Kings of Anarchy (Brutal Boys of Everlake Prep #3) - Caroline Peckham Page 0,14

we’d shared had been so potent that I could still feel it lingering on my lips now. It had driven away any doubt I’d ever had about his intentions towards me. He’d offered me a piece of his soul in that kiss and I’d offered him mine in return.

I set up Saint's food on a lap try and settled myself down beside him with the covers over us both. I didn't want any pauses between each instruction. I needed tasks for every minute of this day or I was never going to make it through.

Saint struggled to cut his food one handed, his irritation growing as he cursed and growled in fury.

"Let me," I offered as I finished my oatmeal and he paused as he considered that before nodding.

I cut up his food, moving to kneel beside him then holding the fork out and guiding it into his mouth. He watched me closely as I worked and I fell into the rhythm of it, feeding him one mouthful after the other.

"The man who hurt you is lucky he's dead," Saint commented conversationally. "Or I would drain his blood one drop at a time and cut him into a thousand tiny pieces for the birds to devour."

"Your heart is showing. I didn't realise you had one until you started bleeding so much," I mused.

"I’m bound to you, Tatum, dead or alive. And I would stand between you and the fires of hell to protect what is mine.”

I tilted my head to one side as I took in his fierce expression, the raging inferno in his eyes. How had I thought he was so lifeless and cold when I'd first met him? There was so much fire in him right now, it was almost blinding. My stomach squeezed at his words. Words which I never could have imagined him saying to me, let alone imagine this warm response I had to them. "You already did, Saint."

***

I woke the next day to loud classical music playing over the speakers hidden behind Saint’s bed. I must have somehow slept through it for a while because it was in the middle of a song I recognised as one of Saint's favourites. I pushed myself upright, finding the place beside me empty. Saint's IV had been taken out and my gut dropped as I realised he was nowhere in sight. On the end of the bed was a black pair of pants and a pink shirt waiting for me to put on and I cursed as I got up, hurrying downstairs through the empty lounge as I figured out where the sound was coming from.

I headed on down into the crypt, shoving the door open and finding Saint holding his uninjured arm over a bench as he did bicep curls with a heavy weight, cursing through his teeth as it made the muscles in the rest of his body tense up and jolt his injuries.

"Saint, are you crazy?!" I ran over to him in alarm, prising the weight from his hand and dropping it to the ground with a thunk.

"This is my routine," he snapped, a well of darkness opening up in his eyes as I dared defy him over this.

"You were shot and hit by a damn car," I said in exasperation. "If you push yourself, you're going to make your injuries worse. And then you won't heal right and your shoulder will be fucked up forever. Is that what you want?"

"I want things to go back to normal," he snarled, striding over to a weight rack and hobbling a little from the various cuts and bruises that covered his body.

"They aren't going back to normal. Not now. Not anytime soon. And not ever if you don't rest," I demanded.

He tsked, picking up another weight in his left hand. "I don't need rest, I need my routine."

Blake suddenly appeared through the door, huffing a breath of annoyance as he spotted Saint with the weight in his hand. He pointed at him with his teeth bared. "No working out. You don't get to almost die on us then fuck up your recovery." He charged over to Saint, wrestling the weight out of his grip and tossing it back in the rack. "Get back upstairs."

Saint got in Blake's face, knocking his forehead against his. "Don't tell me what to do, motherfucker." His threat was somewhat weakened by the paleness of his face and the shaking of his body. He really wasn’t well.

"I'll make you do it in