Saint's Salvation: The Seven Deadly Sins (The Saint Series Book 7)

by Tiana Laveen

  I’m miserable. For the past forty-eight hours, all I’ve wanted to do is fuck. I’ll be glad when this is over.

  “Xenia is sick of me. She locked the bedroom door. She knows I can get in anyway, but it’s supposed to be a message to me to give her some space. I beat that pussy the hell up. I fucked my wife like I’d just gotten out of prison after a thirty-year stint. This is insane.” His cock jumped and twitched, seemingly titillated by the revelation. “Oh, you wanna party? Let’s party then! Saint’s diiick is electric, boogie oogie oogie! I know you can feel it, it’s electric! Boogie oogie oogie! And it’s alwaaays there, pushin’ out my under-weeear!” He danced about, snapping his fingers and laughing like some insane loon.

  “The humpty daaaance, here’s your chance, to do the hump! Oh, I know. Let’s do a Whitney Houston song… I wanna fuuuuck, somebody! I wanna feel the heeeat, wit’ somebody. Remix! Boogie, oogie, oogie! It’s electric! But she locked thaaaa doooor! Don’t want this dick, nooooo more!” He cackled, losing his mind, trying to find humor in a dismal situation. “Okay, just breathe … it’ll go away.” He placed his hands on his desk and leaned onto it, resting. Trickles of sweat lined his brow, and he felt them slide down as his desire grew teeth. “Come on, think about something that will turn you off. I know! Think about uh … think about Mama Pam eating that bowl of oatmeal the other day and cutting her toenails at the same time!”

  In a matter of minutes, his erection subsided. Finally feeling relief, he opened the office door and about near jumped out of his skin.

  “Damn it, Angel! I thought you’d already left?” He looked towards the stairs leading to Hassani’s room. The door was closed. Angel had stayed late that evening and had dinner with the family. Saint had assumed he’d left right afterward.

  “Nah.” The pompous, hard-jawed young man stood there chewing his minty gum like some cow. His hazel eyes hooded and a slippery smirk was smeared across his face. “I was waitin’ for you to get off the phone and come out here. I needed to holla at you for a minute. You, uh, you were serenadin’ your dick, huh? Did you light some candles and pour some wine for it, too?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Saint felt his eye twitch.

  “Yeah, you do.” The bastard grinned. “I heard you. Saint’s dick’s greatest hits! Oldies but goodies.” He giggled. Saint yanked Angel by the collar in mid-guffaw, startling the young man, whose feet now barely touched the ground, and dragged him to the living room. Angel’s arms and legs flailed; he swallowed his gum and began to cough, almost choking. Saint shoved the chump on the couch, forcing the skinny lad to bounce against the cushions like a ping pong ball.

  “Why are you still here and what do you want?” Saint crossed his arms over his chest, taking his ‘no sex tone’ frustrations out on the thorn in his side.

  “Okay, here it is.” Angel sat up, rubbing on his neck as if working a kink. Legs far apart, denim skinny jeans half way down his legs, his long feet shot out in opposite directions, making him appear slue-footed. “Look, I didn’t want to scare Hassani tonight, but something is going on, Saint.”

  “What do you mean?” Saint listened intently, realizing Angel wasn’t there to ask for money, ogle his wife’s breasts and ass, joke around, or play games for a change.

  “Something is going on in the world, man.” Angel sighed as his expression grew glum. “People ain’t acting right. Haven’t you noticed?”

  Saint glared at the young man, compelled to lie. He didn’t want Angel worried, and confirming his suspicions would do just that.

  “Actually, I—” He hesitated, stopping short of a freshly formed fib. Hanging his head, Saint exhaled and nodded. “Angel, I am asking you to not tell Hassani what I’m about to tell you. Do I have your word?” The young man looked genuinely concerned now. His brow bunched, he leaned forward, gripping the arm of the couch as if needing emotional support.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Manners had returned, or at least he played the game well.

  “All right.” Saint slid his hands in his pockets. “Yes, there is something going on. There are some … energies, for lack of a better word, that are infiltrating into the entire world, not only the United States, and have made their presence known. We’re at war.”

  “I knew it!” the boy blurted out.

