Merciless Saints (St. Monarch's Academy 1)

I have Winter.

“What do you need?” my brother asks.

“Everything,” I grind the word out. “I need everything. Passports. A plane. A fucking safe house. Weapons.”

“Damien!” Demitri snaps. “Take a breath. You need to be calm, or you’ll get her killed. If that happens…”

He doesn’t have to finish the sentence. If Winter dies on my watch, it will be the end of my career as a custodian.

Chapter 12

WINTER

No.

No.

No.

“Winter.” Cillian takes hold of my chin and lifts my face to his. “Oh, poppet. I’m so sorry.”

No.

“You can reach me on this number. I’ll get a burner as soon as it’s safe to stop. I’ll text you the new number,” Damien says to someone. “Thanks, Demitri.” Then I hear him growl. “What’s your name?”

“Cillian Byrne.”

“Dam –”

“Do you seriously think you’d be in this car if I didn’t know who you were?” Cillian snaps at Damien.

A strangled sound escapes me. Not because of the hostility between Cillian and Damien, but because I keep seeing my father and brother die. The flashes won’t stop.

The way their bodies jerked. The blood. The moment they hit the floor.

I was still in shock from hearing Dad contracted Damien and then… my family. My whole family. They’re all gone.

I gasp for air as a cry ripples up my throat.

I have no one.

“Poppet,” Cillian murmurs as he pulls me tighter to his chest. “I’m so sorry. I’ve got you. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

“You can’t promise me that.” My voice is hoarse from the raw and incessant grief ripping through me.

“Winter,” Damien snaps from the front, and my eyes rush to meet his in the rearview mirror. “You’re safe. I’ll get you home.”

Home.

What’s the use of having a home if there’s no family to fill the walls?

Oh, God.

Another wave of sorrow hits, threatening to drag me under.

Gasping, I lift a hand to my throat as it starts to ache from all the strain of not crying.

Dad. Sean.

Sean.

Oh, God.

A sob pushes past my defenses and escapes my parted lips.

Sweet Sean.

“He’s dead,” I whimper. “Sean’s dead. I didn’t protect him.”

Cillian’s hold on me tightens, and he presses a kiss to my forehead. “I’m so sorry, poppet.”

“Blyad',” Damien growls, and then something slams into the back of our jeep.

Pulling away from Cillian, I glance out the back window. There’s a black car right on our tail, but I can’t see the driver through the tinted windows.

Suddenly, Damien takes a sharp turn up a narrow street, and it has my body falling against Cillian’s. “Seatbelt,” Cillian mutters, and helping me back to my side of the backseat, he straps me in.

I grab hold of the door and brace myself as Damien swerves around corners. Buildings blur from the speed we’re going. My eyes find Damien, and I focus on his tight and secure grip on the steering wheel.

Then it hits again. Damien’s my custodian now. Unknowingly, it was the last gift Dad gave me. Probably, the most important gift ever.

The protection of a Vetrov.

Then I remember the call Damien made, and I manage to ask, “Did you speak to Demitri?”

“Yes. He’s on his way.”

“Alexei?” I ask.

“Yes,” Damien grinds the words out.

Revenge.

I’ll be able to take revenge with them on my side.

My sorrow morphs into a deadly force, giving life to the strength I need to get through this. I’ll avenge my family.

“I want every last Blanco dead,” I growl. “I don’t care how much it will cost. I don’t care how many men you have to hire. Build an army and eradicate the Blanco name.”

“Winter,” Cillian stops my rant. “First, we need to get back to the island.”

I shake my head hard. “I’m done running. It’s all I’ve done my entire life. Run and hide. And for what? I still lost my whole family. Blood for blood. I won’t rest until they’re dead.”

My anger feeds off my grief, becoming an inferno that threatens to incinerate the woman I was. A daughter. A sister.

Blood Princess.

Not because of the diamonds but because I’ve been soaked in the blood of my family.

“What island?” Damien asks.

“Near Finland,” Cillian answers. “We have to find a way to get there. Taking the jet is out of the question. They’ll probably have men watching it.”

“Blyad'! That’s a thirty-five-hour drive. If we don’t stop.” Damien’s voice is tense, and it makes my muscles stiffen.

“We can get a plane in Germany,” Cillian voices.

“We need passports. We need to find a place to lay low,” Damien grumbles.

I push myself a little up, and glancing through the back window, I see we’ve lost whoever was following us.

Cillian’s phone begins to ring, and instead of handing it back to Cillian, Damien answers, “Yes.” He listens for a moment, then asks, “Where?” I watch as Damien looks at the road signs, and then he slams on the breaks. “Thanks. I’ll be in touch.”

Damien makes a U-turn, and it has Cillian asking, “Where are we going?”