Chapter 54 The File
Serena
All the heat of the moment vanished, dread filling up my stomach as I waited for what next would happen. Sin pulled me to my feet to give Saint more room to answer the call.
I took the oversized shirt Sin grabbed for me and tugged it down my body.
Why was my aunt calling randomly?
“The contract stated that we cut contact after the business deal. You've fallen back on your word.” Saint answered in a firm tone.
My aunt's husky laughter filled the room for a moment. “You're so uptight, Saint. If only you channeled the same energy somewhere else.”
Saint's face tightened, as if he was considering hanging up on her.
“What do you want? I have better things to do that beats indulging a human trafficker like you.” He spat the words out like they were disgusting.
The word human trafficker should have made my aunt angry. Instead, she laughed.
That laugh crawled over my skin like something wet and cold, dragging me right out of the haze Saint and Sin had wrapped me in minutes ago. My stomach knotted so fast it hurt.
“Such a harsh label,” she purred through the speaker. “I prefer businesswoman. Or perhaps facilitator.”
Saint didn’t blink. He remained where he was at the edge of the bed, his phone held to his ear, every line of his body carved out of polished restraint.
Only his jaw gave him away, it was hard and sharp enough to cut.
“Say what you called for,” he said. “Before I hang up.”
Across the room, Sin went still.
That was always worse than when he raged.
He was half-dressed now, in the middle of dressing up, actually, one hand on the buckle of his belt, the other braced against the dresser.
He slowly straightened, all the heat stripped from his face, leaving behind something darker. His expression was watchful. Predatory.
My pulse skittered.
My aunt clicked her tongue. “Still rude. I thought marriage might improve your manners.”
“We’re not married,” I said before I could stop myself. I didn't know why I'd blurted it out like that. I didn't mean for it to sound like that. Damn.
Silence fell over the room, and regret washed over me like a wave.
She laughed again, and this time it was louder, meaner.
“There she is. It's been so long, girl. I was wondering when I'd ever hear your voice again. Let me guess, you want a divorce already?”
Every muscle in my body locked.
Saint’s gaze flicked to mine for a second. But it was enough. A warning. A silent ‘Don’t engage unless you have to.’
But it was too late, because my aunt had heard me.
And once she knew she had my attention, she never let go. Not without drawing blood first.
“What do you want?” I asked, hating how thin my voice sounded. I moved closer to Saint.
“Aw.” Mock sympathy dripped from every syllable. “You sound frightened, sweetheart.”
I bit the inside of my cheek so hard I tasted iron.
Sin pushed away from the dresser and came closer, slowly, like a storm rolling in. He was being protective, but funny. I mean, my aunt couldn't hurt me through Saint's phone.
Oh, she could, with her wicked tongue.
Saint’s tone went glacial. “You don’t get to speak to her. You don't deserve to speak to her.”
“Oh, don’t be possessive,” my aunt said lightly. “You bought her, didn’t you?”
The room changed. I felt it. Like the temperature dropped ten degrees in one breath.
Saint’s shoulders went rigid. Sin’s head tilted, just slightly, like he was deciding how many pieces a human body could come apart in before it stopped being recognizable.
My lungs forgot how to work. She'd said…. ‘Bought her’. She said it so casually. Like I was livestock again. A body. A transaction. Something that could be priced, sold, delivered, and used.
Saint’s voice came out so calm it frightened me more than shouting would have. “Careful.”
“Or what?” she shot back. “You’ll kill me? Join the line.”
Now that struck a note. I saw it in the way Saint’s eyes narrowed. In the way Sin folded his arms across his chest, like the gist was getting interesting.
I cleared my throat. “What line?”
No one answered me. Not immediately, anyway.
On the phone, I heard my aunt take a slow drag of a cigarette. She smoked like a chimney, the house was always stuffy and cloudy with cigarette smoke because she never learned the habit of stepping out to smoke.
I could picture it too easily. The stained fingers. Her cheap red lipstick. (My aunt was addicted to cheap things!) The way she used smoke like punctuation whenever she wanted to feel powerful.
“Here’s the thing,” she said at last. “I’m calling because our dear Christabel has developed a sudden interest in my continued existence.”
Wait a second…. She mentioned their mother's name like they were best of friends. Why?
Saint’s expression didn’t change, he looked as stoic as he did from the beginning.
“Explain.”
“She sent men.” My aunt stated flatly.
Sin moved then. Just one step, but it was enough to make my pulse kick harder.
“Why?” Saint asked. “And why should we even believe you?”
“The Elitist Magazine published an article claiming that Mrs Rivers may or may not be your biological mother. And while that isn't none of my damn business, she thinks I'll leak information to hungry journalists since I'm your aunt.”
“Absolute nonsense.” Sin murmured.
“What kind of information?” Saint pushed, stroking his one day old stubble.
“You're a smart man, Saint. You outsmarted me once. Running out of fuel?” My aunt teased.
“You're wasting my time.” Saint growled impatiently.
“If the world knows you bought my niece like a commodity with cash, there'll be no peace for either of you.” She finally explained. “She's trying to get me to ask you to stop the games you're playing or she'll make sure I rot in jail.”
This wasn't good at all. Christabel would never rest until she ascended to the top seat of that woman cult club she belonged to.
“How many men did she send?” Saint asked after a minute.
“Two first. Then four.” She exhaled smoke. “The second set were more polite. Dressed in better suits, and cleaner shoes, too. One of them called me ma’am while he broke my kitchen cabinet looking for a file.”
The word snagged inside me. File?
Saint heard it too. “What file?”
My aunt made a humming sound, pleased. There it was. The real reason she’d called.