“I will talk to Harla when I am ready,” Reaper replies.
That name grabs my attention. It pulls me back, sending a feeling through my body.
“Bello ángel.” Beautiful angel. The words tumble from my lips.
“Saint, you need to get the fuck up. It’s been days, brother.” West. He’s the only one who comes here. I open my eyes but blink at the sun coming in from a window. It blinds me.
“For everyone who does wicked things, hates the light, and does not come to the light, lest his works should be exposed.” I repeat John 3:20. Closing my eyes, the truth vibrates to the very bones.
I am wicked, blinded by the light.
I hear cursing when more feet join in. “He hasn’t eaten in days, either speaking in Spanish or repeating that messed up shit they drilled into him.” The pain in West’s voice is evident.
“Yeah, Harla’s not doing good either, hasn’t come out of her room, keeps asking about him.” It’s Doc. There it is, that name again. It changes the darkness, and the ghostly fingers that hold me down, lessen.
“Shit, did you see that, when you mentioned her name?” West says, his voice louder, nearer. “That's right. You hear that, Saint? Harla ain’t doing good, man. She’s asking for you.”
I lift my head at her name, but my body doesn’t work with me, every muscle aching. I growl low, frustrated when my body fails me, like I failed her.
The energy washes out of me as the darkness washes in.
“What is this place?” That voice! It finds me. Even in the darkness, it’s there, like a sweet melody running through my veins.
There’s a shuddering gasp, followed by a haunted cry. The sound has me growling, and I turn my head, the light burning my eyes.
“This is the message we have heard from him and proclaim to you, that God is light, and in him is no darkness at all. John 1:5.” It comes out raspy. “I’m the darkness.” I close my eyes again.
“What's the matter with him?” Her voice is soft. “Why the fuck is he in a cell?” The sound of pain in her voice, hurts. I can feel it from here, her anguish.
“Saint can get this way. There's nothing wrong with him. He built this place himself,” West says, annoyed, causing me to growl because I know that it's directed at her.
“I didn’t say there was,” she responds heatedly. “Open the damn door!” she shouts. I hear West snort.
“Sorry, baby girl, but it ain’t going to happen. It would kill him, kill him, if he hurt you when he was the beast.”
“What the hell are you talking about, ‘the beast’? Now let me in.”
I growl, shaking my head. “Keep her out.”
“You won't hurt me.” There is so much conviction in her voice. I shake my head again when I hear the door slide open.
I flinch when I feel a soft touch.
“Saint?” I nuzzle into the touch. It’s not painful but warm, soothing. The beast raging around inside of me, lowers to the ground. No more snapping or growling.
Fingers run through my hair, down my cheek, and across my jaw.
“Saint, I love you.” A wetness hits my cheek, causing me to hiss in pain. I hear heavy boots running toward us.
“Stay away. He’s not going to hurt me.” Her voice is so strong. She stops running her fingers, so I nudge her hand, causing a painful laugh to leave her.
“How do I help him?” she asks, sounding so helpless
I hear a clicking I know to be West’s lighter, before smoke fills the air. “He hasn’t been this bad before. I’ve called Doc. He should be here soon.”
I feel someone prodding me, causing me to snarl.
“I’m here.” Her soft voice surrounds me, her nails running up and down my arm, soothing me instantly. “What’s the matter with him?”
“He has chronic depression, along with post-traumatic stress disorder brought on from his childhood. I don’t know how much he’s told you, but I’ve seen the scars. I never commented on them. He hasn’t mentioned them, so I didn’t want to bring them up. What he went through is not what any child should ever suffer. They punished him because he was different, because of the way his eyes change color.”
Harla gasps. Her fingers stop running down my arm. Instead, she lays her head against my chest.
“It’s been medically proven that irises can change color due to different emotions, especially anger, which happens with Saint. However, he believes that he’s wired wrong.” I growl low, causing the doctor to laugh.
“He’s not. He’s the product of his upbringing. Try and get him to eat something.”