  “Shhh!” Saint put his finger to his lips. “I and most adult Angel Children in the city are aware of it.” Saint put up his hands as if to say, ‘no worries.’ “It’s being addressed.”

  “Okay, but how can I help? I mean…” Angel shrugged his shoulders. “I’m an Angel Child too, so let me do somethin’, man.”

  “You’re too young to be involved, okay? But just trust us that we’re dealing with it.”

  “Dealing with what though?” Angel got to his feet, anger in his tone. “How about some details instead of these vague little statements? You’re beatin’ around the bush, tryna sugarcoat it. I have the right to know. I’m not a little boy, Saint. And besides, it’s my job to protect Hassani. It’s been getting harder, too. His gifts are developing. He wants to get into things; he’s curious now. Is he in any danger?”

  “No more so than anyone else, but please, just watch him … watch him like a hawk.”

  Angel nodded in agreement, but he could tell he wished to say more, to protest, roll out his resume as to why he too should be on the front line. Saint cocked his head to the side and stared at the young man. For a split second, he saw fear swimming in the boy’s eyes and it broke his heart.

  “What’s wrong, Angel? You’ve seen something, haven’t you?”

  “Yeah.” Angel dropped his head, clasped his hands, and played nervously with his thumbs. “A shadow figure has been coming to my house, Saint. Demon Children are not hiding as much, either. They are out in the open doing their shit, I mean, stuff… Had a fight with one the other day, too.”

  Saint’s heart raced when the truth was revealed.

  “What have they been saying to you?”

  “It was bad. Basically that, uh, they know who your son is… They know who I am and what I’m doing. They said I need to accept that they are now in charge, and we lost. I didn’t say anything because I feel like I can handle it myself, I held my own. Told some of my boys about it as well and they know what’s up now, too.”

  “Angel, everything out of their mouth is a lie. You have to understand this about Demon Children. They said those things because they see you as a threat now. No one has to keep telling people things like, ‘we won, you lost’ if they feel secure in their placement and lot in life. You’re going to see a lot more of that sort of thing, too.”

  “Yeah. They’ve gotten real ballsy lately, too. It’s like they feel they have a license to act stupid. We gotta band together!” He raised his fist in the air in a ‘power to the people’ stance. “We can’t let these mothafuckas get away with this shit, Saint! I don’t know what you’ve got going on, but you need to let me get in on this!”

  “Angel, goddamn it! It’s not that simple and stop cussin’ in my mothafuckin’ house! I’ve told you a million times to cut that fuckin’ shit out!”

  At this, the little bastard smirked and shook his head.

  “Saint, why is it that you always cuss me out to tell me not to cuss? I never understood that. This happens at least once a month now. I say some shit, I mean, some stuff, you tell me to stop and then we go on. Isn’t that like hitting someone upside the head to tell them to stop hittin’ people?”

  “It’s a matter of respect. You think you’re an equal, a grown man, and you’re not.”

  “I am grown, Saint. Age ain’t nothin’ but a number. I’ve been taking care of myself for a long ass time, and so has my brother. Now, I help Hassani on top of all of that. I’ve been in and out of foster care, makin’ my own way. I think I’ve earned the right to swear at least every now and again, and if you can stand around singing to your dick, then I can definitely cuss sometimes. By the way, Hassani calls Dakarai a shithead te
lepathically on practically a daily basis.” He shrugged. “He needs to in order to keep from snatchin’ him up. See? Cursing is … damn, what do head doctors like you call it? Oh yeah! It’s therapeutic!”

  They both paused, looked at each other, and burst out laughing. Saint grabbed Angel up from the couch and gave the boy a big hug, rocking him back and forth in his arms. He didn’t want to let go; he wanted to hold and protect, promise everything would be all right. He kissed the top of Angel’s head, then shoved his pointer finger in his face as reality set in. “Angel, you’re crazy. You make me laugh though, and I need that. But I meant what I said. Do not, under any circumstances, tell Hassani about this. Do you hear me?”

  Angel nodded, his expression grave.

  “Your job is to help watch over my son. Period. I didn’t have a say in the matter, but why waste time lamenting over it? It’s done. All right,” Saint clapped his hands and looked around the room. “Since it’s gotten late, let me get my keys. I’ll drive you home.”

