Malice

And the best part about his admittedly hot, scary ass?

He barely spares Saint a glance before his gaze locks on me.

“You Mal?” he asks in a voice that’s deep and gritty and makes Saint release a low and gravelly sound of his own.

“Yeah,” I say softly, nervously tucking a lock of hair behind my ear. “That’s me.”

“Who the fuck are you?” Saint demands, but the guy continues to ignore him.

To this guy, Saint-Fucking-Angelle is invisible, and although his expression and demeanor are relaxed, his eyes are intent as they bore into me.

“JJ sent me,” the stranger drawls.

Well, hell.