I feel something against my lips. I lick it, tasting meat.
“Please.” At her voice, I open my mouth. The food tastes foreign, like sandpaper.
“He’s eating.” At her laugh, I chew and swallow. When another piece is placed against my lips, I do the same.
Just as the darkness starts to invade, I feel a soft kiss to my forehead, her fingers against my jaw. “Saint, we’re having a baby.”
I open my eyes for the first time, looking at my angel.
“What did you say?”
Her eyes widen at my gruff voice. “I’m having a baby—your baby.”
Before she can say anything, I grab her face in my big paw, crashing my lips to hers. Just like the moon, she lit up my darkness. I’m no longer scared of the light.
“Fucking finally,” West says. I didn’t even know he was here.
She pulls away from me. “Will you please eat some more food,” she pleads with me.
Glancing at her, anger hits me as I take her in. Her eyes have big black bruises under them, one of them red with blood. Her cheek is marred with a blue bruise, and there’s a bandage on her nose.
“Angel,” I whisper as I take in the mark on her temple. Looking down, I see her hand in a plaster cast. “Fuck.” I should have been with her. She’s hurt and I wasn’t there.
“I’m okay,” she reassures me. “I promise I’m fine.”
I don’t believe her. I witnessed what the nightmares of her gigi being killed did to her. I can guess that she’s fucking feeling everything that was done to her.
“Brother, Doc checked her out and has made sure she’s okay,” West tells me, and I glance at him. The stony look he has tells me that he’ll inform me what happened to her.
“The baby?” I ask, taking her face into my hands.
“The baby’s okay.” Her smile lights up her entire face, before she yawns.
“Let’s go,” I tell her as I get to my feet.
She frowns, looking worried. “Go where?”
“Bed. You need sleep.”
Her eyes soften. “You need to eat.”
“He’ll eat, right after he has a shower,” West tells her. “I’ll have Monica bring food to you. Harla, you need to eat too.” His eyes narrow on her. “You’ve not eaten properly in days.”
She gasps. “Snitch.”
He smirks as he shrugs. “Glad to have you both fucking back. Go shower, eat, and sleep. I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” he says and walks away, Doc following him to the door.
“West,” Harla says, getting to her feet, and he turns to face us. “Thank you.” He nods, giving her a wink.
When they leave us alone, I pull her into my arms, her smell surrounding me. “I’m glad you’re back. I was worried,” she confesses, her voice soft.
“I don’t fucking deserve you, Angel. But you’re mine and I’m not letting go.”
She smiles. “I don’t want you to.”
My lips descend on hers, the kiss soft as I don’t want to hurt her.
“Let’s get you to bed.” Lust fills her eyes. “To sleep.”
She pouts, making me chuckle. She leans against me as we walk out of the room. My whole world is in my arms.
19
Harla
Glancing at the bed, happiness fills me as I look at Saint. He looks so peaceful lying on the bed, asleep. Last night went a lot better than I had imagined. When the doctor came, I honestl
y didn't have much hope that he could help. Seeing Saint looking so lost was something I never expected, something that hit me deep inside. My man, who’s usually so full of life, so burly and strong, looked utterly defeated. It made me hurt in so many ways, and yet, I look at him now and realize I never truly knew how strong he was until I saw him at what he considers his weakest. I don't think he'll ever know that he's not the devil he was made to believe he was but a man who's more magnificent than he could ever know.
Walking out of our room, I make my way down to the kitchen. I don't want to go too far in case he wakes up. I don't want him to think I left him. Once I'm in the kitchen, I open the fridge and grab a bottle of water.
"Where's Saint?" I spin around at Dad's voice.
"He's still asleep," I reply, bringing the bottle to my lips and taking a sip.
He nods. "Harla, since you've been here, I've..." he begins, and I wait to hear what he's going to say. I know West thinks he's been avoiding me to protect me. "I've kept my distance in the hopes of keeping you safe. I have no fucking idea how to raise a girl. Hell, I've no fucking idea how to raise a boy. I'm lucky West didn't need much teaching. That boy's smart as a tack. But you—with you, I wanted you safe. It's why I gave you to Ma. I knew she'd be the one to make sure you had everything you needed."
