They exited the restaurant. Olivia shivered as the chilly night wind hit their faces. She’d forgotten to bring her jacket. Saint took off his leather jacket and mutely placed it over her shoulders.
“Thanks,” she said, beginning to rub her hands.
He lifted her fingers to his lips and blew at them. She shivered, aware of his heated gaze on her face, her breasts, which the red dress barely concealed. Their dates always ended the same way, with Olivia in his bed or hers, offering herself up to him. She didn’t want anything different.
“What’s wrong?” Saint asked as they walked along the street.
This particular neighborhood was full of restaurants that stayed open late into the night. They walked hand-in-hand, just like a newly minted teenage couple. Olivia felt young again. Incredibly alive. Part of her wondered how long this bubble of contentment would last. Too much of a good thing was never bound to last.
“Nothing. Just thinking.”
“Of what? The amount of dirty sex we’ll engage in later?”
“Hey, is that all you want from me? Pussy and my medical skills?” Olivia was joking, of course, merely jerking his chain. Saint’s gaze grew intense.
She gasped when Saint tugged her close and left her a burning kiss that sizzled all her nerve endings.
“You’re everything to me,” he whispered, releasing her mouth. “Maybe it’s too early to say this, but I can’t keep it from you any longer. Olivia, you’re going to be my old lady whether you like it or not.”
Saint almost phrased his last words like a threat, but in some ways, it also sounded like a promise. Her heart was in her throat. Olivia rose on tiptoe, wrapped her arms around his neck, and kissed him back. His stubble brushed harshly against her smooth skin. He gripped her ass and gave the left cheek a squeeze, making her groan.
“Take me back to the clubhouse, to your room,” she whispered in his ear.
Then Saint’s expression abruptly changed from a man madly in love, or at least in lust with her, to murderous rage.
Chapter Twelve
Saint spotted the fucker with the knife a foot away. He spun Olivia by the shoulders, putting himself in front of her. White-hot rage filled him as the bastard slashed at him, drawing a line of blood over the arm he raised. If he hadn’t defended himself in time, the assailant would’ve hit his eye.
In the corner of his vision, he glimpsed the bastard’s patch. That of a red dragon curled into a ball. He closed his hand into a fist and knocked the blade away, sending it spinning to the ground. The pocked-marked biker with the beer belly reached for something under his jacket. His breath smelled foul and his eyes were bloodshot.
On drugs. That explained why the stupid bastard didn’t go for his gun first. Too late. Before the biker could grab the gun sheathed in his belt, Saint wrenched his arm forward. He drove his fist into the assassin’s gut. Saint didn’t stop. He was on fire. Adrenaline surged through his entire system.
Once the ugly bastard was down, Saint didn’t stop. He took his gun away first, then pummeled him with his fists.
“Saint, stop!”
He could hear Olivia’s voice in the background, but the sound was dull. Faint. Why would she plead for this miserable fucker’s life? Didn’t she realize this man would’ve knifed her, left her bleeding on the sidewalk? If Saint hadn’t intervened, she wouldn’t be alive.
The thought infuriated him because this shouldn’t be happening. Killing Rooster amounted to taking the head off a snake. The Red Dragons MC were in a chaotic mess, but Saint forgot one thing. Desperate animals resorted to reckless actions, just like this poor bastard who didn’t know the severity of his rash actions.
“Saint, please.” Olivia gripped his shoulder.
Saint paused. The red tint obscuring his vision cleared. His bloodlust still rode him, but hearing her voice brought him back to reality. A couple of locals were staring, gaping at him. Saint realized where they were, just a few feet from the cinema. A teenage boy stood to one side, filming everything with his phone. Saint got to his feet and snatched the phone. He deleted the video and narrowed his eyes at the onlookers.
“I’m here,” Olivia whispered in a soft voice. She grabbed his face and Saint noticed her hands were trembling badly. Fear was etched on her features and that look scared him. She shouldn’t be looking at him like that, like she was terrified of her.
“I’ve texted Iron,” she said. “He says he’s on his way here with Devil.”
Olivia dropped to her knees and Saint stood there, feeling numb as she checked the man’s vitals. Emotions rippled over him like overlapping waves. Dread. Guilt. Acceptance. Anger still lingered inside him.
“He’s alive,” she finally said.
Saint didn’t know what possessed him to grab her arm and jerk her to her feet. “We’re leaving. That fucker deserves to die.”
“We can’t just leave him. He’s probably bleeding internally,” she said, horrified.
Saint was surprised she maintained a cool head after everything she’d witnessed, after seeing him come apart. Tonight, Saint had acted like a beast. He just convinced the entire town he was the monster they thought him to be, but he didn’t give a single damn about that. Only Olivia’s opinion mattered and right now, she had shut down. It wouldn’t be obvious to anyone else but him. Saint knew her, both inside and out.
Right now, she avoided looking him in the eyes.
“You’re staying here with him? The fucker who tried to knife you in the back?” Saint demanded. Cold rage wrapped its talons around him.
“I’ll wait for Iron,” she answered, still not looking at him.
Saint didn’t understand her at all. He couldn’t leave her alone here either. Saint didn’t think she’d appreciate him carrying her away like a sack of flour. She’d only be more pissed at him. Who knew if there were other assassins lurking in the street?
It felt like an eternity before he heard the rumble of motorcycle engines. Olivia did what she could to make the man comfortable.
“The paramedics are on the way,” Iron informed him.
“Olivia, hear that? We’re leaving.” His voice was harsh.
She slowly stood back up, face white. Olivia was trying to be strong, he could tell, but she was also on the verge of falling apart. In complete silence, they walked back to where he’d parked his Harley. Saint was at a loss for words as he drove her back to her father’s house. She got off his bike and handed him the helmet, her lips still pressed.
Only after he walked her to the front door did she open her mouth.
“Tonight changed things. I need to think,” she finally told him.
Saint lifted her chin, making her look at him. She flinched at his touch and that felt like a sucker punch. Saint realized his knuckles were still coated with blood. He released her, appalled by his behavior tonight. Saint had lost control in front of her, but it wasn’t only that. Olivia’s last relationship had been abusive. Was she beginning to wonder if Brett and he shared the same capacity for violence?
“I’d never hurt you. Ever,” he said in a fierce voice.
“Saint, just give me some room to breathe.”
“This is it then? You’re done with me?” Saint couldn’t keep the anger out of his voice. Fuck, but he tried for her. He could have anything, anyone he wanted. No questions asked. This was too complicated as fuck for him right now. Maybe it was better they spent some time apart.