Bad Saint (All The Pretty Things Trilogy Volume 1) Page 11

  It will only lead to trouble.

  Day 8

  MEMORIES OF LAST night assault me, and when I smell Saint’s cologne, it only brings home the truth that I witnessed him having sex with some woman, and then he threw her out at my request. But her admission still plays over and over in my mind.

  What does it mean?

  I’ve been staring at the ceiling for hours, refusing to look elsewhere because Saint sleeps on the opposite sofa. He obviously passed out last night.

  I have so many questions, and they all begin with why.

  Even though I didn’t see much, it seems to somehow make what I witnessed so much worse. I’ve been speculating all morning, and my mind has had no issues adding lib. I saw him without his ski mask, and even though I couldn’t get a clear picture of what he looks like, what I did see has me spellbound.

  I don’t understand him or his motives. I want nothing more than to ask him why, but I have a feeling he’s doing this to prepare me for a world I’m not accustomed to. In no way am I making excuses for his actions, but no matter how hard I try to hate him, I can’t shake the feeling he’s just as trapped as I am.

  “Hey.” His raspy voice snaps me from my thoughts.

  The silent treatment now seems obsolete, considering everything I saw. “Hi.”

  An awkwardness lingers like one would expect for the morning-after talk. Even though we didn’t have sex, I did witness him screwing someone else, so I guess in a way, the awkwardness is warranted.

  I have no idea what comes next. I can only hope we get a new means of transport because this one has been tainted by the shrill screams of last night.

  “I’m going to shower.”

  As I jump up, Saint does too. He must have put his ski mask back on during the night, which angers me that some random bimbo can see his face, but I can’t. I cast my gaze downward, unsure of what he wants. I also don’t want to look at him after last night.

  “Are you hungry?”

  I shake my head, hiding behind my hair.

  “You have to eat,” he says, walking forward. When he’s within reach, he places his finger under my chin, coaxing me to look at him.

  I eventually do.

  The green to his eyes is so bright, I gasp as the color is stunning. However, they soon flicker a furious black. I don’t know what’s wrong, and on instinct, I drop to my knees, kneeling. It was an automatic response, and I shock myself at how quickly I was to obey.

  “What did you do to yourself?” he asks, taking a step back.

  I don’t understand what he means.

  Fear assails me, and my lower lip quivers. “I didn’t do anything,” I reply, puzzled. But he soon proves me to be a liar.

  He marches forward and cups my chin, arching my head back to expose my neck. When he strokes over my throat, I know he’s seen the rope mark. I was careless not to be more careful. “That’s the coward’s way out, and you’re not a coward.”

  “How do you know?” I challenge, but my bravado soon dies when he tightens his hold around my chin.

  “Because I’ve known you for eight days. And every single one of those eight days, you’ve disobeyed me, defied me, and attempted to escape, regardless of the consequences. If that doesn’t take courage, then I don’t know what does.”

  I gasp, stunned by his candor.

  “Let me go,” I whimper. Even though I know the answer, I still have to try. “Please.”

  The air is crackling with a live current, and when Saint rubs his thumb over my lower lip, everything around us detonates. My heart is thrashing wildly. I’m on my knees, peering up at my captor, unsure what this gentle touch means.

  “Don’t ask things you know the answer to,” he softly replies.

  “I’ll never stop asking that, regardless if I know the answer.”

  I’m toeing a very dangerous line, but something is different in the way his thumb seems mesmerized by my lip. His eyes focus on my mouth as he caresses up and down. This is new. Up until now, his touch has never been filled with…hunger.

  Another hunger smashes into me then—the one of the woman who Saint was buried in—and I instantly turn my cheek, averting my gaze. I don’t want him touching me after his hands and other parts have stroked her.

  “Tonight, we board a new boat,” he reveals while I hold my breath. “I have a few things to take care of today, but I’ll be back when it’s dark.”

  “Can I go upstairs?” I ask even though it’s in vain.

