Page 57 of My Fallen Saint

Chapter Eighteen

We’re still in the I don’t believe it stage ten minutes later, though we’ve moved into my bedroom so I can get dressed and pack. I’ve already explained the why behind Alex’s metamorphosis, and Brandy now sits cross-legged on my bed, shaking her head in bewilderment.

“It’s like the plot for a TV show,” she says. “But why doesn’t he become Alex again?”

I look up from where I’m rolling my only dinner dress into the small carry-on I borrowed from Brandy, since the suitcase I brought is far too big for such a short jaunt. “Honestly, I didn’t think to ask. I assume because he’s Devlin Saint now and it’s easier to stay that way. I mean, Saint’s a big deal, right?”

“True. And maybe he’s still got that target on his back?”

I frown as I consider that. The Wolf is dead, but his people scattered. Some—like the guy Millie is arranging for me to talk to—are in prison. But others have probably started their own criminal enterprises, albeit smaller, funded in part by the ill-gotten gains they received working for the notorious Wolf. “You might be right.”

“The whole thing’s nuts. And there’s really nothing going on with you two?”

“You’ve asked me that at least a dozen times. This is the honesty zone, remember?”

“I know, I know. I don’t mean to make it sound like you’re lying. It’s just that back then you two were, God, I don’t know. Epic.”

A tight knot of remorse and loss twists in my gut. “Yeah. Yeah, we were. But we were kids.”

She scoffs. “I’m not sure you ever had the chance to be a kid. And Alex always seemed older than he was.”

I can’t disagree. “Well, the answer’s still the same. There’s nothing going on now. In fact, less than nothing. Because that night in the parking lot was like torture when you get right down to it.”

“He was pushing you away.”

I tilt my head in a duh sort of way.

She shifts around on the bed so that she’s on her stomach, her elbows propping her up, and her chin resting in her hands. “You want something to happen. Even though he’s being an ass, you still want him.”

“No,” I say automatically. But then, because we’re being honest, I backtrack. “You know what? Actually, yes.” Just saying it makes the butterflies in my stomach wake up and start fluttering. Because the truth is, I can still recall with crystal clarity that night when I gave myself completely to Alex Leto. The way his fingers felt on my skin. The brush of his lips on my shoulders. And every single moment of the rest of it.

I want to feel that again.

That, and more.

We had sweet. Now I want rough. I want hard and heated and frantic. I want desperation. I want Devlin Saint and all the danger he represents that I crave.

I want to both surrender and attack. To pound each other into exhaustion. To burn him out of my system completely. Because only then will I be able to walk away and say that I’m over him. That we’re finally, and truly done.

“Closure,” Brandy says after I explain that to her. “I get it. That’s what you came back for, right?”

“Yeah, but I thought I was coming for closure about Uncle Peter. A reality check after learning that he wasn’t a completely innocent victim. I didn’t expect to see Alex.”

“Nobody expects—”

“—the Spanish Inquisition. Yeah, yeah.”

She laughs, then sits up, pulls my dress out, and re-rolls it. She does a much better job, too. “Does he want to?”

“He’s made it perfectly clear that’s not happening,” I tell her as I pop into the bathroom for my toiletry kit.

“But does he want to?”

I return, then sit on the edge of my bed. “Yeah. I think he does.” I draw in a breath and let it out. “But I know him. He won’t.”

And despite wanting closure, that’s probably a very good thing.

The Town Car pulls to a stop on the tarmac of an executive airport in inland Orange County, and Devlin opens the door for me. I step out and look at the small, sleek jet painted in the blue and gold colors that are featured in the DSF logo.