Page 90 of My Fallen Saint

“Sadly, she’ll soon be garaged in New York. I’m storing up memories.”

Because I am too, I don’t say a thing as I slide into the car.

I’m expecting him to go to the Arts District. Instead, we end up miles up the coast at one of my favorite restaurants near Newport Beach.

“Marco’s on the Waterfront?” I turn to him, my grin wide. “This is great.”

We’d come here a few times when we were young, grabbing tacos to go, then meandering down the short path to the walkway that runs between the marina with its rows of fancy boats and the rear entrances to various restaurants and stores. Technically, it’s access for the boat owners, so it’s rarely crowded.

Today, we do the same after we get our food, walking side by side, both trying to finish our tacos without dribbling all over our clothes. I manage, though I use far too many napkins, then laugh when a big blob of taco sauce stains Devlin’s white shirt.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “But you’re usually so put together.”

“It’s you,” he says. “You make me come undone.”

I tilt my head to the side. “Devlin.”

“Sorry.” He looks appropriately chastised. “I’m not playing fair.”

I don’t answer. He’s not, but part of me likes knowing that the desire is still there even if we won’t be doing anything about it.

We walk in silence for a bit, and when our hands accidentally brush, I feel the contact from my nipples to my toes and hate myself for being so damn weak around this man.

We walk all the way down, until we’ve passed the storefronts and have reached the large buildings in which boats under repair are stored. It’s deserted at this end, and the walk dead-ends at a small inlet, filled with muck and debris.

I look down at it and wrinkle my nose. I’m turning, about to tell Devlin that someone should press the business owners to dredge that section, when I see the look on his face, hard and tight. He’s staring at something, and when I follow his line of sight, I see a suggestion of movement—the final hint of someone disappearing into a shadowy alcove between two darkened repair sheds.

Devlin turns to me, his expression like stone. He presses a finger to his lips, and I nod and stay silent even though I desperately want to know what’s going on.

I hear before I see—a muffled cry like someone sobbing into a pillow.

I look to Devlin again for explanation, but he’s not tuned to me at all. Instead, he releases my hand, then moves toward the alcove with long, quiet steps. I slip off my shoes and pad behind him barefoot, not certain why I’m being quiet, but I’m positive it’s the right thing to do.

I’m on the far side of the boardwalk, so when I’m even with the alcove, I see it from the perspective of someone standing outside a cave. I realize it’s not an alcove at all, but an alley, and I can see a woman cowering against the brick wall as a man looms over her, shouting a litany of vile curses—bitch, whore, fucking cunt!

He pauses long enough for the woman to say something, and then lifts his arm, obviously intending to slap her. I gasp and cringe in anticipation of the blow—but it never comes. Instead, Devlin’s hand snaps out, and he grabs the man by the wrist, yanking him away from the woman. At the same time, he twists the thug’s arm backwards, forcing the guy to his knees to keep Devlin from breaking it.

With the guy cringing on the ground, Devlin turns his attention to the woman, talking to her in words so low and soothing I can only make out the tone. She nods, mumbles thank you a dozen times, then hurries down the alley in the direction of the street.

Devlin drags the man onto the boardwalk, then releases him. “That way,” he says, pointing to a bridge off the boardwalk that leads to one of the small islands, very much in the opposite direction from the woman.

“Screw you,” the asshole responds, but he scrambles away and starts sprinting over the bridge.

I watch him disappear into the shadows, the blood pounding in my ears.

When Devlin turns and looks at me, he’s breathing so hard I can see the rise and fall of his chest.

“You’re her knight in shining armor,” I say, and the moment the words are out of my mouth, I know they were the wrong thing to say. His face goes hard, unreadable. He stalks toward me, and for a moment, I actually think he’s going to go on past, and I’ll have to hurry to keep up.

Instead, he pulls me toward him, backing up as he does so that we end up in that same alley, almost in the exact same position as the couple he just scattered.

“Dev—”

“Tarnished knight.”

He practically growls the words, and I have no chance to ask what he means because he silences me with a brutal, bruising kiss.

I open to him, my mouth, my body. Adrenaline surges through me, and damned if I don’t want this, too. I’m hot with need, my skin prickly, and though his kisses are deep and hard, I want more of him. All of him.