Fallen Saint (All the Pretty Things Trilogy Volume 2) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyrighted Material

  Other Books By Monica James

  Author’s Note

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Connect with Monica James

  Copyrighted Material

  FALLEN SAINT

  (All The Pretty Things Trilogy, Volume Two)

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons living or dead, is coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners and are used only for reference.

  Copyright © 2019 by Monica James

  All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any printed or electronic form without the express, written consent of the author.

  Cover Design: Perfect Pear Creative Covers

  Editing: Editing 4 Indies

  Interior designed and formatted by:

  www.emtippettsbookdesigns.com

  Follow me on:

  monicajamesbooks.blogspot.com.au

  THE I SURRENDER SERIES

  I Surrender

  Surrender to Me

  Surrendered

  White

  SOMETHING LIKE NORMAL SERIES

  Something like Normal

  Something like Redemption

  Something like Love

  A HARD LOVE ROMANCE

  Dirty Dix

  Wicked Dix

  The Hunt

  MEMORIES FROM YESTERDAY

  Forgetting You, Forgetting Me

  Forgetting You, Remembering Me

  SINS OF THE HEART

  Absinthe of the Heart

  Defiance of the Heart

  ALL THE PRETTY THINGS TRILOGY

  Bad Saint

  Fallen Saint

  STANDALONE

  Mr. Write

  CONTENT WARNING: FALLEN SAINT is Volume Two in a Trilogy. The final book in the series will release shortly after the second. This is a continuing story, therefore, not all questions will be answered in Volume Two. There is a cliffhanger. You’ve been warned.

  FALLEN SAINT is a DARK ROMANCE containing mature themes that might make some readers uncomfortable. It includes kidnapping, captivity, strong violence, mild language, and some dark and disturbing scenes.

  This twisted tale is not intended for the faint of heart…it will steal your soul.

  All of this was for nothing… No, that’s not entirely true. I met her. And now, I must protect her. But first, I need to wake the fuck up.

  Day 34

  Even though I walk through the darkest valley, I fear no evil, for you are with me…

  -Psalm 23:4

  THIS PASSAGE WAS my father’s favorite. His go-to when times were tough. I remember sitting in my Sunday best with my small hands linked as I listened to his sermons. They always filled me with such hope, and whenever he spoke of this Psalm, I felt so connected to God.

  How couldn’t I?

  The passage claimed that no matter what evils one faces, they will never be alone.

  But sitting here bound, watching an unconscious Saint bleed out in front of me, I know that Psalm is a load of shit. Where is He now? I am walking…no, I am fucking staggering through the darkest valley, but I am alone. No one is with me.

  There is no saving grace.

  The only grace would be for a tidal wave to swallow this yacht and drag us all under to a watery grave. However, been there, done that, and here I am, still a fucking prisoner.

  My feet and hands are bound tight. I’ve tried to wiggle free but gave up when it was clear I wasn’t going anywhere. But where would I go? What would I do if I did escape? I’m trapped with a psychopath and his pet, who is far more dangerous than the man who kick-started this entire shitshow.

  Zoey Hennessy hasn’t taken her eyes off me, eyes so similar to her brother’s, who lies bleeding at my feet. Rather than caring that her own flesh and blood is hurt, she’s made it clear with her death stares that she only cares about making me pay.

  In some ways, I’m thankful Saint doesn’t have to see his sister, but he will soon rouse. You can’t keep a good man down. And that’s what he is. A good man.

  The man who bought me in a game of poker, however, is not.

  “Don’t fret, ангел.” The name I once held dear has been tainted forever. “You’re safe now.”

  Safe? Is he fucking high?

  The Russian mobster Aleksei Popov ruined my life, so speaking to me as though we’re friends seems ironic. As he turns over his shoulder and smiles, the hair at the back of my neck stands on end. I hate him. And I will do everything in my power to make him pay for what he’s done.

  “Wh”—I clear my raspy throat—“where are we going?”

  Aleksei gestures with his head for one of his goons to take the wheel. It’s that simple for him. He doesn’t even need to speak for everyone to be at his beck and call.

  But not me. And I never will be.

  He saunters over but stops when Zoey commences to follow him—on her knees. “Stay,” he orders, addressing her like a dog.

  She does as he says.

  Swallowing down my revulsion, I hide my disgust at having him near me when he sits down. It doesn’t affect him in the slightest that I’m tied up. “We are going to your new home. Russia,” he explains while every part of me riots. “You’re going to love it there.”

  My mouth hinges open. “Love it?” The urge to hurt him mounts. “You’re kidnapping me. I never agreed to this,” I add in case he’s lost in translation.

  He’s not, and what he says next confirms Saint was telling the truth this entire time.

  “But your husband did.”

  And there it is. The harsh reality that’s been staring me in the face this entire time.

  Saint revealed my husband, Drew Gibbs, lost a game of poker, and to pay his dues, he agreed to give me to Aleksei. At the time, he didn’t know me, so it could have been any girl. But apparently, I fit the bill, and like an idiot, I fell for his lies.

