Tyrant

Roman struggled to open his eyes, wincing at the sharp pain throbbing from the back of his skull. He tried lifting his hand to touch the sore spot, but his arm felt like dead weight.

What the hell?

He attempted to move his other arm, but it wouldn't budge either. That's when he realized his hands were tied together behind his back with zip ties.

Roman's eyes snapped open.

The last thing he remembered was Cruz forcing him out of the club bathroom at gunpoint, now...

Holy shit. He was in a...laundromat?

Judging by the thick layers of accumulated dust and hanging cobwebs, no one was in a hurry to launder clothes from this particular laundromat.

Noticing his company was finally conscious, Cruz was all smiles. "Guess who called wanting to speak to you?"

Roman met his captor's eyes.

"You already have more than enough in that briefcase. Just let me go."

Cruz laughed as if it were the funniest thing he'd heard all year. "Let you go?" His dark eyes didn't show any hint of leniency. "You, my friend, have a bounty on your head, and I'm here to collect. Don't worry, Koslov will be here any minute from now and it will all be over soon. So if I were you I'd sit tight and save my energy."

Roman never thought he'd pray for this, but he really didn't mind being kidnapped by Saint all over again. At least with Saint, there was a sick twisted sense of safety. If Saint really wanted to physically hurt him he would've done so by now. Unlike Koslov.

As if fate itself were on his side, the door to the warehouse buckled and splintered with a resounding crash, swinging inside on its hinges. Roman's memory of what happened next was a bit of a blur. It all happened so fast. One moment, the door was being kicked in and the next, heavy footsteps echoed through the room while Cruz tried to bolt for the exit.

"Not so fast." A massive hand shot out and clamped around Cruz's throat. He scrambled to pry the hand loose, but the grip only tightened. "You probably shouldn't have chosen a warehouse with one exit. That was a rookie mistake."

A familiar velvety yet somehow rough Italian accent flooded Roman's ears. Saint Bertinelli had come for him—not exactly for him, but for the briefcase. Still, the notion gave him a glimmer of hope.

"You all right, Roman?"

Now that you're here to save me, Prince Charming. "That's rather a difficult question to answer right now, to be honest."

"Cut him loose."

Without a word, Federico pulled a switchblade from his jeans pocket and swiftly cut through Roman's zip ties.

"Wait for me outside," Saint said more to Roman than to Federico. "I'm gonna talk to Cruz for a bit."

Roman moved toward the door though his eyes remained on Saint and Cruz.

If Cruz thought Saint was going to let the whole ordeal slide, he was seriously mistaken. On his way to the warehouse Saint had thought of all the ways he'd make this piece of shit suffer. He could use his favorite knife to cut small lines on his skin that would draw blood slowly.

No. Too easy.

The fight was more than inevitable. Cruz staggered to catch his footing as Saint pummeled him furiously with bare-fist blows. His face swelled and bled. To Cruz's credit, he tried to fight back. Emphasis on tried.

Saint's knuckles were cut and raw, but he kept on delivering punishing strikes, each one landing with a sickening thud. His usually composed demeanor was replaced by a primal fury, a need to instill discipline and punish. The sight of Cruz's blood on his knuckles only seemed to fuel his rage, the violence of it all a deviant's symphony of revenge.

Saint glared at the specks of red now splattered across the sleeve of his well cut white shirt and scowled.

"Uncultured cartel swine," he grumbled under his breath.

When Saint finally emerged from the building Roman's eyes were instantly drawn to his stained shirt and cut-open knuckles. A mix of shock and unease washed over him. What the hell had happened in there?

"You said you were going to talk to him." It almost sounded like an accusation.

"Oh, I did," Saint laughed as if it wasn't much of a big deal. "Do you want an apology from Cruz?"

"I don't know..."

"Yes, you do, actually." Saint's eyes fell on Roman's wrists where the zip ties had left dark purpling marks and drew in a sharp breath. "We need closure."

