His Halo is a Lie

I push my doors open, and the familiar creak echoes through the apartment. My coat comes off next, but just as I stretch my hands to place it on the hanger, I freeze.

Something isn't right in here.

As an Emergency room nurse, I have learned how to pick up even the smallest detail because that might just be the difference between a dead and living patient. Applying it to my everyday life is easy, because I am almost always the only person I let into my space.

The coat hits the floor in a whisper as I let it go, then place one foot after the other, pushing further into my apartment. It is a tiny space above a bookstore, so it should take only a few minutes to cover every inch of it.

I can smell the perfume, rich and strong, with every step I take.

"Who is here?" I call, my heart thumping hard against my chest. "You better run away now while you have the chance. The cops are already on their way."

Silence.

With my trembling hands, I pick up the base bat that never leaves the side of the door. I walk to the kitchen first, finding it empty. But I know that there is someone in the house with me.

Giving the living area and the open plan kitchen one last sweep, I edge towards my bedroom.

That is where I find it, my window broken with shards of glass on the floor.

"Oh no!" I groan, my fear forgotten for a second as I calculate how much it will take me to fix it. I don't have that extra cash lying around to spare.

My fear gets replaced by rage as I stop by the door of the last room in the apartment. The adjoining bathroom. I nudge it aside and step in, my blood boiling and my hand about to hit the base bat on the head of anyone I find inside.

But I stop at once, my eyes widening in surprise, when I see the crumpled form inside my bathtub, red crimson everywhere.

Okay. Maybe crumpled isn't the best word to describe it, because this man is everything but that. My bathtub can barely contain his tall frame, with his long legs dangling by the sides, inches apart from each other.

He is bleeding.

The bat falls from my hands at once as I rush over. I notice him clutching his stomach, so I go there first, attempting to pry his hands away.

A groan slips from his lips. "You're back."

"Who are you?" I whisper, using my hands to block the bleeding, just as my eyes scan every surface of the bathroom, searching for the first aid box.

His eyes fly open, and I almost jerk back from their intensity. Two pools of icy grey eyes stare back at me in the dimly lit bathroom, framed by the most perfect features I have ever seen in my entire life.

And that is saying something since I see a number of men stroll in through the hospital doors every day.

"Aren't you supposed to treat me first?" He regards me with a lazy expression, like he isn't in so much pain. Anyone with that wound will be.

"You broke my window!" I mutter as I move, grabbing the first aid by the sink and returning to his side. I will have to stop the bleeding before I get him out of the tub. "That poses you as a threat to me, and negates whatever treatment I might have given you. I could report you to the cops right now."

"But you won't." His speech is getting slurred, and I can see him struggling to stay awake. "You need me alive if you're going to have a case."

His confidence scratches at me.

My hands reach for the switch next to the tub, but he stops me at once, his bloodied hands on top of mine. But that isn't what gets me pulling away.

It is the sudden jolt of electricity that travels up my arm.

"No lights," he whispers, shaking his head.

"I can't see in the dark."

"No light, Maya."

Great! He knows my name. I don't know how to feel about that.

Nodding, I move towards his wound, gasping when I see exactly what it is.

"You should have gone to the hospital!" I snap, but he is already falling asleep due to the gradual loss of blood. I can't carry out a transfusion in here, and even if I could, there is no blood, and I am sure as hell not donating to a bloody stranger, even though I am type 0.

Without any anaesthesia, I administer pain killers and get to work, shrugging off his tuxedo and black linen shirt. I try not to stare too long at the tattoo covering every skin on one arm, as I use a pair of pincers to retrieve the bullet. The clang echoes through the walls of the bathroom as it hits the sink.

After patching him up, I give him another bout of painkillers and, with great difficulty, move him into my bedroom. He falls back into the arms of sleep the moment his back hits the bed, leaving me in the dark and the strangely gaping silence.

A tuft of jet-black hair from his perfectly sleeked hair teases me. I reach out to push it back, my hand lingering a second too long. I find it difficult to breathe, my heart hammering against my chest as if trying to claw its way out.

"Don't touch me," he whispers drowsily. "You shouldn't touch me."

Catching myself, I grab a pillow and stretch out on the floor. The chill hits me immediately, but there is nothing I can do about it since the stranger is using my only quilt.

I don't know when I finally fall asleep, but the next time I open my eyes, I am the only one in the bedroom, now on the bed, with the quilt covering me.

And the only evidence that someone was in here, that it wasn't all my imagination, is the mess in my bathroom.

