“Stand up, whore,” he hissed in her ear.
Agony rippled from her skull as he forced her to her feet.
“If I can’t have you,” he said in an angry voice, “no one else will. Leave the boyfriend. I’ll take care of him later on.” He shoved her toward the living room.
“You have an interesting house. Doesn’t seem like your style,” he said, nodding to the armchair. Olivia saw the loose ropes crisscrossing the chair and swallowed. Dread rose from the pit of her stomach, followed by despair. You’re no longer alone, she reminded herself. Saint would come to her rescue. He always did, but what if he came too late?
“This place belonged to my father. He was a preacher,” she answered.
“You never told me that before.”
“I did, a few times. You never learned to listen.”
Her words only served to fuel his anger because he violently shoved her toward the armchair. Brett kept the gun pointed steadily at her. He looked flushed.
“Brett.” She was glad her voice came out steady. Deep down, she was shaking in her boots. The only way to deal with psychopaths like Brett was to try reasoning with them. At the very least, Olivia needed to delay him as much as she could. Get him talking until Saint arrived. “You don’t have to do this.”
“What the hell are you talking about? Of course, I do.” With one hand on his gun, he used his free hand to bind the ropes over her body. The restraints cut into her scrubs, her skin. He didn’t seem to care if he cut her circulation.
“You left me in an embarrassing situation, Olivia,” he told her.
He leveled his bloodshot eyes at her, and for a second, he reminded her of someone. Grizzly. The drugged-out biker who’d tried to knife her. She knew Brett occasionally took designer drugs at the parties he attended like some rich trust fund brat reliving his teenage years. Maybe that explained his rash actions. Then again, trying to apply logic to Brett was a waste of time.
“You’re mine,” Brett said, tightening the knots. He kissed her neck and she jerked away, repulsed by his touch. His breath was warm against her ear. She struggled in her bonds, but it was no use. Brett had been an exemplary Boy Scout in his youth.
His next words stopped her cold.
“You’re my property, Olivia. If I can’t have you, then no one else can.”
Chapter Fourteen
Something had gone wrong with Iron and Olivia. Saint knew it in his bones. He stared at his phone. Iron had called him, which he only did when he encountered trouble. There was no one at the other end of the line. He heard muffled voices afterward. Olivia’s pleading voice and a man’s.
“Fuck.” Saint walked out of his office, grabbing his jacket and favorite firearm.
“What’s the hurry?” Devil asked, blocking his path.
“Olivia needs me. Her ex is back,” Saint said through gritted teeth instead of telling his brother to fuck off.
“Need back up?”
“I’ll handle this on my own.”
He left the clubhouse and got on his bike. Saint knew that Devil was close behind him. His brother would never leave his back unguarded. Right now, Saint’s number one priority was rescuing Olivia. He rode like a speed demon toward Olivia’s house. Thank God it was quick thinking on Iron’s part to try to contact him. Still, Iron’s lack of a response didn’t sit well with him. Had Olivia’s ex finally paid her a visit? Why didn’t the alarm sound off? Saint didn’t tell Olivia, but he’d made arrangements with the security company. If there was an intruder in her home, he’d be the first to know.
Unless, Saint mused, Brett had been smart enough to turn it off. Olivia mentioned Brett had plenty of cash in the bank, which meant he had access to resources. Brett could’ve paid someone to do the dirty work for him. It wouldn’t be that difficult to break into Olivia’s house.
He gripped the handlebars of his Harley hard, until his knuckles turned white. Just imagining Olivia at the mercy of her abusive ex triggered his wrath. Saint didn’t ride into the front of Olivia’s house. He took the street opposite her home. Saint parked his bike near the fence that bordered her backyard. Saint spotted a black Jaguar parked a few feet from him, one with city plates. He could only assume this ride belonged to Brett. So, the bastard came by this way, did he?
He checked his gun as he walked to the gate that would lead to the kitchen. Saint didn’t have time to grab more ammunition, but he was relieved to see he had a full clip.
Saint jumped over the small gate with ease. As he neared the house, he could hear voices. Olivia’s soft and rational voice collided with Brett’s loud voice. It sounded like the soon-to-be-dead fucker was hurling abusive language to her poor ears. Saint tried the kitchen door, ready to shoot at it, but it swung outward with a tiny creak.
“Did you hear that?” Brett suddenly said. His voice came from Olivia’s living room.
“Hear what?” Olivia did a good job of sounding puzzled. His woman knew he was coming. Saint wouldn’t be surprised if she was doing her best to delay him.
“Brett, let’s be reasonable,” Olivia said, probably trying to grab Brett’s attention again.
A loud smack sounded, and Olivia’s soft cry of pain pushed him over the edge. He stepped out of the kitchen only to see Brett about to hit her again with the butt of his pistol. Fury like he’d never known took control of his body. Blood dribbled down Olivia’s cheek but she spotted him. Relief filled her features. Brett looked at him, big, mean, and apparently a little drunk because he swayed a little on his feet.
If Brett had any brains at all, he’d point that gun at Olivia again, hold her captive. The fucker actually thought he could take Saint because he pointed his gun at him. Brett’s contorted expression reminded him of an ugly troll. He noticed Brett’s aim was slightly off and his fingers were shaking. Saint bet this miserable excuse of a man had never shot anyone before.
“Who the fuck are you? Another biker my bitch fucked?” Brett demanded.
“I’m not your bitch,” Olivia told him. “And Saint’s mine just as I belong to him. You’d wish you were half the man he was.”
Saint smirked. He was a good shooter. Saint shot the fucker right in the head. He didn’t miss. Olivia let out a little scream. Brett collapsed to the floor, a glaring red hole right between his eyes. Saint tucked his gun and went to his woman.
Pulling out the switchblade he always carried, he cut her ropes. For a second, he remembered Olivia drawing away from him that awful night he’d pummeled Grizzly to the concrete. This time, he didn’t need to worry about her being scared of him. Olivia flung herself at him, wrapping her arms around him.
She was shaking like a leaf. Saint kept his knife. He closed his arms around her tiny frame, stroking her back. Saint murmured to her in a soothing voice. “It’s all over, baby. Everything’s all right. The fucker’s dead. He’ll never be able to hunt you down or hurt you ever again.”
Tears filled her face. Olivia unraveled, weeping in his arms. Strong, beautiful Olivia. If Saint had the power to turn back time, he’d make sure she’d never endure such an episode. In the present, he could only offer her comfort.
Finally, she spoke, “I wouldn’t be alive if it weren’t for you. You saved me twice now.”