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

by Tiana Laveen

  “That’s what brothers do, Bomb.” Saint snatched him close and gave him a hug.

  “I didn’t like taking help from someone I was supposed to protect, but it had to be done.” Bomb stepped back from him and regarded him, almost bringing everyone to tears. “Sometimes the savior turns into the one needing to be saved.”

  Angel suddenly cleared his throat, as if the information being relayed plugged into him directly.

  “This man loved me enough to give a damn, show me I was better than all the shit I was doin’. He was arguin’ with his old lady about me. My issues were messing up his happy home. My addiction caused problems for everyone who cared about me. It wasn’t many people that cared, though; that was the problem. But all you need is one … just one. Anyway, no need to get all mushy.” He winked in Saint’s direction and drew a laugh from him. “But I haven’t had even a joint in two years, three months, and eight days.”

  “That’s what’s up, man!” Raphael slapped the man’s shoulder and nodded in approval.

  “Now, who is this?” Bomb stood taller and crossed his arms over his stomach as he eyed Angel.

  “This is Angel Diaz, the one I’ve been telling you about.”

  Bomb smirked, cocked his head to the side and pointed at himself, then at Angel.

  “You and me … we’re the same. ¿Estas siendo un buen hermano?” he asked, questioning if Angel was being a good brother.

  “Si, pero padria hacerlo major.”

  “All right, you can do better, you say.” Bomb sucked on his bottom lip. “That’s honest. That’s real. That’s why you brought him here, right?” He turned his attention back towards Saint.

  “Yes, and I found out that you’re like one of his idols. He’s also been sayin’ shit to Hassani that I don’t appreciate, so if you want to take him in the ring after your little chit chat and wear his ass out, I won’t mind,” Saint stated smugly.

  “Saint, you’re wrong for that.” Raphael chuckled as Angel stood there with his mouth hanging open.

  “All right.” Bomb grinned. “Give me ten minutes. I am almost finished with this guy and then you and me will have a one on one.”

  Angel barely nodded, but Saint could see the trepidation, awe, and respect in the teenager’s eyes.

  “He’s a legend,” Angel stated softly as they watched Bomb disappear back into the ring and finish his session with the young contender.

  “Yeah, and he’s a legend not just because he can knock out most men with one punch, but because of what’s in here.” Saint pointed to his heart. “I have mad respect for that man—drugs, psychosis, insolence and all. Angel, Raphael and I are going to dip and get a bite to eat.” Saint glanced down at his Rolex. “We’ll pick you up when you’re finished. Call me.”

  As they walked away, Raphael nudged Saint in the side.

  “That boy was all excited to meet him, but as soon as he saw him, you could see he was scared shitless of Bomb!” He cackled.

  “Hell, who isn’t?” Saint chuckled.

  “Bomb is intimidating, I’ll give that to you … even to grown ass men, and dude ain’t even all that big.”

  “Just goes to show it’s not the size of the mothafucka that makes all the difference in combat. It’s how that son of a bitch can move.”

  “True enough. Now, where are we going to stuff our faces?” Raphael ran his hand over his bald head the zipped up his leather jacket as they exited the gym.

  “Shit, you tell me. I’m pretty hungry actually. How ’bout some falafels? I need to—” He paused at the sight of a White man bundled up as if it were five degrees below zero.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I just had a feeling about this guy.” He pointed to the man up ahead who was now waiting to cross the street. “Hold on a second, Raphael.” Saint took fast steps towards the stranger. “Excuse me, I don’t mean to bother you … and this is going to sound ridiculous, but I want you to be careful tonight.”

  “Excuse me?” The man’s pale skin wrinkled as he grimaced, his squinty dark eyes like tiny, broken-off pieces of coal atop a blanket of snow.

  “I’m…” Saint took a deep breath, struggling for the right words. “I’m a psychic, okay? Doesn’t matter if you believe me or not, but I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t tell you that tonight I feel like you will be going to some sort of retirement celebration of a friend. When you leave that party, just be careful. You’ll be alone and there is someone, a stranger, who may try to rob you. I want you to walk out with a friend, and have them stand out there with you and wait for your cab.”

