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

  A woman…in love with a killer.

  My heart shatters in two because I was denying it all along, but I am. I’m in love with Saint. It may not be the conventional hearts and flowers kind of love, but what I feel for him is my own kind of love, a love that’s unique like a fingerprint.

  The connection between us has always been present, but instead of it fading when I see him for who he really is, it’s only grown…grown into this.

  Alek doesn’t allow me to speak to him, not that I’d know what to say. And it seems he feels the same way. We’ve both stripped back the layers, and now, it’s time to see what comes next.

  I step over Hans’s and Chow’s lifeless bodies, their blood staining the soles of my boots red. I say a prayer for them both, hoping wherever they go, it’ll be better than here. We walk out the door and see the security guards slumped by the doorway. Chow made sure he took down as many as he could with him.

  Alek opens the passenger door for me, and I enter the car, numb. He jumps into the driver’s side and starts the engine, navigating away from the mess he made but doesn’t have to clean up. The silence as he drives us back to his home speaks volumes.

  I press my forehead to the glass and squeeze my eyes shut, hoping to erase what I’ve witnessed…but deep down, I know this is just the start of things to come.

  She’s seen me kill. Seen the true monster that I am. So, now that she’s seen me, the question is what will she do?

  Day 48

  I THOUGHT TAKING a shower and scrubbing away the remnants of last night would make me feel slightly better, but it hasn’t. All I can think about is how Hans and Chow will never have that privilege again.

  When I could no longer distinguish between my tears and the running water, I decided to switch off the faucets because I couldn’t hide forever. I hunted through the closet, wanting nothing more than to wear a pair of sweats and a baggy T-shirt, but I settled on skinny jeans and a blouse instead. It’s forbidden, it seems, to dress in anything casual.

  I’m in the bathroom brushing my teeth when I hear the bedroom door open.

  I wanted to go to Saint, but after my revelation, I needed some time to clear my head. I always knew that the feelings I had for him resembled love, but after last night, it seems all the smokescreens had faded and I was left faced with the stark truth.

  Ironic, isn’t it? Seeing him take someone’s life was the key to unearthing what lingered under the surface all along. I know how incredibly fucked up that is.

  Rinsing out my mouth, I know it’s now or never. I can run and hide, but I’m not going to be a coward now. Taking a deep breath, I open the door and brace myself for anything and everything. However, when I see a disheveled Zoey standing in my room with her hands behind her back, it appears I’m not prepared at all.

  Before I have a chance to speak, she reveals why she’s here. “He took you. And Sara,” she spits, her eyes on fire.

  After everything I’ve seen, her jealousy is so trivial. “Believe me, it was against both our wills.”

  “That’s what I don’t understand! He never kidnapped me. He chose me. He wanted me. And I wanted him!” Just how Saint once said, Zoey, just like all the others, have stayed with Alek by choice. “You don’t want anything to do with him, but he is smitten by you. Why?” she questions, shaking her head in bewilderment. “What do you have that I don’t?”

  It’s on the tip of my tongue to express the obvious—like morals and that I’m a good person—but when I think about my feelings for her brother, I remain quiet.

  She’s angry, but more so, she’s hurt. She loves Alek with all her heart, and in return, he trades her in for another. I understand why she resents me, but she seems to be missing the vital point that I don’t want to be here.

  When she saunters forward, I stand my ground, wondering what she plans on doing. She reveals what a moment later.

  “It’s ’cause you’re a new shiny toy. That’s all,” she reasons with herself. The last time I saw her, she was naked and being exploited by Alek’s “friends.” It seems she’s forgotten all about that because why would he do that to her if he loved her in return?

  “But if you weren’t so…shiny”—her pause has me swallowing, suddenly nervous—“then things would go back to the way they were.”

  “Zoey…” However, my words die in a garbled mess when she uncovers what she’s holding behind her back.

  “He loves me. Not you.” The sunlight streaming in from the windows reflects off the pair of silver scissors she holds. She opens and closes them, the clear-cut noise displaying just how sharp they are.