On the second day, I meet my door open. But this time, I am not scared. It is strange that a tinge of excitement courses through me as I step in, my feet immediately leading me to my bedroom.

"You shouldn't look that excited to see me." His voice, nestled in the dark, makes me jump. He is seated on my couch, sipping from a wine glass that hasn't seen the light of day in a while. His fingers hold the stem too tightly, so I am scared it is going to break.

"Is that..."

"Your wine? Yeah. I found it in the cupboards. However, I must say that I am not a fan. It tastes...weird."

"That is what you get for barging into people's houses and going through their stuff." I admit that it took me a few minutes to realize how strange this situation is, and I am not proud of that for someone who should take their security very seriously.

Still, I can't explain it, but I feel safe with him. I don't know him, but he looks so familiar. And I have this feeling that he won't hurt me.

"You can't call this a house," he says in the same casual tone, like we are friends talking about the weather, like he isn't a stranger sitting on my goddamn couch. "Everything is falling apart. Do you know how easy it was to break the window in?"

He leans back into the couch and crosses one leg over the other. In that minute, it clicks. I know why he looks so familiar.

I have seen his face on the roll-up banners lining the hospital's waiting room. He is Saint Lachlan, the greatest sponsor we have at the hospital and the most eligible bachelor in Los Angeles.

But I have also heard stories. Stories that make me take a step back, watching him warily.

"You have the worst security instinct." He eyes me lazily. "First, you treat a stranger with a bullet wound and let him sleep in your bed all through the night, and next, you don't call the cops even when you find him on your couch, sipping your cheap wine."

He gets up then, edging dangerously towards me, his icy grey eyes staring straight into mine like he can see through me, like he knows every one of my deeply buried secrets.

"Saint..." I begin, but stop when I realize I have nothing to say. My tongue has curled in on itself, and I don't trust my abilities to think straight right now.

I stop moving when my back hits the door, trapping me on the spot. Saint towers over me easily, the casualness gone from his face, leaving in its wake an expression as still as ice that it makes me shudder.

"Saint..."

"Don't call me like you know me, Maya, because you don't." His eyes turn a dark shade, and he steps even closer to me. My eyes flutter closed as I feel his warm breath caressing my face. I should be scared in this moment. I am scared. Still, I don't move an inch.

"And look at me when I'm talking to you."

My eyes jerk open, but I can't look into his. I find a spot on the ground.

"I have come to give you a deal. I need to ensure that you don't tell a soul about what happened here last night."

"I won't!" The words come tumbling out before I can stop them. "I have only one friend, and she doesn't care about this stuff. No one visits me here, and I have too much already going on in my life to care about..."

"Shut up, Maya, and listen."

"Please, don't kill me," I whimper, finally feeling human when the thought of imminent death hits. I know how easy it is for him to make me disappear. No one would even look for me.

He scoffs. "I don't want to kill you, Maya. Although that will always be an option if you step a toe out of line."

I peek up at him. He has pulled away from me and is now watching me with a ghost of amusement in his eyes.

"You won't kill me?"

"I'm offering you protection and a bit more financial stability." He looks around to prove his point.

My eyes narrow. "Protection? From who? I have lived here for more than five years now, and this is the first time anyone has broken into my house. I need protection. You're right! But the only person I need protection from is you."

"I was shot in the alley close to your apartment last night, and the people who shot at me knew I came into one of the buildings in the area. Can you guess what would happen to everyone living here, or should I spell it out for you?"

"I know what happens to those who cross people like you."

"No, you don't." His voice drops into a whisper. "The people who shot at me will stop at nothing until they find me, and they won't mind killing every single person in the area just to get to me. But it will be worse for you when they find out you are a nurse. What are the chances of me leaving here alive if I hadn't been treated?"

Maybe it is the way he says it, or the sudden darkness in his eyes. But I feel every bit of those words. The image of my brother, his eyes wide open, lifeless, with a pool of blood surrounding him like a halo, suddenly taints my imagination, and a chill erupts in my spine.

"Who are these people, and why did they shoot at you?" I whisper, unable to shake the feeling of dread off me.

"That is none of your business, Maya."

"It is. And I am not going anywhere with you. This is my home, and not even some sleazy bastards can chase me out of it. I don't need your protection or your money."

"Too late," he mutters, just as I hear a loud bang coming from my bedroom. In a split second, Saint grabs my hand and pulls me in the direction of an escape I had no idea existed until today.

We hide in the disused water closet, as the second trickle pass. Saint presses a hand over my mouth to keep me from making a sound. It feels like forever, as I listen to my belongings getting thrashed without being able to do a thing about it.