  The man’s eyes widened in horror, and then his face turned red, a look of anger filling his expression.

  “That’s devilish, you hear me?! Witchery, sorcery, predictions, all of it is evil! Prophecy, psychics, astrology, all of that mumbo jumbo bull is from the Devil!”

  Saint took a few steps back, smiled, and held up his hands.

  “I’m sorry that I’ve offended you. You’re a Christian, I take it?”

  “Yes! I most certainly am.”

  “But you are going to a friend’s retirement party tonight, aren’t you? And that friend worked for over forty years at that place. His name I can’t grasp, but he’s tall and you and he have been close for years.”

  The man visibly swallowed, but said nothing.

  “I’ll take that as a yes. I’m not the Devil, sir … and if I may, not that I wish to argue with you because that’s pointless, but I wish to clarify. The sin is when you put astrology above the Creator. Do you realize that God created the constellations and they were used by prophets in the Bible? How is prophecy a sin when the three wise men used stars to find baby Jesus? And again, I’m not the Devil; in fact, I fight against evil, sir.”

  “You’re a liar and trying to confuse people out here. People like you, palm readers and—”

  “I’m not a palm reader.” Saint grinned. “I get nothing out of telling you this information. I didn’t ask you for a donation, a fee, nothing, and I’m not lying, because obviously I have given you specific details about your plans this evening and we don’t even know each other. I listen to the God within me, and I was led to warn you about a situation tonight that could change your life forever. What you do with that information is up to you. You can dismiss it, and that’s your right.”

  “I will, and you obviously don’t know your Bible.”

  “Oh, I know it, and I know it quite well. What I do and what I am, I owe no apologies for. I was given this gift for this reason: Ephesians 4:12 says, ‘For the perfecting of the saints, for the work of the ministry, for the edifying of the body of Christ.’ Ironically, my first name is Saint. 2 Peter 1:21 says, ‘Prophecy came not in old time by the will of man: but holy men of God spoke as they were moved by the Holy Ghost. In the book of Numbers, 12:6-8 says, ‘If there be a prophet among you, I myself the Lord will make myself known unto him in a vision, and will speak unto him in a dream.’”

  The man cleared his throat, the astonishment in his eyes showing loud and clear.

  “Sir, how many times have you had a dream that predicted or gave warning about something in your life? You were being a psychic to yourself, a prophet. Are you now evil, too?” The man sneered. “For the record, I don’t look up my zodiac sign and see what to expect each day, because the truth is within us. We’re all psychics, sir … you and me, both. Some of us are just more finely tuned. I heard a message and presented it to you—nothing more, nothing less.”

  “You’re a Muslim, aren’t you?” he spat. “Another damn foreigner. You look like a terrorist. Trump was right about you people!” Saint shook his head and laughed lightly. He turned his back on the fool.

  “You have a good day, sir. May the Creator bless you…”

  “That man was crazy.” Raphael shook his head. “Doesn’t matter though. You told him, now it’s up to him.”

  Saint glanced at his watch once again as they made their way to his parked car.

  “You know what’
s so funny? I read him as he yelled at me, saying all of those stupid things. He said all of that shit to me, right? But guess what? He won’t be standing on that corner alone tonight because of what I told him. The man who planned to rob him will walk on by and target someone else. I don’t need followers, I don’t need believers, I’m not Santa Claus or the mothafuckin’ Tooth Fairy. I just need to keep fulfilling the reason I was conceived and birthed into this world in the first place. I’m obedient to my Creator, regardless of who likes it or not…”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  “Okay, so what’s up?” Saint pulled up in front of Angel’s house to drop him off, but the boy hadn’t spoken much. He and Raphael had both tried to get the juicy tidbits of his discussion with Bomb, but Angel kept mum. Perhaps somber was a more fitting description. Saint dropped Raphael off and continued on their way; now here they were. He sat in the car looking at the kid, the sounds of rap music playing as he leaned back in his seat. “I’m not letting you out of this car until you at least tell me that you’re okay.”