  Instantly, I retreat with my hands raised in surrender. But Zoey isn’t interested in waving a white flag.

  “You think you’re better than me,” she exclaims, cutting the air with the scissors.

  “No, I don’t. I’m nothing,” I state, unable to keep the panic from my voice as I continue backing away from her.

  “That’s right. You are nothing. You may have Alek and my brother fooled, but I see you. And now, it’s time they do too.”

  She lunges for me, but I make a mad dash for the en suite door. Sadly, it seems anger has turned Zoey into a superhero because she grips the back of my blouse, preventing me from escaping. I twist and turn, attempting to flee, but she only holds on tighter. Saint’s training is now obsolete because there is no fighting Zoey. I’ve made a rookie move and lowered my defenses.

  My heart sits in my throat because I don’t know what she intends to do with those scissors. The thought has me thrusting my elbow backward, connecting with something soft. When she howls in pain, I think I’ve struck her in the stomach.

  When she lets me go, I don’t waste a second and dive for the safety of the en suite. But Zoey reads my intentions, and I curse my decision to leave my hair down. She grabs a fistful and yanks hard. On instinct, I claw at her hand, hoping to pry myself free, but she only pulls harder.

  “Let’s see who Alek prefers now!” she cries, dragging me by my hair back into the room.

  “Zoey!” I scream, violently trying to escape, but it’s futile. She comes up behind me, cups my head, and slams my face into the wall. A lump instantly forms on my forehead, and I see painful stars. To ensure I don’t fight back, she presses on my tender shoulder where I’m still recovering from the gunshot wound.

  She doesn’t give me time to recover before smashes my face into the wall again. And again.

  By the third blow, the world tips, and everything grows blurry. I attempt to reach out for something to hold on to, but the blood dripping into my eyes from the gash to my brow prevents me from focusing on anything other than passing out.

  “Everything was perfect until you came along and ruined it!”

  Bang.

  “This is your fault, you bitch!”

  Bang.

  Each knock against the wall has my grip on reality fading, and it won’t be long until the darkness pervades me. And I welcome it.

  “He thinks you’re the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen. Well, we will see.”

  I brace for another blow, but instead, all that comes is the sharp slicing of scissors cutting. At first, I have no idea what she’s cut because I don’t feel any pain. But when I sag forward because the pressure in my head is no longer, I realize that’s because my hair is no longer.

  I slump into the wall, splaying my hands against it to support myself from falling, but Zoey is on me like a rabid dog, hacking into my hair and cutting it away while I detach myself from my body, helpless to stop her.

  She came here to take my beauty, and she isn’t leaving until she’s satisfied she’s won. Her maniacal laughter has me closing my eyes, wondering what happens when merely cutting off my hair isn’t enough. The blood pouring from the wound on my forehead trickles into my mouth as I gasp for breath. I’m growing accustomed to the metallic burn.

  At some stage, I collapse to my knees, head bowed as I cradle my waist, but that doesn’t deter Zoey. She continues mumblin
g to herself while slashing away at my hair. When she cries in victory minutes later, I know that she’s done.

  “Much better,” she sings with one final slice.

  I’m too far gone to care what comes next. My soul and body are finally defeated by this cruel world. If she were to take those scissors and pierce my heart, she’d be doing me a favor because at least in death, there will no longer be pain.

  But she doesn’t show me the mercy because killing me would be easy. Instead, she exits the room, leaving me to deal with the aftermath alone.

  With trembling fingers, I attempt to gauge the damage, and when I’m met with uneven, frayed clumps of hair, I realize it’s worse than I thought. The coagulated blood has sealed my eyes shut, but I don’t need to see it. The remaining strands of hair barely cover the back of my neck. She missed a few locks which fall around my face, but the only way to fix this mess is to start afresh. To shave it all off.

  “Aнгел!”

