Page 28 of Savage Saint (Empire of Secrets #2)

ANGELO

I slam the tattoo removal machine that was delivered yesterday onto the folding table with more force than necessary.

The sleek black device stands out against the white backdrop of the massage room like a threat.

Like a promise. Metal instruments clink together as I methodically unpack them beside the machine.

Every tool has a purpose. Every tool will help erase Nico's tattoo from Kasia's skin.

My fingers tighten around a steel clamp.

The thought of his marks on her makes my blood simmer.

That burn on her hip, a fucking "N" like she's his property.

I'm not sure how I'll get rid of that. So far, the burn is healing nicely, and if everything goes well, there will be nothing but a faint scar left.

But even that makes me want to hunt down the motherfucker and brand his sorry ass with something.

A dick on his forehead would suit him nicely.

And if Kasia's scar doesn't heal? I'll have to cut it out. No fucking way I'm letting her wear someone else's brand. She's mine.

The possessive thought hits like a fist to the gut. I freeze, surprised by the intensity of it. This isn't about ownership. This is about... what exactly? I push the thought away, focusing instead on arranging the antiseptic wipes in a neat row.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, vibrating against my thigh. I fish it out, glancing at Dante's name on the screen before answering.

"What?"

"We found Dahlia, one of Nico's strippers. Dead." His voice is grim, matter-of-fact in that way only Dante can manage when delivering news about a corpse. "She was the one willing to talk. Now all the others are terrified, and we're back to square one."

My jaw locks. One step forward, two steps back.

Always the same fucking song and dance with Nicolosi.

I know exactly what those women are going through.

They've seen what happens to snitches now.

We've been working this angle for weeks, trying to gather enough intel to pin down where Nico's been hiding.

The strip club was our best lead, a pipeline for girls coming in from Eastern Europe.

Some of them were definitely underage, I'd stake my life on it.

Dahlia was the only one who'd made eye contact when we came asking questions, the only one who finally agreed to meet up tonight.

She was going to tell us where the girls were being kept before they were distributed to Nico's various establishments.

Now she's dead, and any chance of those women talking to us died with her.

"We need to get them out. Now." My voice comes out as a low growl, barely controlled rage simmering beneath each word.

"Hold off, Angelo." Dante's tone brooks no argument, that familiar command that normally I'd respect. "We need more intel."

The order lights a fire inside me. These women, just like Kasia, are pawns to him. Sacrifices on the chessboard.

"Fuck that!"

I hurl the phone against the wall, watching with grim satisfaction as it shatters, plastic and glass exploding in a satisfying spray of destruction.

A soft gasp makes me whirl around.

Kasia stands in the doorway, her eyes wide, taking in the scene—me, breathing hard, the broken phone, the strange machine on the table.

Something in my chest tightens at the sight of her.

Her hair is pulled back in a messy ponytail, wisps of strawberry blonde framing her face.

She's wearing workout clothes: a sports bra and leggings that hug every curve.

"What's wrong?" she asks, her voice cautious, like she's approaching a wild animal.

Maybe she is.

"Nothing." My jaw is so tight it aches. I stare her down, daring her to call me on the obvious lie. Instead, she glances at the machine, curiosity evident in her eyes as she steps into the room.

"What's that?" she asks, moving closer.

I watch her, the way she studies the equipment with sharp intelligence. Always analysing, always looking for angles. In another life, she might have been one of us.

"Curiosity killed the cat, Butterfly."

The nickname slips out before I can stop it, and I see her blink, her gaze landing back on me. Maybe she's no longer annoyed. Then her mouth tightens into a frown. She turns, making to leave, and panic rises in me at the thought of her walking away.

"Fight me."

"What?" She turns back, confusion etched on her face.

I roll my shoulders, trying to shake off the restless energy that threatens to consume me from the inside out. Every muscle in my body feels wound too tight, like a spring ready to snap.

"Spar with me, Butterfly. I don't want to think. I need to move."

The words come out rough, desperate. I'm practically vibrating with pent-up rage. Dante, Nicolosi, the whole fucked-up situation has me reeling. My fists clench and unclench at my sides as I wait for her answer.