  “Yes, I’m fine. I’m good, actually. I’m just…” Angel shook his head. “Surprised. He was different from I thought he’d be.”

  “Hmmm, I see.” Saint reached forward, grabbed his pack of spearmint gum and popped a piece in his mouth. He offered Angel some, and he took one. “So, is that good or bad?”

  “It’s better.” Angel smiled sadly. “He and I have a lot in common, just like you said.”

  “I told you. The similarities are uncanny. So, since you’re still standing and breathing, I take it he didn’t spar with you,” Saint teased. Angel chuckled.

  “Nah, he showed me a few moves but promised to not land any punches. He’s so fast… I can’t believe he’s as old as he is and can still move like that.”

  “That’s spirit, man. The body will do what we force it to do, as long as we take care of it. Bomb beat his body up, not from boxing, but from excessive and repeated drug abuse. His one saving grace is that he had strong genes. Anyway, he’s a wealth of information and I hope you two keep in touch.”

  “We plan on it… he, uh, he said he wouldn’t mind mentoring me.”

  Saint’s cheeks warmed with pride.

  “That’s great, Angel! I didn’t expect that, but it’s even better.”

  “Yeah, he’s going to teach me how to box, too. He told me about how you were as a kid, and how he just found out in the last few years about you being an Angel Child. Since he’s a civilian, he never really knew what that was, but he said it made sense after you let him see, you know, some of your gifts.”

  “Funny though, I was in denial most of my life about it, Angel. Raphael is the one who forced me to face it. I had just met my wife and I was coming to grips with it, but still running from it, if that makes any sense. Raphael took my ass down to the library and showed me some things he’d found. He knows I love research, and I demand facts to back up stuff. I have always been an ‘if I can’t see it with my own eyes, then it will need a lot of inspection’ kind of guy. I am a naturally skeptical person, you know? I was trying to explain away the strange moods, the elevations, the smoke, the reading of people’s minds, my almost inhuman strength. Yeah, I worked out and exercised, but I’ve always been stronger than the average person, even when I was a teenager.”

  “Hassani is strong for his age, too.”

  “Yeah, he is. I found out later of course, that’s one of the signs of a King Angel Child. No matter how big we are, if we are on a mission, mad enough or desperate enough, we can really do some physical damage. I bring up that aspect because Bomb has that naturally, but he isn’t an Angel Child. He’s always been unusually strong, and it takes people off guard. The same as you.” Saint pointed in Angel’s face. “Not only are you a good artist, smart, and good to my son, you have strength in your body. I’m trying to help you get strength in your mind and your spirit. Bomb is going to help with that, too. He excels at it. He always told me boxing is more mental than physical… you have to convince yourself into believing you are the best, the strongest, and that you can do it all.

  “Yeah, gotta be your own fan club as you say, right?”

  “That’s right. It’s you who should be sitting in the front row of everything you do. You need to be present, show gratitude for your blessings, and don’t let the haters and naysayers get you down for too long. You were born for many things, Angel.”

  “Have you seen my future, Saint?” He looked at him desperately, as if needing the reassurance.

  “I have not seen your future, Angel, but I know your purpose. One of those is to help watch over my son; of that, I am sure. But you were also born for your own ventures. You are enough all by yourself. I think you see yourself as having meaning now because you are with my son, but you had meaning before that Angel. If you and Hassani had never chosen one another, you’d still be on a path to greatness. If Bomb can change his ways and I can change my ways, then you can too.” He grabbed the boy by the back of his neck and gave him a kiss on the top of the head. When he let go, Angel was smiling, with tears in his eyes. The boy reached for the car door, swung it open, then waved before running up the brownstone steps and entering the dwelling. Saint sat there for a few minutes bobbing his head to the music, relaxing, daydreaming. Remy Ma rapped “Wake Me Up” with Lil’ Kim.