  His voice shouldn’t soothe me after everything I’ve seen, but it does. In this dark, cruel world, he is the only light I have.

  “What happened?” The panic is clear as Saint runs into the room and drop to his knees in front of me.

  He attempts to raise my chin so he can see the damage, but I curl myself into a ball, shielding my face into my palms.

  “Let me see!” he demands, but I shake my head, ashamed of what he’ll see.

  The fact clumps of my hair litter the room doesn’t leave him guessing to what happened. But my bloodied hands point at something a lot more sinister than me deciding to cut my hair because I needed a change.

  “Who did this to you?” His voice is murderous, and I suddenly want to save him the pain of knowing his sister is the antichrist reincarnate. So I remain silent.

  He places his hands over mine, his touch filled with desperation and fear. “Please, let me see.”

  “Go away,” I whisper, but he inhales sharply, hinting that isn’t an option.

  “I’m not going anywhere,” he presses, drawing me into his chest, and God strike me down, I go willingly.

  He rocks me gently, allowing me to weep, not for my hair—because that will grow back—but for my soul. What has happened to me? How can I allow those hands to touch me after everything I’ve seen them do? I may have been able to admit my feelings for Saint, but that doesn’t make me feel any less ashamed for them.

  “I’m sorry you saw me do…that last night. I wish you didn’t have to see any of this,” he says with his lips pressed to my head.

  More tears follow, flowing a deep crimson to reflect the heartache buried deep within. “They’ll be here s-soon,” I manage to get out between stilted breaths as I bury myself deeper into his chest.

  Saint said my room is under surveillance. No doubt, Zoey convinced Alek’s men to turn a blind eye for five minutes while she wreaked havoc. Her time is up, though, because when we hear footsteps pound down the hallway, it’s time to slip into character.

  “Боже мой!” Panicked, Alek bursts into the room. I can only imagine what he sees.

  To my surprise, Saint doesn’t let me go. But no matter how good it feels, I slowly untangle myself from his arms and gradually pry open my eyes. Dried blood cakes my eyelashes, causing my vision to blur. Alek and Saint both gasp when they see me.

  “Zoey did this to you, didn’t she?” It’s Alek who speaks. I’m surprised he knows it’s her, but who else would do this?

  I meet Saint’s wide eyes as he shakes his head slowly. It’s evident everyone can see Zoey for what she is, bar him. I wish I could save him this heartache, but I can’t. With vengeance running through my veins, I nod, my heart breaking with his.

  Alek roars, startling me because if I didn’t know any better, I’d say he cares about me. “She must be punished,” he snarls, staring down at me and Saint. “Look what she’s done to you.”

  When he curls his lip in disgust, I wonder if maybe I’ve been looking at this the wrong way. Has Zoey just done me a favor? If Alek no longer finds me desirable, will he let me go?

  “Saint, find your sister and leave her downstairs. I will tell Igor to expect her.”

  When Saint closes his eyes for the briefest of moments, appearing to say a prayer for Zoey, I wonder who Igor is. But more importantly, what’s downstairs.

  Alek also notices Saint’s reaction. “If this is too personal for you, I will get someone else to find her.”

  Saint lifts his chin slowly, deadpanning Alek. The room turns violent. “This is personal. Just not for the reasons you think.”

  I gulp because the tension is thick as Saint has openly expressed to Alek that reason is…me. There is no doubt about it. What is he doing? But when he comes to a slow stand, it seems he doesn’t care anymore. “I’ll find her,” he promises, unflinching, as Alek stares him down.

  There is no question who the alpha is when Alek eventually averts his gaze. “Good.”

  “Come.” Saint offers me his hand, which I look at confused. “I will help clean you up.”

  Is he trying to get us killed? When I hesitate, he nods, promising me it’s okay. The gun at his hip assures it.

  “That’s not necessary.” Alek finds his balls as he slaps Saint’s hand away. “I will take her to see Nikita. She will fix her hair. I’ll have you looking like yourself again.” His demeanor changes as he peers down at me.