"I did. I had everything I could have ever wanted." Relief washes through him. "Except you." I tell him honestly. "I didn't have my dad, and you and Gigi kept West a secret from me. I hate that you did that. I don't understand why you did it and I don't think I ever will."
He runs a hand through his hair. "I wanted you to have a normal life, baby girl, one where the violence didn't touch you."
"But it did," I remind him.
"It shouldn't have!" he growls. "It shouldn't have been anywhere fucking near you. I had ensured that. It was the whole reason you were there."
"Sometimes, Dad, things have a way of not working out the way we planned. Your plan didn't work; fine, I get it. It wasn't your fault. So why have you ignored me since I've been here?"
He sighs. "I knew from the moment you crashed through those gates that I had a fucking mole. I didn't want that mole to know how much you fucking matter, so I kept my distance, held back from you so they wouldn't target you." He lets out a bitter laugh. "So much for that fucking happening."
"You thought that by pretending you didn't give a shit, I'd be safe?" I have to ask. It's the most idiotic thing I've ever heard.
"Yes, and I'd do it again in a heartbeat." He takes a step toward me, his features all soft. He's not Prez right now, he's my dad. "It didn't work and you got hurt. That's on me."
I close the gap between us. "No, Dad, it's not. It's on Rhonda. I'm alive. I'm okay. That's the main thing."
"Could have lost you," he mutters.
"You didn't. You still have me." I place my hand on my stomach. "You still have the both of us." So far, only Saint and Doc know. I think West may have overheard us last night. If he has, he hasn't said anything.
His eyes narrow. "I'm going to be a grandpa?"
I stand up straighter. “Yes.”
“Who else knows?”
I swallow back the hurt. “Only Saint and Doc.”
His jaw clenches. “I told that boy to stay the hell away.”
My eyes widen. “What?” I screech. “Why?”
His lips thin. “You are my daughter. I may not be the best fucking dad in the world, but I’m still your dad. I know Saint. I know what he’s capable of. I know the darkness he fights back every day. No one would ever be good enough for you. He went against me, against the brothers.”
I shake my head, disgusted that he thinks that. “The fact that you made him choose makes you the monster. Not him. Saint is the best man I know. There’s nothing wrong with him. He’s perfect just the way he is, and he would never hurt me. You got it wrong, Daddy. He’s way too good for me.”
Dad looks as though he wants to say something, but I stop him. “Before everything went crazy, Saint was part of this family. Don’t make him feel any different.” I take another step closer to him. This time, I wrap my arms around him and hold on tight.
“Love you, baby girl,” he says gruffly, his arms going around me.
“Love you too, Daddy. Thank you for saving me,” I reply softly.
His arms convulse around me. “Always.”
Once we let go, he gives me a quick smile before turning on his heel and walking out of the kitchen. I take another sip of the water, still annoyed that Dad warned Saint off of me.
"Hey, Harla, you got a minute?" I spin around at the sound of West's voice. "I've got something to show you." He sounds uncertain, and that's weird. West's usually so confident, verging on cocky.
"Of course," I say immediately. "What do you want to show me?"
He nods toward the hall, asking me to follow him. Putting the bottle down on the countertop, I follow behind him. He leads me down to the garage, not saying a word, and I'm nervous.
He opens the garage door, and I gasp when I see what he wanted to show me.
"You fixed it?" I whisper as I run my hands over the body of the car.
"Yeah. I wasn't sure if you wanted me to or not, but it was a shame leaving it unfinished."
I run and crash against him as I wrap my arms around him. "This is the best surprise ever! Thank you."
"I know how much this car means to you."