Saint signaled Federico to bring out Cruz, who had face-planted somewhere on the ground inside the building. When Federico came out dragging a more or less lifeless Cruz, Roman shuddered as he took in the severity of the damage Cruz had suffered at Saint's bare hands. He wasn't sure why he was so shocked.

After all, Saint was hardly a saint.

"I gave you back the money, Don Bertinelli," Cruz coughed out a gargle of blood clots. "And I've said I'm sorry."

Saint screwed up his nose in disgust. "Is that good enough for you, Roman?"

"Can we just go now, please?"

At Saint's nod, they all climbed into an SUV and Federico was the one to drive them away. When the car came to a stop inside Sandfort Estate, Saint gripped Roman's shoulder and shook him gently.

"Hey, you okay?"

Roman was holding on to his seat belt so tight, his hands were trembling. He slowly opened his eyes and took in a shaky breath.

"Yeah."

Clearly, Saint was unsatisfied. "Have I done something to offend you?"

"I don't think so but..."

"But what?"

"You could've killed the guy, Saint."

"And?" Saint's voice was dangerously low.

"And that doesn't bother you at all?"

No. It doesn't.

"I didn't kill him, did I?"

Roman bristled at the blatant contempt dripping from his every word. He knew he deserved it. Instead of showing the man a tiny bit of gratitude, he was sitting there, silently criticizing Saint's methods of handling the situation.

Once again, Saint's gaze caught the blood staining the sleeve of his shirt. It was a gift from Giorgio himself. Seeing such a fine piece of art ruined by some cartel scum without an ounce of fashion sense made his blood simmer.

"Saint?" It was a mere whisper after a long painful silence.

He didn't expect him to respond. "Sì"

Roman's eyes unconsciously flickered to those bruised knuckles, again. "Thanks," he murmured.

"For what?"

"You know, for not letting me die back there." Roman's eyes kept drifting to Saint's bruised knuckles, he couldn't seem to look away.

Saint, noticing Roman's inconspicuous glances, shifted in his seat and leaned towards him. He reached out and cupped the side of Roman's face, his thumb brushing gently over the bruises left by the zip ties. Roman inhaled sharply at the unexpected contact. He was taken off guard by the way Saint was now looking at him, as if he were the most fascinating thing in the world.

Saint's intense gaze traveled over Roman's face, lingering on the dual-colored eyes—one blue, one brown. The mismatch in Roman's eyes always threw him off balance.

He was so close Roman must've forgotten all about breathing altogether, the heat between them almost agonizing. Roman's lips parted slightly, his breath coming in short, ragged bursts. Saint's thumb traced the line of Roman's jaw, sending shivers down his spine. The moment stretched, each second feeling like an eternity. It was too much.

So close yet so far. Roman wanted it. He burned to feel Saint's lips on his.

Just when it seemed the tension would break, Saint pulled back abruptly, leaving him teetering on the edge of a kiss that was never going to happen. Roman's eyes darkened with a hint of frustration and longing as he fought for self control.

Get yourself together. You don't want this.

"I've told you before—I own you and I don't take kindly to anyone touching what's mine," Saint said, his voice a low growl.

He was a tyrant. That was the only word to describe him.

Roman's heart was still racing, the warmth of Saint's touch lingering on his skin. He wanted to say something, anything, but words failed him. Before he could muster a reply, Saint opened his side of the SUV door and stepped out, leaving Roman right there, cursing under his breath.

None of this was normal. He hated the guy for making his body act like a slave only for him.

Saint turned back, knocked twice on the driver's window and Federico lowered it. "Take the Priest back inside and keep an eye on him," he instructed, voice coming out rough.

Federico nodded. He understood the gravity of the command this time around.

Roman watched as Saint headed toward the stables, his mind a whirlwind of confusion and emotion. As Federico guided him out of the car and towards the mansion, Roman couldn't shake the feeling that something fundamental had shifted between him and Saint, a change that left him both terrified and exhilarated.