  I should have known something was amiss. But I thought, for once, maybe life would cut me some slack. I was wrong.

  “You can’t do this.” I wriggle against my restraints. “I’m not some piece of property you can trade! I am a human being.”

  I’m hoping, by some miracle, my words appeal to him, and he’ll see the error of his ways. And when he reaches into his pocket and produces a crisp white handkerchief to wipe away the blood from my face, thanks to the fact one of his men punched me in the nose, I think I’ve maybe done it.

  But then he levels me with those steel blue eyes, and I know I’ve wasted my breath. “You are mine. And I will do with you what I please.” He continues to clean my face, but his touch isn’t gentle. It’s possessive and filled with warning.

  “The sooner you understand that, the easier this will become. There,” he says, leaning back to get a better look at me. “Much better.”

  Is this what staring into the eyes of a monster feels like?

  His eyes hold no compassion, no remorse for what he’s done. He’s ruined countless lives all because he can. And it seems mine
is the next in line.

  A guttural groan slices through the air, and although I wish it were any other sound, I’m thankful he’s stirring. When those chartreuse-colored eyes flicker open, a trapped breath escapes me. For a split second, I forget I’m sitting beside a maniac because all that matters is that Saint is awake.

  He takes his time, gauging where he is. When he gradually focuses on Aleksei sitting beside me, holding the bloodied handkerchief in his hand, Saint’s jaw clenches, and he moves to spring up, intent on murder. But Aleksei knows Saint and ensures he stays down by placing his Italian loafer over Saint’s throat.

  Saint claws at Aleksei’s foot, attempting to break free, but he doesn’t stand a chance. Wounded and turning a bright crimson, Saint looks seconds away from passing out once again.

  “No!” I scream, thrashing about to get free, but it’s useless. My cries and Saint’s struggles only fuel this narcissistic asshole.

  “Calm down.” Aleksei tsks Saint. In response, Saint flips him off, still attempting to pry Aleksei’s foot off his throat.

  Aleksei laughs, appearing to enjoy the banter as though they’re two friends arguing over a football match. Eventually, he releases the pressure, allowing Saint to take in mouthfuls of air.

  I watch with wide eyes because I can’t believe this farfetched scene playing out before me is my life.

  When he’s finally able to breathe, Saint sluggishly props up into a half sitting position. He cups his shoulder, flinching. He doesn’t speak, but his poignant eyes communicate. They’re asking if I’m all right.

  I give an imperceptible nod, wanting more than anything to console him. But I can’t.

  “Untie her,” Saint demands, his breathing uneven, yet his gaze never wavering from mine. Aleksei raises an eyebrow, clearly surprised by Saint’s orders, but Saint won’t be intimidated. “I said untie her.”

  Aleksei leans back in the seat, casually crossing his ankles as he twirls the gold ring on his pinkie. “And why would I do that?” His English has just a slight accent, so you can barely ascertain where he’s from. Like all chameleons, he’s learned how to fit in to survive.

  “Because you fucking shot me, you asshole, so someone has to help me take out the bullet. Unless you fancy getting your Italian silk dirty?”

  I dare not breathe—surely, Aleksei will see through Saint’s lies—but Saint must convince him. Aleksei shuffles close to me, inhaling deeply, and I remain perfectly still. A tic beneath Saint’s eye reveals he’s barely holding back, but when Aleksei produces a switchblade and reaches behind me to cut the rope, Saint nods subtly, hinting it’ll be okay.

  Aleksei cuts the rope at my wrists carefully, his shallow breaths coating my neck. When I’m free, he runs his fingers over the rope burn, humming in satisfaction. It seems torture is his thing. “You’re worth a lot of money. Go get cleaned up. I want to see my prize,” he whispers into my ear, loud enough for Saint to hear.

  My stomach turns, and I shrug from his hold, instantly bringing my hands out in front me to rub my raw wrists. However, when he tosses the knife onto the floor in front of Saint, I freeze.

  Saint peers down at the knife, then back up at me. We both know what this is. A test.

  Saint could take that knife and end this bastard’s miserable existence by slicing open his jugular. But he wouldn’t get closer than two feet before one of Aleksei’s men shot us both dead.

  Aleksei is whipping out his dick to prove who’s in control. But we never forgot. How could we? I’m bound. Saint has a bleeding gunshot wound. And that’s all thanks to him and his obsession for power.

  Saint reaches for the knife, and with shaky fingers, he cuts the rope at my ankles. He takes deep breaths through his nose to work through his pain, but he continues to saw at it until I’m free. The moment I am, I exhale. It’s one step closer to getting off this boat.

  He extends the knife to Aleksei, just how I once did to him.

  Aleksei keeps his cool as he reaches for the blade. This is all a power play. I wonder what’ll happen when one of us breaks even though that time is not now.

  Saint climbs to his feet unsteadily. “Come on.” He grips my bicep and yanks me up roughly.

  The harsh pressure causes me to flinch, but I allow him to manhandle me because I don’t want to stay up here with Aleksei. When he sees Zoey, however, he pauses.