  “Thanks.”

  Saint started to walk into the kitchen to retrieve his jacket.

  “Um, Saint … one more thing.” He turned back in Angel’s direction.

  “Yes?”

  “My job is to watch over your son … because he’s your heir and one day, he is going to be just like you. Whatever is out here causing all of this nonsense wants him dead, too.” Saint swallowed and tried to remain poker-faced, but those words stung his spirit. “I can feel it deep inside me, in my bones, in my heart, in my soul.” The boy’s eyes watered. “It’ll have to go through me, Hell and Heaven to get to him, Saint. Please believe me.” Angel’s voice trembled as his voice shook with rage. “I need Hassani as much as he needs me. He’s my brother,” he said, thumping his chest with a firm fist. “Blood ain’t got nothin’ to do it. I’m always going to be there for him. That’s my promise to Hassani, and it’s my promise to you…”

  Several days later…

  Angel slid the navy-blue hoodie over his long black braids. The damn thing was two years old, covered in lint balls, but he refused to part with it. It was his favorite hoodie of all. He removed his earbuds, but could still hear Miguel’s, ‘Sky Walker’ ft. Travis Scott playing until he turned the music off with a slide of his thumb across his phone. Looking from side to side to check traffic, he gripped the cool steel handlebars of his bike before pedaling as fast as he could across East 36th Street towards Flatbush Avenue in Brooklyn. The sun had set, and it was time he headed home. His guardian, Patricia, had begun the paperwork to adopt him.

  She was a very sweet half Black and half Italian woman who would have been easily labeled an old maid due to her unmarried status, lack of biological children, and her age, her being in her early fifties. But she was kind, held a good government job, and worked part time as a reading tutor. She also volunteered at the pediatric cancer institute. All that loveliness withstanding, she was a stickler about the curfews, unless it was something to do with Hassani or Saint, but even then, she’d call Saint and Xenia to ensure he was where he’d told her he’d be…

  She was afraid of losing him to the streets, of him falling back into his old ways, and though she’d never said those exact words, her actions proved it. Sometimes he looked at the sweet lady and hated the lie he’d laid at her feet, but what could they do? She was under the idea that Saint was his mentor, and he in turn was helping Hassani, kind of like a pay it forward program. That was the excuse they’d come up with to avoid having to explain the unexplainable.

  The cool autumn breeze on his face almost blinded him as it forced wind-borne tears to form in his eyes. Colorful trees began to lose their shape, turning into burnt orange, crimson, and canary yellow smudges and cloudy blurs. Suddenly, his entire body heated with unstoppable adrenaline, propelling him forward, driving him to cycle even faster. He could feel it—a change in the air, an almost undetectable, odd odor floating about, but he’d smelled it a time or two before. It unnerved him for it seemed familiar though he could never place it. Trusting his gut, he didn’t dare turn to look behind him. He just kept pedaling, weaving in and out of traffic like a manic snake flipping about after fleeing prey.

  Something heavy and horrid was on his heels, as if a threat had formed from a mass of energy and became an entity … one with an axe to grind.

  He spotted Patricia’s brownstone in the near distance. His heart drummed so hard in his chest, it felt as if someone were slamming their palms against his ribcage with full force. Tossing his bike onto the front yard without the customary heavy lifting and drudging it up the steps to bring it inside the home, he raced inside, then slammed and locked the door behind him. He stared out the glass panes in the door, his chest seesawing as withered breaths climbed out from between his open lips. There, only a few threatening feet away, floated a mass of darkness with no eyes, no form, just a huge heaviness that no one else who drove past or walked by appeared to see.

  On a swallow, he slid out his phone from his pocket and almost dropped the damn thing as he tried to muster his resolve.

  “Hello,” came the deep voice on the other end.

  “Yo, Saint, it’s Angel.” His voice cracked. He was barely able to get the words out without passing out.

  “I know. What’s wrong? Your energy is frantic.”

  “Tonight, I was at my boy’s house and when I left, I felt like someone was following me. I was right.” He took a deep breath as he kept looking at the mass, which was now shifting, drawing smaller, but still there nevertheless. “I just wanted to tell you that something followed me home, and it wasn’t a person. It’s a thing, and it’s outside my door… It’s … it’s all wrong.”

