The Saint Maddox Odyssey

”Uncle, that lady’s definitely got the wrong girl. I’m not called Lily.” The little girl shrank back behind Saint as she said it.

”Lily, didn’t Mummy tell you lying isn’t nice?” The woman’s reaction came quick.

”So sorry, love, she’s a bit of a handful sometimes,” the woman said to Saint, visibly flustered, reaching out to take the girl.

”Love...” But her hand never reached the child, because Saint stepped between them.

”Mate, you’re not actually going to make a scene over a kid being a bit naughty, are you?” The woman turned her smile back on Saint.

”Course not, kids say all sorts,” Saint said, matching her tone pleasantly. ”But you’re an adult, surely you don’t mind proving she’s actually yours?”

”Prove it? What exactly am I meant to prove, holding my own daughter?” The woman’s tone flipped instantly.

”Funny thing, though, why’s my daughter standing next to you? You’re not some kind of trafficker, are you? Trying to snatch her?” Her voice climbed sharply, and heads started turning.

Lunchtime or not, the street wasn’t exactly deserted, and a crowd started gathering fast.

”Lady, you really have got the wrong girl. I’m Lily. I’m Poppy,” the girl said, clearly convinced the woman was simply confused.

”Give me my daughter back.” The woman stopped bothering with the girl entirely and lunged straight at Saint’s face.

’Smack.’

Saint’s reflexes, courtesy of the system’s own conditioning boost, were considerably sharper than they used to be, sharp enough, honestly, that a military recruiter would have been thrilled to get hold of him. Her hand never got anywhere near him; he caught her wrist clean before it landed.

”OI, you’re HITTING me!” The woman yanked her hand back and immediately threw herself to the ground, screaming bloody murder.

”You absolute animal, hitting a woman!” Right on cue, two men came shoving through the crowd from somewhere nearby.

Months of coaching had genuinely sharpened something in Saint’s bearing, a presence he carried now that hadn’t been there before, and it showed plainly the moment his expression went cold.

”Back off,” Saint said, flat and level.

Something in his tone actually gave both men pause for a second, despite themselves.

”You got a reason for hitting a woman, or you just enjoy it?” one of them pushed back regardless, bravado returning.

”Ohhh, it hurts, it hurts so bad...” the woman kept writhing on the pavement, contorting her face for maximum effect.

”Did I touch her? Is everyone here blind?” Saint said, gesturing at the gathering crowd.

”I saw it, mate, I saw him hit her,” one voice in the crowd called out, unhelpfully.

”Waaah...” Right on cue, the little girl beside Saint burst into tears.

”See, that’s the kid’s mum he’s just assaulted, no wonder she’s crying. Proper nasty piece of work, this one,” the man said, nodding along with himself.

”Hey, shh, don’t cry. Uncle’s going to help find your mum, okay?” Saint turned and crouched, pulling the girl into a gentle hug.

”Right, I’m not a trafficker, and I’m happy to prove it the second the police get here. Until then, nobody’s leaving this spot. Somebody call it in, and I’d genuinely appreciate everyone staying put until this gets sorted properly,” Saint said loudly, addressing the whole crowd.

”Reasonable, this one, isn’t he,” one of the men sneered, and swung a punch straight at Saint’s head without warning.

”OOF...” Amid a wave of gasps from the crowd, the man went sailing backward instead, landing hard several feet away.

One clean kick, despite Saint still holding the girl in one arm, his free leg did the rest of the work. Years of childhood martial arts training, back when his father had enrolled him, hadn’t gone entirely to waste.

”MURDER... HE’S KILLING PEOPLE!” The woman on the ground seized the moment, shrieking even louder, clearly hoping to turn the whole scene into chaos.

”Nobody’s dying. I’ll take full responsibility for that kick. Everyone just hold tight for the police,” Saint said, refusing to let her hijack the narrative.

”Already called them, they’re on the way,” someone in the crowd confirmed.

”Everyone, keep an eye on the people standing near you. There may be more of them in this crowd. If anyone tries to slip away, shout,” Saint added, remembering the voice that had offered to help earlier.

There’s a particular habit in a crowd like this, plenty of onlookers happy to watch, but just as many genuinely willing to step up once it’s obvious who’s actually in the wrong.

That same helpful stranger stepped forward and, along with a couple of others, quietly boxed in the woman and her two companions.

”Why’s everyone crowding round us, he’s the trafficker, he’s the bad one here!” The woman wasn’t giving up, though nobody in that circle was buying it anymore.

Not even Saint paid her any further attention, he was focused entirely on calming the little girl in his arms.

”We’ll find your mum the second the police get here, promise,” Saint said gently.

”Will the police catch uncle?” Big-hearted as ever, the girl had already stopped crying, far more curious now than frightened, and oddly unbothered by the chaos Saint had just caused around her.

”Course not,” Saint said, and then, ”wait, you mean because uncle hit someone?” he asked, catching her meaning.

”Uncle hit the bad man,” Saint explained simply.

”Uncle’s really cool.” The praise, delivered with total six-year-old sincerity, left Saint fighting off a genuinely sheepish grin.

Sirens, finally. The sound alone seemed to deflate the woman on the ground almost instantly.

The first person to actually reach the crowd, though, wasn’t a police officer, it was a woman, somewhere around thirty, sprinting the last stretch.

”Poppy!” She didn’t stop for anyone, cutting straight through the ring of onlookers toward Saint.

”Mummy!” The girl’s answering shout confirmed it beyond any doubt.

Saint handed her over the moment the woman reached them. By then the police had arrived properly, and the original woman and her two accomplices were already in cuffs.

”Sir, we’ll need you to come give a statement,” one of the officers said to Saint.

”Waaah, officer, please don’t take uncle, he’s a good man, he hit the bad guys!” Watching Saint being led aside, the little girl burst into tears all over again.

”Poppy, love, they’re not arresting him,” her mother said quickly, trying to settle her.

”That’s right, police only arrest the bad people, not the good ones,” the officer added, crouching down to reassure her properly.

”Really?” She still looked doubtful.

”Really,” the officer said, nodding solemnly.

”There’s another one of them!” someone in the crowd suddenly shouted.

It turned out the voice belonged to someone who’d been standing quietly beside the last of the trio the whole time, never raising an alarm, not until the police had already arrived and it was clearly too late to slip away unnoticed.