  This is the calm before another storm. Whenever I look into Angel’s eyes, and see hope for the future, I am pulled into the past and see wicked sins too. His soul is like a crystal ball … like my Isis’ heart.

  He started the car and drove off, ready to strap up for the next bomb to drop and blow his peace of mind to kingdom come…

  …One week later

  The sound of crying babies, honking cars, and venom-filled profanity poured inside the car window. Saint sat at the red light, a few blocks from his home. Lawrence was on speaker phone, his throat in his chest.

  “So, that’s basically where we are at with this,” Lawrence concluded. Saint pulled off when the light changed. As he tapped his chin in contemplation, he merged over into another lane.

  “Come by around eight. That way, my children will have had their dinner and can be contained to the upstairs. I don’t want them overhearing this meeting, especially Hassani.”

  “Understood. I will contact Jagger, Cruz, and anyone else you wish to attend.”

  “Call the 7th Precinct Angel Children, too. I want Dominique, Fredrick, Alice, all of ’em. Make sure you call all of the soldiers from the South Bronx division … everyone on Morrisania, Foxhurst, Woodstock, and Melrose, too.”

  “Consider it done.”

  Saint snatched a cigar out from the sleek silver compartment in his Lexus and lit it. After a brief series of long exhales, swirls of smoke heated with his internal fires set ablaze. “I need a fucking vacation.” He felt the burn of his eyes, so he grabbed a pair of shades and covered them. “I will see you this evening.”

  “See you later, Saint.” Lawrence ended the call.

  Fifteen minutes later, Saint pulled up to the front of his home and parked. He stepped out of the car, his dress shoes crunching down on withered, dried up leaves, turning them instantly to tawny dust. Tossing down his cigar, he stomped it, locked his car, and entered the house. Once inside, he was taken aback by the distinct scent of vanilla cake.

  “Xenia!” he called out as he hung his coat.

  “Yeah, I’m in the kitchen!” she hollered back.

  He made the trek towards the area of the house where love was calling him. Unbuttoning his sleeves, his hard steps echoed each time his feet hit the marble floor. In the kitchen, he found his three children—loud, happy, and crazy. Xenia wrapped her arms around his waist and poked her lips out, waiting for her special kiss delivery. More than happy to oblige, he responded with delight, trailing his fingers along her spine as he drew her near.

  “You’re kissing!” Isis giggled. Saint pulled away from Xenia and looked down at the little girl dressed in a kelly green jumper with little pink
and yellow roses crocheted on it. He picked her up his arms and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

  “Hey Dakarai, what are you up to?” He walked towards the boy who was sitting in the kitchen booth with puzzle pieces all over the place.

  “Grandma got me a new puzzle!” He glanced up at him, excitement in his honey colored eyes, just like his own. “This one is Star Wars.”

  “Oh, did she now? That was real nice of her. Did you say, ‘thank you’?”

  “Yes, I did. I have great manners, Daddy. I’mma gentleman. Hey, Daddy, don’t gentlemen wear tuxedos? I wanna wear one for school tomorrow, with a red bow tie. You can call me Sir Dakarai!” Xenia burst out laughing as she stood before the oven, checking in on the delicious dessert. Saint smirked at the boy and ruffled his hair, after which he made his way towards Hassani, who was leaning against the kitchen counter with headphones on and texting on his phone.

  “Hey, boy.” Saint snapped the kid’s headphones, causing Isis to laugh as the things popped back and snapped Hassani in the ear.

  “Dad, that hurt!” He placed his hand to his ear and rubbed as if he needed medical attention.

  “You’ll live. You need to pay more attention to what’s around you and get off that phone.”

  “I’m talkin’ to Asia.” Hassani brandished one of the goofiest, most lovesick faces he’d ever seen. Saint shook his head and walked away with his baby girl. He couldn’t argue with a fool in love, even if it was his very own son. Placing Isis back down on her feet, he went to kiss the back of Xenia’s neck. The woman giggled and wiggled her butt a little. He stood behind her, pressing his need against her ass.