Page 83 of My Fallen Saint

Chapter Twenty-Five

The day passes in a blur.

As soon as I realized the truth about Devlin, Alex, whoever the fuck he was, I’d bolted from The Phoenix, grabbed a taxi, and gone immediately to one of the car rental places by the airport.

I could have flown, but I’d needed the release that comes from speed and the highway and the asphalt beneath my tires. I’d pushed the limits of my rented Toyota, and the only reason I didn’t land a dozen speeding tickets is because the gods were on my side.

I arrive in Orange County as the sun is slipping toward the horizon. I punch in the code to unlock the door and disarm the alarm, then stumble into Brandy’s house. As I do, she leaps off the couch, races to me, and pulls me into her arms as Christopher stands behind her managing to look both worried and relieved.

“Where the hell have you been? I’ve been calling and calling. Devlin’s going crazy. He’s called a dozen times and been here twice.”

My eyes snapped to hers. “He’s been here?”

“He flew back. He said you two had a fight and you bolted. Christ, Ellie, what the hell? I’ve been calling you since he phoned from Vegas. Said he got back to your room and you’d cleared out.”

“We had a fight,” I say numbly, latching on to his excuse.

“About what?” She steps aside as I barrel toward the kitchen, then pour myself a glass of wine.

I run my fingers through my hair, shrug, then look at Christopher. I don’t know where to start, and even though I want to skewer Devlin Saint right now, I don’t want to air his dirty laundry in front of a stranger. “I just want to sleep. Can we do this—”

“I should go,” Christopher says, cutting me off. He goes to Brandy and takes her hand. “You two should talk.”

She nods, because apparently no one is listening to me. I don’t want to talk. I want to sleep. I want to forget.

But I get that Brandy’s legit worried, so I offer Christopher a wan smile, then go curl up on the couch as she sees him to the door before coming to sit by me.

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.” She takes my hands. “But I’ve been out of my mind.”

“I’m sorry. Really. I turned off my phone. It never occurred to me he’d call you. I just had to go. So I rented a car.” I lift my shoulder and, to her credit, Brandy doesn’t ask why I didn’t just fly back if I was bolting from Vegas. She knows damn well I would have wanted the speed. That I needed to burn through whatever emotions have been jumbled up inside me.

I did, too. Before, I’d been in knots, such an emotional mess it’s a wonder the guy at the counter was willing to hand me the keys. I shouldn’t have gotten behind the wheel, I know that. But the speed and the power and the freedom had worked their magic, and by the time I was well out of the city and in a place where I could open her up, I was fine. Moving fast, but fine.

“So Christopher came, huh? Getting serious?”

“You are not diverting this. Go to bed or talk to me. Those are your choices. I’ve been so damn worried, and Devlin’s freaking out.”

“Good.” I snap. Freaking out that I know the truth about him. That he kept this huge, dangerous secret from me for years and years. When he was Alex. Now that he’s Devlin. About himself. And about my uncle, too.

“He’s a goddamn liar,” I add as warm tears stream down my cheeks.

She pulls me close and lets me cry. “Do you want to talk about it?”

I nod, but what I say is, “I can’t.” And, damn me, I hate myself for that. I shouldn’t care about his secrets. Not when he’s the heir to The Wolf’s fortune—most of which the government was never able to attach because the Wolf was never convicted of any major crime.

Not when—oh, God, why didn’t I think of this on the drive—the entire of his fortune, including the DSF, was built on blood money. And who knows what kind of things he’s still running behind the scenes, using a philanthropical agency as a cover for a criminal enterprise.

My stomach roils as I think about Ronan and my suspicions. Lorenzo Bell. Was that a hit? Had Bell somehow double-crossed Saint’s organization?

“Tell me,” Brandy says, the worry clear in her voice. “Whatever you’re thinking, just tell me. And if you won’t tell me, then at least talk to Devlin. Seriously, the guy looks as wrecked as you.”

I drag my fingers through my hair. “What did he say to you?”

“He said that you learned some stuff about him, and that he needed to talk to you. To explain.”

I nod. I’d left him a note before I left. I probably shouldn’t have. I should have just gone. He’d probably still be assuming I was in Vegas somewhere, losing money at a roulette table. Instead, I’d scribbled I know who you are on a piece of hotel stationery and left it on the table.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.