Page 116 of Savage Saint

Create space.

Attack.

Run.

We’ve been working on this the last few weeks. Spent hours on the mat working on variations of the same hold. Good girl.

“Where did she run off to? What direction?”

“I don’t know.”

“And Emilio?”

That changes something. Tiny, but I catch it.

“He left. Just ran.”

“How long ago?” I need to have a conversation with Flow.

“Thirty minutes or so.” He coughs, and blood splutters out. The bleeding on his side doesn’t look to be slowing down either. “Look, I need medical attention. Can we call this a mistake so I can⁠—”

I reach for the scissors and yank them out. Hold them up to his face. “You planned to rape and kill my ol’ lady on film, Volkov. There is no mistake here, and I’m not a forgiving man. I’m the opposite of my name.”

“Wait. There’s money and…” I shove the end of the scissors through his eye socket, not stopping until just the handle is left visible.

“Fuck you and your money. I don’t do business with predators.”

I leave him against the wall, staring into nothing with his good eye. It’s quiet for a moment, but then a door opens, and the creaking of the hinge is loud. Light footsteps follow, stopping just outside this door, and I’m up and across the room before the person has a chance to run.

“Genesis?” Silence. Then a low sob. “Baby, if you’re on the other side, just knock three times, I’ll walk out.”

She’s been through enough. Doesn’t need to see this.

Slowly, there are three small taps. Then… “Santos?”

Fuck. I rip that door open, and she’s standing there.

A little shaken up, swaying, but here. She has no shoes on, and her hair’s a mess—my shirt hangs from her slim shoulders with smudge marks throughout. There’s also dried blood beneath her nose, another smear along one arm, and a bruise already darkening near her neck.

But she’s standing. Alive. Looking at me.

For one second, neither of us moves.

Then she launches herself at me and I catch her, wrapping my arm around her waist as I step fully into the hall, pulling the door shut with my free hand. Genesis will never look at him again.

“Fuck, Genesis. I’m here, bebe.” My voice is rough, my chest tight—then I’m lifting her, wrapping her thighs around me so we’re face to face. Her arms lock around my neck, and our lips meet. It’s raw and passionate, sweet relief and everything I almost lost poured into one kiss.

I taste salt on her lips. Feel the tremble running through her body, and yet, in that moment, everything in my world is right. Nothing fucking matters more than having her safe and in my arms.

Genesis. My Pocket Doc.

We kiss for a few minutes, slow and desperate and happy to just be. Happy. For the first time in my fucking life, I can say with my chest that I’m happy.

“Santos, I-I knew you’d come,” she whispers against my mouth. Those words hit hard.

I’m not a religious man, but in that moment, I’m grateful to Diosito for not taking her from me.

“Nothing can ever keep me away from you.” It’s the truth. My truth. “I love you, Pocket Doc.”