  Saint sighs. “No, you can’t. It’s too risky.”

  “Risky for whom?” I challenge.

  He takes his time to reply. “For the both of us.”

  There is no point in arguing.

  The air is thick as I await his next move. “Behave, Aнгел. I’ll be back later.”

  I refrain from saluting him and simply nod.

  I’m expecting him to leave, but he surprises me once again when he brushes the hair from my cheeks so he can see me. My eyes are still lowered, but I can feel him examine every inch of my face. He runs his thumb over the apple of my cheek while I dare not breathe.

  Eventually, he retreats and leaves me alone to question what the hell is going on. Once the hatch closes, I bow forward and take three calming breaths, though it does nothing to settle my frantic heart.

  I feel like I’m on a merry-go-round as the world is spinning, but I want to get off. I want to forget Saint’s gentle touches because each act of kindness shakes everything up beyond repair.

  I don’t know what’s worse—Saint’s punishment or Saint’s rewards. His bipolar behavior leaves me constantly questioning which version I’ll get, and honestly, I don’t know which I like best.

  When the room stops turning, I slowly come to a stand. I have all day to kill as I’m once again confined to my cage. I decide to shower and then sit by the window and watch the world pass me by.

  As I undress, my gaze floats to the wall in which Saint used as his makeshift fucking post. I cringe as I hate the term as well as what he did. I know he did it to teach me a lesson, to display that my fate is in his hands, and in the end, he will always win.

  He broke me, didn’t he? I ended up speaking.

  He tried to be “nice,” but when that didn’t work, he resorted to measures he knew were out of my comfort zone. He’s aware that I’m a virgin, and seeing him screw someone else was a sure way for me to break.

  The sound of his flesh pressed against hers assaults me, and I instantly shake my head to dispel such wickedness. I need to focus on other matters—like escaping, and this time…nothing and no one will stand in my way.

  It’s dark out—a sight I’ve craved all day.

  I spent my time devising ways I can make a run for it tonight, but sadly, I don’t even know what I’m walking into. I will have to use my smarts and think on my toes because I know my window of opportunity will be small.

  Most of the vendors have gone for the day, but a few fishermen are still working on their boats. I don’t speak their language, so I can only hope me running for my life while screaming for help is understood universally.

  When the hatch opens, I know it’s now or never.

  I watch as Saint descends the stairs, arching a brow when I notice a brown robe in his hand. “Here, put this on,” he orders, offering me the garment. The material feels soft and light. When I unravel it, I see that it will cover me from head to toe.

  I feel awful putting this on, as I’m probably offending many by wearing something which is sacred to certain religions, but I knew Saint wouldn’t allow me to roam the streets exposed. I’m wearing shorts and a tank, so I quickly slip into the oversized robe and place the niqab over my head. I adjust it so the only part of me showing is my eyes.

  Saint watches me, nodding when I’m dressed.

  The temperature down here is already stifling, so being covered this way has me instantly breaking out into a sweat. It’s quite disconcerting to view the world this way— a sliver at a time. But I suppose both
Saint and I now have the same viewpoint.

  “Our new boat is a few yards away. Kazimir will bring your clothes and other supplies. You are not to move from my side. Are we clear?” he cautions.

  When I remain quiet, he steps forward. His presence is suffocating. “I asked you a question.”

  We’re on equal ground seeing as he can’t read me as well as he once could. The only clue he has to what I’m thinking is my eyes, which is the only thing I’ve had for the past eight days. “Yes, we’re clear,” I finally reply, crossing my fingers beneath my robe.

  The apprehension rolls off his broad shoulders as he watches me carefully, but he has no other choice but to trust me. He gestures with his head to head upstairs. The moment of truth has arrived.

  Taking one last look at what was my prison for the past eight days, I march up the stairs but suddenly come to a standstill on the top step, wishing I wasn’t covered. I’d give anything to feel the fresh air on my skin. I tilt my chin upward, peering into the starless sky, and beg the universe shows me mercy.

