SAINTS DON’T MOAN

Chapter 12

• Penelope •

“Who is it?” His voice carried from the kitchen. “

I didn’t answer. Not because I couldn’t, but because my brain was still buffering—trying to decide if it had actually loaded the scene in front of me correctly.

The woman on the porch just stared blankly at me, her n*****s still fighting to free themselves from her ridiculous outfit choices.

Had she by chance mistaken the house for Paris Fashion Week?

“Is Miguel home?” she asked again, her smile cutting straight through me—the kind of smile that politely tells you you’re irrelevant.

Before I could decide whether to shut the door or throw water at her, Miguel’s footsteps came down the hall.

When he appeared, now clothed but his hair was still damp from sweat—his whole demeanor shifted. It wasn't shock or anger. It was more like irritation and something more extreme… disgust?

“Claudia.” His tone was clipped, like the name itself left a bad taste in his mouth.

Her smile deepened. “I decided to stop by. You didn’t sound too enthusiastic earlier, so I thought maybe seeing me in person might change your mind.”

Earlier? So she was the “old friend” I knew it.

Miguel’s jaw tightened. “We talked about this.”

“Talked,” she repeated, all casual shrug, “but you didn’t say no.”

“I did say no.” His voice was flat, the muscle in his cheek ticking.

That tiny, unwanted flutter in my chest—jealousy or just morbid curiosity—tightened another notch.

Claudia’s gaze flicked between us like she was watching a reality show, and I was the extra who wandered into the wrong scene.

“Guess I should’ve called first,” she said, with all the sincerity of a cat apologizing for scratching at your skin.

Miguel stepped forward, his shoulder brushing mine, intentionally.

“You should go,” he said, low and final.

“Really?” Her gaze skimmed slowly down his body and back up like she was saving it for later. “That’s not fair Miguel, you’re not even going to let me in to warm up? It is cold outside, I miss when you used to take good care of me, doc”

She said the nickname like it was an inside joke between them, a dirty inside joke.

“Claudia.” His voice dropped lower, threaded with steel.

For a second, she looked ready to push it. Then she smiled—a sugar-coated blade—and leaned close enough that her perfume hit me like a challenge.

“Come on, I don't feel so good, treat me.” Her eyes cut to me. “Unless you’re still… occupied.”

Really now? I didn't give her the satisfaction of knowing she got under my skin, I held her glare without blinking. If she wanted to play predator and prey, fine but she'd have to try harder.

Miguel didn’t answer her, which she probably took as a yes. She padded toward the stairs like she’d been invited.

“Look, I can explain.”

I watched the bimbo disappear up the steps as Miguel swore under his breath and followed.

I wanted to slam the door and erase her from existence, but I remained frozen in doorway, my fingers locked on the frame like it was the only thing stopping me from pulling her by the hair and dragging her out of the house.

How shameless could one be? Who would feel comfortable being in bed with a man while another woman sat in the other room?

I listened hard and from his footsteps, Miguel wasn’t strolling—he was hunting. “Claudia. Out. Now.”

Her laugh floated down—light, mocking. “Miguel, don’t be dramatic.”

I hovered at the bottom of the stairs longer than I should have, listening.

She whispered something to him and he grunted out and then their voices were completely inaudible, and beyond recognition.

I crept further but was met with a bang from the door.

I thought he was trying to kick her out? What then is the door being shut?

Minutes dragged and the silence continued but suddenly they were replaced with breathy, quiet noises that tightened something in my chest.

Claudia drew out a soft gasp, already panting.

My hands curled into fists.

Maybe she was just faking the entire thing to just get into my head, but then another moan came out laced with more panting.

“Stop moving so I can unclasp your lingerie.”

That was all I needed to imagine her sprawled across his bed with her lingerie long lost, I could see him on his knees right in front of her glistering p***y ready to feast.

I shouldn't be having these dirty thoughts, I shouldn't care at all what he does behind closed doors but I do. I care a lot.

That was enough caring for one day.

I shut my door harder than I meant to, the thud echoing through my ribs.

Whatever was happening in the next room wasn’t my business. That’s what I told myself as I kicked off my shoes and sank into bed.

But the walls were thin.

Too freaking thin.

I could hear the muffled voices, Miguel’s low comforting tone and then pure silence.

I thought they were done or at least she'd gone but I was so wrong, she started gasping even louder.

What was he doing to her?

I buried my face I my pillow, reciting the mysteries as I pretended not to hear what was going on but the more I pretended the more my ever creative mind filled the blanks.

By morning, the smell of coffee and something buttery dragged me into the kitchen. And there was Miguel—shirtless again, because apparently shirts were beneath him.

He looked up instantly. “Good morning, I just really want to apologize about last night… I’m really sorry for the interruption.”

I raised an eyebrow, reaching for a mug. “Oh, don’t worry. I barely noticed the orchestra next door.” I took a slow sip, letting the sarcasm drip. “Five stars. Very soothing.”

He smirked. “It wasn’t what you think.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” I drawled. “And I’m the Queen of England.”

“If you were, I’d have to call you ‘Your Majesty.’”

“Then bow and get out of my way.”

Instead of moving, he stepped closer—heat radiating off him, smugness radiating more. “You’re mad about something that didn’t happen.”

“Oh, so I’m crazy now?”

“Didn’t say that… but if the crown fits.”

I rolled my eyes, brushing past him.

“I’d have you know Claudia is asthmatic,” he said, leaning in like he was delivering top-secret intel. “And the little outfit she wore didn’t help her case—hence the gasping sounds. She left an hour after she calmed down and I'll have you know my women never get the chance to leave that same day.”

I froze mid-sip. “Oh.”

His women? Noted

“Yeah. Oh.” His smirk said he’d been waiting for that reaction.

“So how many of your women should I be expecting in a lingerie?”

“That's not what I mean, I'm just saying I didn't do anything with Claudia last night.” He grabbed the jam and turned back to the stove, completely avoiding my gaze.

“Yeah, whatever.” I muttered something under my breath.

Asthma or not, Claudia didn’t show up in that dress for her lung health. The noises might’ve been innocent, but the intent wasn’t—and that fact wasn’t changing.

Still, I wasn’t giving him the satisfaction of knowing he’d gotten to me.

“When are we heading to the hospital?” I asked, flat.

He raised a brow, clearly hoping I’d bite. But I didn’t. Two could play this game. And I was better.