A beat of silence stretches.
A squirrel darts across the road like it has better survival instincts than any of us. Somewhere above, a hawk cries out.
The leader jerks his chin at his crew.
“Let’s go. For now.”
They mount their bikes, engines snarling louder than necessary, and peel away in a spray of gravel and pride. The man who banged on my window throws me one last glare before he follows.
When they’re gone, my hands finally unclench.
Air rushes back into my lungs like I’ve been holding it for an hour.
Saint walks to my window and taps lightly, nothing like the other man’s fists.
“You okay?” he asks.
My laugh comes out shaky.
“Define okay.”
Something shifts in his face. Not amusement. Not softness, exactly.
Attention.
Like he’s hearing more than my words. Like he’s deciding something.
“Fair,” he says.
He holds up his hands in a gesture that reads careful, not surrender.
“Mind if I open your door?” he asks. “I’m not here to haul you off into the woods. Ghost called. Said you might run into trouble.”
He pauses, eyes steady on mine.
“I’m Saint,” he adds. “You’re Nadia. Right?”
Hearing him say my name sends a weird shiver through me. I nod and hit the unlock button.
He opens the door and steps back, giving me space to decide.
My legs feel unsteady when I climb out, but I manage it. The air is crisp and pine-scented, cold enough to clear my head.
Up close, he’s even more imposing. Scars map his forearms. His hands look strong and used, callused in a way that suggests work, not show. His hair is cut short and practical.
At his throat, tucked under his collar, a small old cross flashes briefly when he moves. Silver, worn, private.
“Thanks,” I manage, because what else do you say to a man who just chased off four bikers like he was shooing flies? “I guess I owe you a drink.”
His gaze drops to my mouth and lifts back to my eyes, fast and controlled.
“You don’t owe me anything,” he says.
His tone shifts hint-of-steel.
“But you do need to come with me. They’ll be back. And next time they won’t come in fours.”
My first instinct is to bristle.