  Please give me the strength to do this.

  But Saint clearly doesn’t have any time for sentiments as he nudges me from behind, hinting I’m to keep moving.

  When I’m up on the deck, I see Kazimir and the other Russian. The hair on the back of my neck instantly prickles as I get a foreboding sense that something awful lingers around the corner. “Kazimir, go downstairs and get everything.”

  Kazimir’s glower is directed my way, and I immediately avert my gaze, terrified. “Luka called. There’s been a mix-up with the boat.”

  “What?” Saint spits, as this clearly wasn’t part of the plans. “That’s impossible. I just spoke to him.”

  “He just called. Two minutes ago. Go see Mohammed now.”

  “Fuck,” Saint curses under his breath. “Stay here. I’ll be back soon.”

  My heart begins to race. “Take me with you,” I plead, not wanting to be left alone with Kazimir. I latch onto his arm, hoping he sees reason, but then quickly shrink back when he makes it clear that touching him is forbidden.

  Saint appears stunned by my request as his gaze flicks back and forth between Kazimir and me. “I won’t be long,” he promises, affirming I’m staying put. There is no point in arguing, so I can only hope he’s right.

  He expresses something to both men in Russian, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d say he was giving them a warning. He gives me one last look, before jumping from the yacht and hurrying down the dock.

  When he’s no longer in sight, the need to flee overcomes me because I know my life is in danger. But it’s too late. Kazimir storms forward, gripping my bicep firmly and drawing my face to his. There is fire behind his soulless eyes. “Now’s your chance to run,” he says, which was not what I was expecting.

  “What?” I question, licking my dry lips.

  He responds by sweeping his hand outward, hinting I’m free to go. But I’m not stupid. Nothing in this world is free. “No.” I shake my head. “He told me to stay here.”

  “Well, I tell you to go.”

  Before I know what’s happening, the other Russian steps forward and punches Kazimir in the face— once, twice. I almost sigh in relief, but it’s too good to be true to believe he’s come to my rescue. They’re both in on whatever scheme they’re plotting when they laugh and exchange animated words in Russian.

  Just as I’m about to question what the hell is going on, Kazimir yanks me forward and drags me toward the dock. My shoulder pops, and I yelp. “Let me go!” I shriek, attempting to pry myself free, but that isn’t an option. “Help!”

  My screams are useless when he slaps his hand violently over my mouth to muffle them.

  I dig in my heels, but my flip-flops are almost ripped from my feet as he tugs me forward. “No!” I yell, over and over, but it’s a muted mess as he continues to muzzle me. I can’t believe this is happening again.

  I’m finally getting off this boat, and all I want to do is stay.

  When I see a disgusting brute standing by the yacht with his arms open, ready to catch me, it’s apparent being here is far safer than wherever this man wants to take me. He snaps his head from left to right, ensuring the coast is clear as he snarls something in Russian to Kazimir.

  “See you soon,” Kazimir says into my ear before pushing me between my shoulder blades. I trip over the edge and into the arms of yet another captor. I squirm madly, but his hold on me is tight.

  His stench of rotten fish and piss assaults me as he laughs at my pathetic attempts to get free. “No!” I scream, but he pays no attention to my cries for help as he runs down the dock with me thrown over his shoulder.

  I have no idea where we’re going, but it’s clear Kazimir set Saint up. There never was a call. It was just a ruse to send Saint away. When I see two men wave us over to their tattered blue fishing boat, I know why.

  It appears Aleksei Popov has been outbid.

  They yell in a language I don’t understand, but what I do know is that wherever I’m going, it will make where I was look like the Ritz. There is no compassion or goodness about these men. They see me as nothing but property—to do with as they please.

  Tears stream down my cheeks as I sob violently, thumping on my attacker’s back. But he snorts in humor, slapping my ass and making me feel like nothing but a piece of meat. He steps over the boat’s edge as the other men help him aboard, hollering in celebration.