I smile as I pull away from him. "It was Pops's," I tell him as I once again walk around the car. "Dad tried fixing it when he was younger but never did get around to finishing it. Gigi told me that it was mine." I smile. "She'd laugh and say that it was just a heap of rust collecting dust. She didn't realize that I had been fixing it up. All the pocket money she and Dad would give me went into fixing it."
He smiles. "You managed to get it running though."
I nod. "I did. It took me three years to do so, but I finally managed it the day Gigi died." I shake my head. "Of course, I went and crashed it that day."
West laughs. "Good thing you knew how to fix it."
I run my fingers over the hood. "You've made this car even better."
He raises his brow. "Oh yeah, how do you work that out?"
"Well, Pops fixed it, Dad tried to, I did, and now you have. It's like a family tradition." I shrug.
His eyes soften. "Yeah."
“Damn proud of the two of you.” I gasp when I hear Dad’s voice. Turning, I see him standing there staring at both West and I.
West shrugs. “It was nothing. Harla had already done the hard work. I just had to fix it.”
“Bullshit,” Dad growls. “I saw the car after she crashed it. It was a hell of a lot more than nothing.”
West rolls his eyes, but I smile. “It’s true, you did a lot more than nothing.”
“Took me forever to find a decent supplier for the parts. Drove Ma crazy,” Dad says.
I smile. “Yeah. She used to say I was a lot like you, always in the garage working on the car.”
“You did a good job, baby girl. I thought it would have been a pile of rust by now.”
“It’s a classic,” West says. “She did a fucking great job.”
I smile at the praise. “As I said, it’s a family tradition.”
Dad nods. “That it is, baby girl.” He looks at the both of us. “You both think I’ve done wrong. I did what I thought was best.” He shakes his head. “I love you both. Always have, always will. Proud of how you both turned out.” He turns and walks away, leaving both West and I stunned.
“So, how are you doing?” I ask after a couple of minutes, wondering if he'll talk about his mom. Saint told me last night that West shot Rhonda when he found out that she betrayed them and handed me to the Phoenixes. I'm not sure if I was supposed to know that he killed her or not.
His body tenses. "I'm fine. She was a fucking bitch for doing what she did."
"Yeah, but, West, she's still your mom, and I know that no matter what, she did love you, and you love
d her."
His jaw grinds. "Whatever."
"Not whatever. She was your mom, West, and no one can take that away. She was hurt, did what she did because she was jealous. That's not your fault, and I don't think you should remember her that way."
He shakes his head. "You're too soft."
I shrug. "Maybe, but I don't think there's any point harboring any anger toward those that are dead."
He glances down at the floor, his hand rubbing the back of his neck.
I stand beside him and rest my head against his arm. "I'm sorry for your loss. I would tell you the pain disappears, but it doesn't. It fades over time."
He kisses the top of my head. "You were wrong, you know."
I frown. "About what?"
"You are too good for Saint." He chuckles as my eyes widen. "You're too fucking good for this life, but, Harla, you're stuck here."
"I like it here," I tell him honestly.
"Good. Aint no way Saint's going to let you go."
"You know?" I question, and he nods. "Are you mad too?"
His eyes narrow. "Not at you, girl. At Saint, yes, but I can't be too fucking mad when you're carrying my nephew."
“Nephew? It could be a girl,” I inform him, and his eyes widen. I laugh. “What makes you think the baby is a boy?”
“No way could Saint have a girl. He’d kill anyone who comes into contact with her.”
I raise my brow. “Oh, and you wouldn’t?”
He shrugs. “Never said I wouldn’t, just saying for Saint’s sanity, you’d better be prayin’ that baby is a boy.”
“He’s right, Angel,” Saint says, sauntering into the garage. “I’d lose my shit when she started dating.”
I gasp. “You two can’t be serious?”
They glance at one another, then back to me.
“Deadly,” Saint replies with a smirk.
“Harla, you know what Saint’s like with you. He’ll kill anyone who even looks in your direction. Add in his daughter, your daughter, and the man’s going to turn into a homicidal maniac.”
Saint's Angel: Mc Standalone Page 13