  Suddenly he heard Saint whistling low, as if exhaling and breathing. He was too uptight to ask what he was doing, why was he making that sound. “I don’t know what the hell it is, but it’s … evil. I’m standin’ here lookin’ at it. It’s big and dark. Oh wait, it’s leaving now.” He heard the man sigh on the other end, and the whistling sound ceased.

  “You did that, didn’t you? How did you do that?”

  “Don’t worry. It’s gone now. You’re still frantic, Angel. Take a few deep breaths. It’s going to be okay.”

  “I thought I was gonna pass out! You shoulda seen it!”

  “I didn’t need to. I could feel it through you…”

  “Angel!” Patricia called out from the kitchen. “Wash your hands. It’s time for dinner.”

  “Angel, it’s not going to hurt you. It can’t. I put protection over you a long time ago from such things. It’s low tier, but annoying all the same. That was simply some really messed up intimidation. It’s trying to scare you so that you stop helping to watch over Hassani, just as you told me the Demon Children were doing. Look, go on and eat dinner and do your homework. Do what Patricia says. I will take additional measures, all right? It’s going to be okay. I promise.”

  Angel hesitated to speak as he reflected over the way the thing had completely vanished, as if it had never been there in the first place.

  “Okay.”

  “Angel, I know you’re afraid. Look, you know what? This is too much. You’re just a child yourself. That pact you and Hassani made was something you both needed at the time, but it’s really not fair for you to have to do that and then—”

  “No! I meant what I said the other day, Saint. I will look after Hassani. I told you a long time ago I felt like I didn’t have a reason to live, to be here, but when I saw him being picked on that very first day of school, I knew he was my little brother, through thick and thin. Please don’t try to take that away from me. I can’t explain the connection to you, Saint. It’s magnetic. I couldn’t abandon him even if I wanted to. I will watch over him just like I watch over my own flesh and blood. Just tell me what you need me to do, and I’ll do it.”

  “I don’t like what’s happening to you, Angel, but I understand your position and feelings about it. Look, I’m sending Lawrence out to bless your house. It will happen while
you’re asleep. You may have strange dreams as he is doing it.”

  A sense of vulnerability suddenly washed over him.

  “Angel!” Patricia screamed out again. “Your brother and I are waiting.” He glanced at the woman now standing in the hallway, her hands on her narrow hips as she scowled in his direction.

  “I’m comin’, damn! Just on the phone with Saint. Be there in a second.”

  The woman huffed and turned away, her house slippers dragging against the wooden floor as she made her way back into the small dining room.

  “I want you to go on, Angel, like I said. We’ll talk later. If you see anything else, you call me and let me know, okay? It’s all right to be afraid, Angel. It doesn’t make you less of a young man.”

  “I’m not afraid for me, Saint. I’m afraid for you…”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  “What … the hell … is going on?!” Xenia rubbed up and down her arm as she glared at her husband sitting in his study, where he’d spent the better part of the evening. A strange white smoke curled from under the threshold of the closed door, leaving a wispy smolder across the first floor of the house. She’d first thought her man was smoking stogies back to back, chain gang, smoky train trails—but upon a careful sniff, she realized she didn’t smell her husband’s cigars at all. He was emitting a fusion of tumultuous emotions.

  The coast was clear—the children tucked away safely in their rooms and Mama on the back stoop smoking a cigarette and chatting it up with one of her girlfriends from back home. Holding her breath, Xenia grabbed the knob and pushed the office door open. The smolder immediately dissipated around his form, making him suddenly visible as if he’d been expecting her.

  Saint sat behind his massive desk, dwarfing the damn thing from his energy alone. His unbuttoned, dark blue shirt exposed a sweaty, angry mess of a man. Objects floated about—a globe, an ink pen, business cards, and more. An eight-ball, black marble paperweight tilted and tottered in his direction. Looking directly at her, his jaws tense, he wrapped his large palm around the black globe and crushed it as if it were made of crepe paper. Crossing her arms over her waist, she observed him do the same to a glass tumbler. A trickle of blood oozed from his fingers, yet, the intensity in his glare proved he didn’t care.