  He leads me into a small galley where he throws me onto a small bench seat. I spring up, attempting to run, but he soon puts an end to that escape plan when slaps my cheek. I see stars and slide onto my back, gasping for air. The boat comes to life with a splutter as two men stand over me, their lips almost smacking in delight.

  I’m suddenly thankful I’m covered.

  As I frantically scan my surroundings, searching for a weapon, the man who carried me steps forward and brutally yanks me up into a sitting position by my wrists. I flop forward like a rag doll, still winded from the slap. His yellowed teeth gnash together as his eyes scan over me. When they stop at my breasts, he reaches out and cups my left one.

  Groaning low, he runs his meaty thumb over my nipple, tugging hard when he doesn’t feel it pearl. He laughs when I cry out in pain. The other man joins him, cupping my other breast, palming and squeezing hard.

  This is it this time. There is no one to save me. I never thought Saint was a knight in shining armor, but at least I never felt such fear like I do right now. These men are going to rape me and probably kill me, and not necessarily in that order.

  They frantically claw their hands under my robe which has bunched up under me, but they don’t let that stop them. I thrash around wildly, but it’s two against one, and when one of them pushes me onto my back, cutting off my air supply by placing his forearm against my windpipe, I know it’s only a matter of time before I pass out.

  “No,” I wheeze. “Please…no.” But my pleas are a trigger for them, and they turn savage.

  The man on top of me yanks up my robe until my shorts are exposed. He doesn’t waste a second and shoves his hand inside them. I attempt to scream and claw at his arm, but he presses harder down on my throat, laughing when I gasp for air.

  My eyes feel like they’re about to bulge from my head from the pressure, but I kick my legs with the last shred of strength I have left. The other man grips my feet, however, pinning me still.

  My innocent white underwear are no more when they are bypassed, and a rough finger skims along my sex. I slap the man’s forearm wildly, but it’s a mere tickle as my air supply is being siphoned. I go to a different plane, one where I’m not being held down by two men who are seconds away from raping me.

  I await the darkness…but it never comes.

  In a whoosh, the air returns to my lungs, and I take in large mouthfuls, starved for oxygen. I’m not even aware of the fact I’m no longer held down until I hear grunts and pained howls. Adrenaline soars through me as I shoot upward and witness a flu
rry of bodies being thrown around the room.

  Everything happens in slow motion, and my small window of sight allows me to see a man, no, a warrior, annihilate three men who don’t stand a chance. The warrior punches, kicks, chokes them, and each time they come back for more, he puts them down again and again.

  The man who held my feet charges toward the warrior with a roar, but the warrior turns and delivers an uppercut, snapping the man’s head backward with a sickening crack. He drops to the floor, twitching.

  The man who was at the wheel of the boat has a knife and rushes toward the warrior, but he doesn’t stand a chance as the warrior disarms him in some martial arts move before punching him in the throat. The man gasps for air, clawing at his throat, but soon slumps to the floor, joining his partner in crime.

  Just who is this ninja warrior?

  The last man, the one who carried me, the one who pinned me down and touched me, is the vilest of the three. He spits something in Russian as blood splutters down his chin, pointing at me before storming forward, poised on killing me.

  He gets within two feet. I draw my knees to my chest, bracing for a blow, but it never comes. I hear a snap before a body drops. There is no mistaking that hollow sound. He’s dead.

  Everything happened so quickly, so I take my time to slowly raise my head and take in the carnage around me.

  Three men lie in crumpled piles while a warrior stands triumphantly in the middle. His chest rises and falls as he inhales deeply, catching his breath, fists clenched by his sides. I am in awe as he just saved my life, but when he lifts those eyes, those chartreuse swirls, I know my life hangs in the balance because my warrior is…Saint.

  “No,” I whimper, but it’s too late. I attempt to scramble back, but he jerks me up by the arms and drags me through the boat.

  I step over the dead men, tears clouding my vision, as I am in so much trouble. “Let me explain,” I plead, but there is no time for reasoning.