  She’s still on her knees, awaiting further instruction from Aleksei. I can’t imagine what this does to Saint. She’s the reason he’s here—why we’re both here—but she tricked him. She never wanted to be saved.

  Expecting him to say something to her, I’m surprised when he drags me around her and down the stairs to the galley. A gasp leaves me when I see this place. It looks like a resort on water. The fully functional stainless-steel kitchen rivals any master chef’s with a large fridge, stove top and oven, and white marble counters.

  Off to the right, eight leather chairs surround a large table. A fruit bowl in the center with red apples, bananas, and pears sets off a welcoming vibe. If someone didn’t know any better, they’d think everyone aboard this yacht was here of their own accord.

  When a group of men rise from their perches, replacing their playing cards for guns, I yelp, but Saint isn’t intimidated in the slightest. “Where’s the bathroom?” he barks, tightening his grip on my arm.

  The one who struck Saint and me, a disgusting man with a bald head and long, thick beard, gestures to a door behind him. When two of them attempt to follow us, Saint shakes his head. “I don’t need you to hold my hand.”

  But the man who struck us has other ideas as he raises his gun. “Adrian and Rahil will come with you.”

  The two men in question take a step toward the bathroom, but Saint stays rooted to the spot, not at all threatened. “Have you forgotten your place, Diak? You obey me. Not the other way around.”

  “The rules have changed since you’ve been gone,” he replies smartly. The other men chuckle in agreement, but their hungry glances don’t go unnoticed. I once again feel like a piece of meat.

  “Oh, have they?” Saint quips, walking casually toward Diak, lugging me with him.

  The closer we get to the guns and the ravenous grins of these wolves, the more anxious I become. But I trust Saint. And besides, I feel safer in his grasp because I know he won’t let me go.

  “Yes. Boss isn’t too happy with you. He doesn’t like waiting, especially for pussy.” Diak focuses his lifeless eyes my way, licking his fat rubbery lips.

  Though I have the urge to shrink behind Saint, I stand my ground. I will not show them fear because I can’t afford to show weakness; it will be the end of me if I do.

  “But for pussy like this…it might be worth the wait.” Diak attempts to reach out and touch me, but when I hear a snap and a crunch, it’s evident that’s the last thing he’ll attempt for a while. Saint broke his wrist, disarming him with a snap, and then elbowed him in the nose.

  It happened in the blink of an eye, but when Diak wheezes and tries to cup his nose with his floppy hand, it seems that’s all Saint needs. The satisfaction I feel when I see blood pouring from his nose should leave me ashamed, but it doesn’t because karma’s a bitch.

  The rest of the men stand motionless, ignoring Diak’s cries for help as he drops to his knees. Saint acts as cool as cool can be when he jerks me forward to pick up the gun. I do as he proposes, the hard metal feeling like utter power beneath my fingers.

  When the men’s eyes widen, the whites to their eyes revealing their fear, it’s an aphrodisiac. I should be afraid, but I’m not. Am I desensitized to such violence? I could pull the trigger and kill them all. But Saint clucks his tongue, hinting we choose our battles wisely.

  I pass him the gun, which he slips in the small of his back.

  “What happened to Kazimir?” Adrian asks, and when I take a closer look, I see the resemblance. A younger brother maybe?

  Saint deadpans him. “That happened.” He gestures with his head toward a howling Diak crad
ling his wrist as blood gushes from his nose. “But a lot bloodier. And a lot more dead.”

  Adrian’s jaw clenches while the room falls silent.

  “If anyone else has any other questions, now is the time to speak up.” No one dares to utter a word. “I didn’t think so.” Saint drags me toward the bathroom, leaving the men to clean up his mess. I want to shrug from his hold because he’s hurting me, but I know better.

  He almost rips the door from its hinges as he opens it and shoves me inside. When the door slams shut, he finally releases me. If I wasn’t being held against my will and fearing for my life, I would admire how spacious it is in here.

  Besides a large glass shower and a bathtub, black marble covers as far as the eye can see. Everything gleams within an inch of its life. No expense was spared as everything down here allows me to shower in comfort. Nothing but the best for Alek it seems.

  Saint’s harsh breathing snaps me back to the now, and I turn around slowly. He’s propped against the wall, clutching his shoulder, his snarled hair hanging around his face. Now that we’re alone, the severity of where we are hits me, and it appears I’m not desensitized after all.

  Tears well, but I bite my cheek to stop them from falling. Saint lifts his eyes to meet mine, but I can’t read what he’s thinking. The room turns explosive.

  “You silly, stubborn girl,” he chides, shaking his head slowly. “You should have done what I said.” What he said was for me to run and hide—for me to be a coward—but I couldn’t. I couldn’t leave him to deal with this on his own. I don’t know what that says for me and my sanity, but I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself if I did.

  “It doesn’t matter now,” I say, brushing the matted hair from my cheeks, trying to be brave.

  “Of course, it matters!” Before I have a chance to reply, he storms over, gripping the back of my neck and pressing us brow to brow. “I’m sorry if I was rough with you, but I had to be. I can’t show weakness when it comes to you because you’ll pay the price if I do.”