Aurora blinked, taking in the features of the dark-haired man staring down at her. A cruel smile tugged at the corner of his lips; the dark eyes that had once tried to soothe the fear crawling down her spine had changed to amber gold.
She dragged a slender, warm finger across his sharp jawline, blinking repeatedly as if he might disappear at any moment.
"Don’t lock your jaw." Aurora slapped his cheek softly, knitting her brows together in angry confusion, her drunk mind unaware of what she was doing.
Saint slowly removed her hand from his face and placed it on her lap. He stood and stepped back, and Aurora followed, clutching her abdomen to suppress a sudden pain.
Then it hit her, she needed to pee. She rose slowly from the floor and pushed the restroom door open, the tall, muscular man still gripping her shoulders to steady her as he trailed behind.
Right there on the spot she urinated on herself; urine soaked her underwear and trailed down her lap to the floor.
"Really." Saint muttered under his breath and stepped backward from her. "God knows how many bottles you drowned."
Aurora pressed her lips into a thin line and batted her lashes innocently. Embarrassment colored her cheeks tomato red. She stepped closer to the tall stranger, pressing her drunken body against him, but he stepped back until his back hit the wall, staring down at her in confusion.
"I’m... I’m sorry," she apologized, tumbling over her words. "I didn’t mean to... Urgh... Bleeeegh!" She vomited the drinks and instant noodles she’d had before leaving the house onto his shirt and splashed his leather shoes, the edges of his clothes already starting to blur.
"Fuck." Saint growled, pulling away from her and striding toward the bathroom to clean himself.
The light in the hallway dimmed and flickered. Aurora’s butt hit the ground; she lay there, fluttering her lashes and waiting for the darkness and the drink to consume her. Before she shut her eyes, the tall man walked back out of the restroom, his sleeves rolled up, revealing a tattoo Aurora couldn’t quite hold in her mind when she closed her eyes.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
She had not only urinated on herself but also vomited on him. Saint clenched his teeth; a vein pulsed at his neck as he stared down at her flushed, innocent face full of embarrassment. He needed her to get what he wanted, but she was useless when drunk.
He placed a call to Dax to meet him at the curb, then hauled her fragile body over his shoulder and darted down the hallway into a crowd still moving under the effects of drugs and alcohol.
Her friend, whom she had followed into the club, slept with her head on the wooden counter, clutching an empty bottle of vodka. Dax stood with his hands folded across his chest, leaning on the black Cullinan SUV idling at the curb.
Saint carried Aurora toward the car, her arms wrapped around his neck as she breathed heavily against him, making him uncomfortable as he shifted her head from his neck but she moved to closer.
At the car, Saint opened the back seat and hauled her in, laying her down, then climbed into the driver’s seat.
Dax looked at Saint with furrowed brows. "What are you doing?"
Saint stuck his head out of the window. About to drive."
"But you hate—" Dax began, but Saint interrupted.
"Yeah, I know. There’s a girl on the bar counter drunk. Take her to her apartment or whatever; use one of the guards’ cars." He commanded, then turned the key, bringing the engine to life. He zoomed out with several guards’ cars trailing behind.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Saint pressed her sleeping body against his chest as one of the guards pushed open the penthouse door. He carried her inside and up the stairs. She stirred in her sleep, pressing her lips against his bare chest; the button of his shirt had come undone when he’d gone to washed up earlier.
"Stop moving," she warned as she shifted again, almost rolling off his arm.
"You’re not on a bed, Aurora," Saint whispered. He kicked his bedroom door open and placed her on the bed. She snuggled into the warm sheets, clutching a pillow, making the linens wrinkle.
He pulled a chair from the corner and sat beside the bed, studying her curled form—her freckled face lit by a drunken smile.
"Who would have thought Edmund Hawthorne’s daughter could be this cute?" he murmured to himself. A low purr rippled through his throat. His eyes darkened as a dim silver light flickered around the body in front of him. His hands moved toward her face, then paused at her lips. He withdrew his hand and his eyes returned to normal when Dax barged into the room, looking at him suspiciously.
His gaze drifted from the small figure on Saint’s bed back to Saint. "Care to explain why she’s lying here and not in the underground house?" Dax asked, raising an eyebrow with one hand in his pocket.
"Where’s Alyssa?" Saint asked, ignoring Dax and walking toward Alyssa’s room.
"So what do you intend to do with her?" Dax followed, pushing Saint into the kitchen where the old nanny was cleaning.
"Excuse us, please." The nanny nodded, wiped her hands on a cloth, and left the kitchen.
"Don’t tell me you brought her here without any plan," Dax said, eyes sweeping over Saint, who was nonchalantly cracking an egg into a bowl.
"We call Edmund and let him know we have her," Saint answered casually.
"For what? How many minutes did you think this through? Letting him know you’ve got his daughter—drunk on the bed you won’t let anyone sit on. Are you serious? What the hell is wrong with you?" Dax snapped, irritated at Saint’s blasé attitude.
The kitchen fell silent except for the sizzle of the egg cooking in the pan. When it was done, Saint served it on a plate, checked on Alyssa, who was now asleep, and then walked back toward his room. Dax followed, but Saint slammed the door in his face. Saint pulled his phone from his pocket and set the half-eaten egg on the table.
He scrolled for Edmund’s number. Years of hacking through encrypted systems and bridging networks had led a girl to walk into his domain by herself. Now he would use the number they’d obtained from one of Edmund’s secretaries, information Dax and the guards had extracted two months earlier.
On the first ring the call went to voicemail. He called again; this time the line picked up almost immediately. Saint pressed the phone to his ear, using his sound ability to detect background noises.
He heard only Edmund’s steady breath and a coffee machine pouring liquid into a porcelain cup.
"Who are you?" Edmund asked, his old baritone voice thinning with age.
"Just a friend who remembers how the blue syringes plunged into children at the underground lab, then everything scattered by a fire that hollowed the place into ashes. Do you remember this friend?" Saint said, nibbling a bite of egg.
"I don’t... I don’t remember," Edmund denied, pacing in his small home office.
"Really? Let’s try something else. Do you remember a freckled face, dark silky hair like a storm cloud, the scent of cherry shampoo?" Saint asked.
"I can’t help you," Edmund stammered. Saint squatted by Aurora’s sleeping frame and pressed the phone against her ear, waiting for her to murmur.
Instead she turned and slapped the phone to the other side of the bed. Saint snatched it up before she rolled onto it. Her lips parted slightly. "Mom," she mumbled, pulling Saint’s neck against her chest, her chest rising and falling. Saint slowly unwrapped her hand from his neck, his nose brushing her soft breast.
He leaned closer and hissed into the phone, "Don’t you dare hurt her, or I will burn your family until there’s nothing left to bury."
His threat sounded hollow even to him. He chuckled and wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead.
"What do you want? Money, assets? Just say it and they’ll be at your doorstep."
"I want her," Saint said simply.
"You’re crazy," Edmund cursed.
" Thirteen hours," Saint commanded. "Sign it in paper and announce it in the news. If you try to act smart or send someone after her, her fingers will be delivered to you." He hung up.