She studies me for a long moment, those sharp blue eyes taking in everything. My tense posture, my barely contained fury, the broken phone on the floor. Then something shifts in her gaze. Her chin lifts, defiance replacing caution.

"Fine." Her eyes harden, accepting the challenge.

We move to the main gym area without another word. The large mat in the centre is like an island in a sea of equipment. I roll my neck as we step in, the familiar give beneath my feet grounding me.

Kasia stretches, her movements fluid and practised.

The muscles on her abdomen tighten, the pale skin stretching with each movement.

I try not to look at the space beneath her right breast where the Kittens tattoo is for fear of ripping this whole place apart, but my mind doesn't listen.

Before I force my gaze away, I drink her in, cataloguing every freckle and mark I can see.

We circle each other, two predators sizing up their prey.

Her footwork is light, precise. There's no wasted movement.

She's smart, analysing my stance, searching for weaknesses.

I'm doing the same, watching how she guards her left side more than her right.

She's definitely done this a million times, and once again, I try to figure out who she is, who she was before.

She strikes first. A quick jab toward my solar plexus. Fast and precise. I counter, but she's quicker than I expected, ducking under my arm and landing a blow to my ribs.

"Not bad," I grunt, genuinely impressed.

A hint of a smile plays at her lips before she's moving again.

We fall into a rhythm. Strike, block, counter.

Her technique is flawless, a blend of styles that are clearly self-taught but effective as hell.

She anticipates my moves like she's reading my mind, slipping away from holds that would trap anyone else.

I manage to sweep her legs, but she rolls with the fall, immediately springing back into a fighting stance. Before I can press my advantage, she's inside my guard, using my momentum against me.

A split second later, I'm flat on my back, the breath knocked from my lungs. Kasia pins me down, her thighs straddling my waist, one forearm pressed against my throat, not hard enough to choke, but enough to establish dominance.

Our chests rise and fall in sync, sweat beading on her brow, her face inches from mine.

"You're holding out on me, Savage ."

Maybe I am, but she's good. Really good . The realisation that we're evenly matched sends a jolt of electricity through me.

"I don't want to hurt you, Butterfly."

"I'm not a fucking butterfly!" She presses her forearm harder as she leans closer to my face, her tits right in front of my mouth.

My body reacts instantly, desire coiling hot and heavy in my gut. From the widening of her eyes, I know she can feel my hardening cock against her.

"Kasia…" I groan as her nipples peak through her sports bra. Fuck me, she's as into this as I am.

I feel her body shift as she registers my arousal. For a second, I expect her to pull away. She doesn't. Instead, her thighs tighten around me, and something darkens in her eyes. Something hungry.

"It's a tattoo removal machine," I say, the words tumbling out before I can stop them. My fingers drift up, brushing the bottom edge of her sports bra where I know his mark sits. "So you don't have to wear his brand on you anymore."

The fierce determination in her expression falters.

Her lips part slightly, eyes widening with surprise as they dart to where the massage room is, then land back on my face, her expression melting into something softer.

More vulnerable. Her weight settles more fully against me, tension draining from her shoulders.

"Savage," she breathes.

My nickname on her lips is my undoing. The sound of it, rough and intimate, snaps the last thread of my control.

" You make me savage," I growl, reaching up to tangle my fingers in her hair. I pull her down until our faces are inches apart. "You have no fucking idea what you do to me."

Our lips crash together, and it's like a dam breaking inside me.

All the tension, all the want I've been holding back, floods through me in a torrent that drowns out everything else.

Her mouth is hot and demanding against mine, her taste sweeter than anything I've ever known.

She moans, opening her lips, letting me in.

She tastes like mint and coffee, and I can't get enough.

I flip us over, pinning her beneath me on the mat. She arches up, wrapping her legs around my waist, grinding against my cock through our clothes. The friction is maddening. Perfect. Not nearly enough. I kiss her like my namesake requires, savagely taking everything she's willing to give me.

"Fuck," I mutter against her throat, teeth scraping over her pulse point.

Her hands slide under my shirt, nails raking down my back as she rocks against me harder. I grab her ass, guiding her movements, helping her find the right angle.