Even when I no longer hear them, Saint doesn't let me move, pushing me hard against him for another couple of minutes. He steps out first, retrieving a gun I hadn't seen last night when I treated him and covering the space.

When he doesn't return, I get out too, joining him in the middle of my bedroom. My bed has been turned over, and the contents of my wardrobe are all over the floor.

I turn to look at him, just as a knock sounds on my door, followed by a sing-song voice.

"Stay here!" I instruct with clenched teeth, before walking out of the room, shutting the door behind me. Saint didn't look like one used to taking instructions, but he brought me here in the first place. The least he can do is listen to me.

"Maya!" My best friend's voice travels through the building.

"Hey!" I whisper as I pull the door open, my eyes darting all around to ensure no one is watching us. "I wasn't expecting you tonight."

Her mouth falls wide open in mock horror. "Maya Sutton, don't tell me you forgot all about our movie night planned. I even brought the cans of beer you asked for. You were supposed to make the popcorn."

"Shit!" I press my palm against my forehead. "Ava, I'm so sorry, but today isn't a good day for our movie night. We can..."

She leans in closer and narrows her eyes. "Why are you whispering?" And then she looks behind me, a knowing smile stretching through her face. "Is there a man in there, Maya? Is that what this is about?"

"Ava..."

"You don't have to lie to me about it," she chuckles. "God knows how long I have waited to hear you say those words. You live like a hermit, and I was beginning to get worried about you."

"Well, you have no reason to do that anymore," I whisper, already feeling bad for lying to my best friend. "Why don't you..."

"Of course!" She chirps, pulling away from the door, a light spring in her steps. "I'll leave you to finish what you started.

Ava walks away from the door and then calls over her shoulder abruptly as she disappears from view. "Don't forget to use protection! They taught us enough of that in nursing school."

"Did you tell your friend we were having sex, Maya Sutton?"

I jump and turn around. His gun has been safely tucked away, but I still can't wrap my head around the fact that something like that was in my apartment.

"You need to leave, Saint. I have to tidy up my house and get ready for work tomorrow."

Surprisingly, he doesn't argue as he walks around me to the door. "I left my card on your bed. Call me if anything happens."

"Let's not meet again, Saint Lachlan."

"My men are already around this building, just in case you remain stubborn and choose not to call me."

"Goodnight, Saint."

I pull the door open and watch as he saunters out before closing it again. The silence inside the apartment is deafening, and it feels like so much has happened in the space of twenty-four hours.

Changing out of my uniform, I start cleaning, putting everything back where they are supposed to be. The window in my room is still broken in, but the shards of glass on the floor appear different from the ones that were there last night, almost as if it was fixed before the new attack, only a few minutes ago.

I have just had my bath, with my towel wrapped around my frame, when the smell hits.

The smell of burning paper.

Rushing to the window overlooking the bookstore downstairs, I see the flame licking everything inside the building, bits of paper flying into the air, and the windows breaking with a loud groan.

I remain there, frozen with shock and bouncing on my feet. Before my brain finally processes what is happening, my front door suddenly crashes with a deafening sound, broken particles flying through the living area.

I push back away from the window just as Saint storms inside, his coat billowing behind him and his eyes burning with such intensity that I don't know which to be scared of the most, the burning building or the man in front of me.

His eyes darken as his gaze meets mine, wet, shaking, and wrapped in nothing but a towel. I see the primal look flash through his eyes, so fast that I might have been mistaken.

My hands move up to hold the towel tighter, but it's too late. It slips off my body, landing on the ground in a silent whisper. I cannot move, cannot breathe, as Saint takes one slow step forward, and then another.

My breath hitches as he tosses a hoodie and leggings in my direction. "Put these on," he growls. "Now."

I finally move, my feet coming as I shrug into the clothes, wondering where they came from. Saint disappears into my bedroom and reappears a minute later with a duffel bag. A man in a dark suit accompanies him, and I am glad I am already covered.

"Saint..." I start, but the sharp look in his eyes makes me press my lips together grimly.

"They burned the bookstore, Maya. If that doesn't scare you, I don't know what else will."

He hands the duffel back to the man standing next to him, then stalks closer to me, grabbing my wrist. "Let's go."

Saint doesn't give me an option as he pulls me with him towards the door and out into the cool night air. The firefighters are already on the scene, the whoosh of their hoses singing in the air.

We're almost at the gleaming black car, when I pause, a strange chill crawling up my spine. From the corner of my eyes, right before Saint pushes me into the car, I see it.

A figure, hooded by the darkness, watching us.