, it takes a second for my limbs to move, for my arm to lift and stretch across the table.

Longer still for the cold condensation to register against my fingertips.

“Hey,” Apollo says.

I glance over, but his phone is pressed to his ear.

“Yeah, we’re all clear here. Are the comms not working?” He focuses on Jace. “Might be a jammer somewhere. We didn’t notice.”

I forgot about them. I pull the earbud out and drop it on the table. I think I was a little distracted… Okay, a lot distracted. The fact that Daniel completely cut out and I didn’t realize is… concerning.

“I’ll go take a look around. Tell him to keep an eye out on the street.” Jace slides out and stands, then pauses and glances down at me.

“We should put the bodies out front,” Kade says casually.

Jace narrows his eyes.

“As a warning that it’s no longer a safe space for the Cyclopes.” Kade tips his head. “I can help with that.”

“It’s a good idea,” Apollo says, shocking the hell out of me. “Tem can stay with Saint while we do the heavy lifting.”

Reese, seated on a bar stool across from us, grimaces and hops to his feet.

In a flurry, they all leave.

I’m left holding my glass of… water? Vodka?

I pick it up and sniff it, then take a sip. Cold water coats my tongue, and I nearly groan. I chug half of it before I gain some self-control and set it down.

Sitting still is out of the question.

I check on Saint. I take his pulse again, my fingers at his wrist this time. Put my hand to his forehead. Inspect the wound at his temple. It’s stopped bleeding, which is the best case scenario.

“Okay,” I say under my breath. “Now what?”

I stare around at the VIP section. The glass walls, the U-shaped booths, the bar.

It’s actually a disaster zone. There’s blood on the floor, along with garbage, bits of glass littered everywhere. The bigger pieces are visible up against the footwell of the bar and along the walls, out of the way, but still a problem.

For fuck’s sake.

So I start cleaning. There’s a closet just outside the section, the door a hidden panel that blends quite nicely into the wall.

It’s invisible when the club is open, the darkness obscuring all my little tricks.

I gather supplies and head back, starting first by sweeping everything into a pile.

There are some sticky sections, probably from spilled drinks, that I ignore until I can get to the mop.

I’m on my third pass with the broom—and hopefully the last—when Saint wakes up.

I drop it and rush to his side. “You’re back with us.”

He touches his temple and frowns. “Freaking Gabriel cold-cocked me.”

“Yeah.”

He sits up slowly, looking around, and swings his legs over the edge. His feet make indents in the booth cushions, and he takes a moment with his elbows on his thighs.

“Water?” I scramble around the bar and find a clean glass. That alone seems like a miracle. I rinse it out then fill it and bring it back.

“Thanks.” He accepts it and drinks deeply, his throat bobbing with every swallow. When it’s gone, he hands it back.

I don’t know what to do, so I just hold it and stare.

How on earth do I tell him that the thought of him dying is one of my most terrifying?

“Tem…” He winces and reaches for my free hand. “I’m so sorry.”

I blink. “For what?”

“For everything that’s happened since you came to my hospital room after the car accident.” He squeezes my fingers, his blue eyes burning. “For telling you I loved you and then treating you like I hated you.”

Wait—what?

He remembers that?

My mouth opens and shuts, but I can’t seem to get any words out.

“For tattooing Kade when I knew it would hurt you,” he continues. “For not seeing that you were screaming in agony for weeks after what Gabriel did. For our first time having sex being as rough and as cruel as I was. Oh—don’t cry.”

I’m not , I want to say, but then he reaches up and swipes my cheek, smearing wetness across my skin.

“Elora has always been the stars,” he says softly. “But you’re the goddamn sun. And I’m sorry I ever made you feel like you weren’t.”

He takes the glass from my hand and sets it aside, then tows me in.

When his lips meet mine, it’s not hard. It’s not demanding.

It’s so sweet, it makes me want to sob. I inch closer, but there’s too much in the way.

The way he’s seated, the side of the booth, the table.

He makes a noise in the back of his throat, a sound of frustration, and suddenly grabs me by the hips and lifts me.

I get my knee on the table and swing my other over him, settling on his lap straddling him.

I immediately wrap my arms around his shoulders.

My nails drift under the collar of his shirt and up his neck.

He hums, deepening the kiss. He tugs my braid to angle my head the way he wants it.

He remembers .

The pain of the last few weeks doesn’t go away, but this certainly helps.

I need to be closer.

I slide my palms down the center of his chest and go for his pants. His tongue sweeps into my mouth, and it’s all I can do to stay focused on the task. Once his dick is out, I wrap my fingers around it, squeezing and moving my palm up and down. He’s hard, but it stiffens further in my grasp.

“Your pants,” he says against my lips.

I undo the button and shove them down. I use his shoulder for balance and stand on the booth seat, between his legs, and get them down to my ankles.

Before I can get back into position, he holds my hips and leans forward.

His breath coasts along my pubic bone. He kisses there, then lower.

I lean back and widen my stance for him to give my clit attention.

He pushes a finger into me and hums in appreciation.

I’m already on the verge of losing it, and he’s barely touched me.

“Come here.” He finally withdraws, and he smirks at my expression. “Hmm, I remember that look.”

“Good,” I breathe.

I straddle him again, and his hand slips between my legs. He brings me to the edge, his gaze glued to my face.

“So responsive,” he murmurs. “When’s the last time you came, wildcat?”

I whimper. I truly didn’t think I’d ever hear him call me that again.

“Words,” he admonishes.

Same old Saint.

My pussy clenches. It is the same old Saint . Resurrected.

“It’s been a few weeks…”

He tsks. “No one’s been touching you?”

“Been a little busy,” I grit out. “You’ve been sharing a room with Reese?—”

“Hmm. You can share it with us.”

Oh, fuck.

That edge? He catapults me off it. I come with his fingers inside me and his thumb on my clit.

I arch my back, my vision going white. Pleasure radiates through me.

I barely notice his withdrawal, but when his cock inches into me, I gasp.

My orgasm seems to be rolling on, his attention on my clit never wavering. Even as he lowers me onto him.

It’s sensation overload.

He grips the back of my neck with one hand, guiding my movement. Up, down. The friction, the stretch—it’s too much. His lips brush my throat. Then his teeth.

I take over the motion, rolling my hips and finding the sweet spot. My legs tremble every time he hits it, but I can’t stop. I chase the feeling, my eyes shut tight.

Am I dreaming?

Maybe Gabriel hit my head. I’m the one lying on a table unconscious right now, having sex dreams about Saint Hart.

“Look at me,” Saint growls.

I force myself to open my eyes and focus on him. It’s then that I come. It sneaks up on me, but his grip on my neck tightens. It’s a silent reminder not to close him out—close my eyes—again. And I don’t.

I let myself feel everything I can for this man before fate decides to steal it away again.