Son of Saint (The Savage Heirs #1) Read Online Ruby Vincent

Categories Genre: Contemporary, Crime, Erotic, Mafia, Romance Tags Authors: Series: The Savage Heirs Series by Ruby Vincent
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Total pages in book: 161
Estimated words: 154882 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 774(@200wpm)___ 620(@250wpm)___ 516(@300wpm)
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“Ah, yes, would you be speaking of the young ladies that delivered you on the doorstep like an injured bird? What happened to you, Sunny? From your lips.”

I grabbed the remote on my nightstand and raised the bed. “It’s not going to differ much from what they told you. I went to a club opening where I must’ve been drugged. Next thing I know, I’m hurling off the 414. The girls took care of me, brought me to an off-the-books doc, and got me here. So I repeat, where are they?”

“Deep breath.”

I complied, waiting her out.

“Miss Blaine and her sister were held downstairs by security. They are being taken care of, but despite Miss Blaine’s insistence that they be allowed to leave, Thatcher has kept them close until you confirmed their story. He also asked to speak with you the moment you woke up. How do you feel?”

“I feel fine.” Actually, I felt like a rhino sat on me, then sat on me again because my shouts made it laugh. “How do I look?”

Hendrix hesitated. “Sunny... the doctor that worked on you did well repairing the bleed, but I assume post-op care was neglected, leading to your infection and fever.”

Sinking into the pillows, I fixed on the ceiling. “You assume correctly. What’s the damage?”

“The infection has cleared up and your scar is healing nicely.”

“That’s great. So why do you look like you’re about to tell me I’m stage four?”

Bending over, Hendrix retrieved a folder from her bag. “There’s something else we have to discuss.”

MACKENZIE

“Hello?” I banged on the wood. “Hello, is anyone out there? Let us out of here, you trigger-happy wannabe Queen groupies!”

“Kenzie, relax.” Sienna stretched out on the couch, sucking down a plate of chocolate chip cookies and a carton of apple juice. “Mr. Thatcher said we’d be released when he’s had a chance to talk to Sunny. At least our holding cell is pretty swanky.”

I shook my head. It wasn’t so much a holding cell as it was a private waiting room complete with couches, coffee table, bland hotel art, a television, and a well-stocked mini-fridge. Thatcher was good enough to bring us lunch, dinner, pillows and blankets, and eventually breakfast as the day bled into the next, and he still waited on that conversation with Sunny. What he did not give me was my knife or my freedom.

“Do you think Sunny’s okay? Did we get him here on time?”

“We got him here as fast as we could, considering we stopped for a showdown. Kenzie, what are we going to do?” she asked under her breath. “We can’t go back to the underpass in case Sunny’s would-be killer ever shows up looking for the witnesses, and now our second go-to place just became a crime scene. Where are we going to go?”

Deflating, I flopped on the couch. “I don’t know. Despite Sunny sending Digger running with piss stains on his pants, I have a feeling we don’t want to run into him in a dark alley anytime soon. We may have to stay out of North Quay for a while.”

Sienna rested a hand on my knee. “I’m sorry. I want to stay in North Quay as badly as you do, but that makes the most sense. We’re in Leighbridge now. I’m sure we can find a nice shelter or two, ask the women there about the best spots to sleep and set up for readings.”

“Yeah,” I said, frustration crushing my chest. “That’s what we’ll do.”

Thatcher came in and gestured to us. “Come with me. Mr. Bellisario has granted you permission to enter his suite.”

I didn’t move. “Afterward, are we free to go?”

“Yes, ma’am, you can exit the Fairfield whenever you wish, and this should have been said before, thank you for returning Mr. Bellisario to us. You have the gratitude of his family as well as the staff.”

Wow. Sunny is truly loved around here.

“What... is this place?”

“Fairfield,” he said simply. “Mr. Bellisario’s home. If you’ll follow me.”

Thatcher strode off, expecting us to do just that. He led us through the bowels of the staff rooms, into the lobby and elevator. A quick swipe of his badge sent us shooting up.

“Can you imagine what his place looks like?” Sienna said in my ear. “I bet he has a fountain of melted chocolate that he rolls around in with his conquests.”

“Who has chocolate fountains in their living room, Si?”

“Rich people, sister mine. Rich people.”

The elevator dinged open.

Sunny Bellisario did not have a chocolate fountain, but that was the only thing he didn’t own. My mouth fell open walking inside the bachelor’s paradise. Arcade games claimed a corner of the apartment and lit the ceiling in multicolor, eager for someone to play. His sunken living room boasted a spread of cushy couches to go with the enviable entertainment system. Chef’s kitchen on one side. A random collection of paintings taking up the other—from modernism to surrealism to nude portraits, no two were alike.


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