  I don’t understand any of this. Why is he being so nice to me?

  “I will accompany you,” Saint says when he reads my confusion.

  “No, that’s not needed. I will take Willow myself. After you deliver Zoey to Igor, I imagine you’ll need some time to yourself. Take the day off. Go get laid,” he adds with spite, digging into his pocket and producing a few crisp bills.

  I’m assuming that’s to pay for whatever woman Alek has lined up for Saint.

  But Saint shakes his head. “I don’t need the day off. Nor do I need to get laid,” he adds heatedly.

  “Suit yourself.” Alek has regained control, and I know this will end ugly if I don’t get Saint away from him. Which is why I come to a slow stand.

  “Thank you, Alek. I would like to see Nikita.” I presume she’s a hairdresser.

  Alek’s smug grin, although sickening, is rewarding because he doesn’t seem to see through my lies, which will work in my favor down the line.

  “Excellent.” He claps his hands together, practically beating on his chest like a gorilla in the wild. “You might want to wash your face first, and in the closet are some scarves you can use to cover your hair.”

  My hair—or lack thereof—is the least of my concerns, but Zoey achieved what she wanted as my ravaged hair is a clear eyesore for Alek. He can’t have his property looking less than perfect. But when I look at Saint, I feel more than perfect—I feel complete.

  I hope he can read why I agreed to go. And it has nothing to do with wanting to fix the mess his sister made.

  And he does.

  “Very well. If you don’t need me, I’ll go find Zoey.” He gives me one last look before he turns on his heel and leaves me alone with the devil.

  Alek sighs, liberating his lungs with victory, but if he thinks he’s won this battle, then he doesn’t realize that sooner or later, Saint and I will win the war.

  Each day takes me further and further away from who I once was. And now, staring at my reflection in the mirror with my hair cut short, I can almost believe this stranger to be someone other than me.

  Nikita didn’t bat an eyelash when she saw me. She’s probably seen this before when Alek is involved. There wasn’t much she could do to save my hair, so she styled it into a short pixie cut with long bangs. She also added some blonde highlights.

  Alek was pleased with what he saw. He thanked Nikita, and when we got into the car, he complimented me on my new look. To celebrate, he told me he has a surprise for me. He was going to wait, but thought I needed cheering up, seeing as I was attacked by a maniac he created.

  I nodded blank
ly, too numb to even care.

  The entire drive back, I thought about Saint and Zoey. What was happening to her downstairs? I have a feeling that “downstairs” is a torture chamber, clad with sharp objects and contraptions that would put the medieval period to shame. It may seem farfetched, but a room such as this is probably a normal necessity in the world of mobsters and drug lords.

  Alek has asked—and I use that word lightly—me to join him for dinner. I would rather starve to death, but here I am, fastening the straps on my heels. I assume this dinner isn’t a casual affair, so I’m wearing a burgundy A-line dress with short sleeves and scooped neckline. The hem stops just above the knee.

  I don’t know what this surprise entails, and I’ve given up on guessing because anything is possible in this place. When the clock strikes seven, and a knock sounds on the door, it’s now or never. Being escorted everywhere seems to be the norm, so I don’t make a fuss when I see a man standing out in the hallway, ready to show me to the dining room in case I’ve forgotten where it is.

  I hide my disappointment that it’s not Saint and follow him down the corridor.

  My appetite is completely shot, but the aromatic smells hint that the menu contains something delicious. I wonder what the occasion is. When we enter the dining room, I see that it indeed appears like we are celebrating something because the table is set for royalty.

  Alek stands at the head of the long table filled with every food imaginable to mankind. There is too much to list, but the bright colors bring the room to life. “I didn’t know what you liked to eat,” Alek explains when he notices me appraising all the food. “So I had the chefs prepare a bit of everything. I hope you like it.”

  “It looks lovely. Thank you.” I keep my reply to a minimum because it’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him the best dish he could ever serve would be his head on a silver platter.