"Use me," I tell her, voice rough with need as her thrusts become more frantic. "Use my cock to get yourself off, Butterfly."

She does. Her pace grows desperate, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps against my ear.

When she comes, she cries out against my mouth, body tensing and trembling beneath me.

The sound of her pleasure, raw and uninhibited, pushes me over the edge.

My hips jerk against hers as I follow her, my world narrowing to nothing but her.

"Fuck me," I pant, pressing my forehead against hers.

"I haven't come in my pants since I was a teenager.

" I let out a breathless laugh. It sounds foreign on my lips.

When was the last time I laughed? "If you do this to me through clothes, what's it going to be like when I finally sink into your cunt? "

Her eyes darken at my words, her hips moving against my still hard dick once more.

I grin, my lips against hers as I ask. "You want more, Butterfly?"

"Please," she gasps, before sliding her tongue into my mouth.

I shift my hips, slipping my hand into her leggings, when she protests the absence of my cock.

Such a needy pussy. She's still slick and sensitive, and my fingers slide in easily.

I pump them inside her, my thumb circling her clit as she gasps.

Her walls clench around my fingers, pulling me deeper, and something primal stirs in my chest. This—her surrender, her pleasure—feeds something dark and hungry inside me.

"Angelo," she moans, her head falling back, exposing the delicate line of her throat.

I watch her face, transfixed by every flicker of pleasure that crosses her features.

Her lips part, eyes half-lidded and glazed with desire.

The sight of her coming undone makes my once again hard cock throb painfully against my shorts.

Her vulnerability, freely given to me, is more intoxicating than any drug.

Her hips rock against my hand, desperate and urgent. I curl my fingers, finding that spot inside her that makes her breath hitch and her body tremble.

"That's it, Butterfly," I murmur against her ear. "Let me feel you fall apart again."

She clutches my shoulders, nails digging in as her body tenses. When her release crashes through her minutes later, she cries out my name like a prayer, her inner muscles pulsing around my fingers. The raw, unfiltered pleasure on her face is almost enough to make me come again.

I've never seen anything more fucking beautiful.

When she finally stills, I slide my fingers out slowly, watching her eyes flutter open. They're dark with desire, pupils blown wide, and I know mine must look the same.

"Lick them clean," I command, my voice gravel-rough as I hold my fingers in front of her lips.

Her eyes widen at first, but then something shifts in her gaze. A challenge. A decision. She leans forward, never breaking eye contact as she parts her lips and takes my fingers into her mouth.

Fuuuck.

Her tongue swirls around my digits, hot and wet, tasting herself on my skin. It takes every ounce of self-control not to groan as she sucks gently, cleaning her arousal from my fingers with slow, deliberate strokes of her tongue.

When she's done, she releases them with a soft pop, her lips glistening.

"Why?" she asks, voice husky and raw. The question hangs between us, loaded with meaning I'm not sure either of us fully understands.

I drag in a ragged breath, fighting for control as the fingers she so thoroughly sucked just a second ago curl into a fist beside me. My cock is hard again already, straining against my pants, demanding I take what I want. What I need.

"Because if I taste your pussy now, I'll lose it," I admit, the words tearing from my throat like a confession. "I'll do things you're not ready for."

The admission costs me. I don't explain myself to anyone, don't show weakness, don't reveal my thoughts. But with her, the rules are different. She needs to understand what she's dealing with. What kind of monster she's awakened.

Her lips part slightly, eyes searching mine. I don't look away, don't try to hide the hunger that must be written all over my face.

There's been a shift inside me. It's not just lust, though fuck knows there's plenty of that. It's something deeper. More terrifying.

The realisation hits me like a bullet to the chest: I don't just want her body. I want all of her. Her sharp mouth and sharper mind. Her resilience. Her fire. I want her nightmares and her dreams, her past and her future. I want to own every fucking piece of her soul even if destroys us both.

And I have no idea what to do about it.

This isn't part of the plan. This isn't who I am. I don't do feelings, don't do attachments. I fuck, I fight, I kill. That's all I know. All I'm good for.

But Kasia... She's changing everything, changing me.