BAD SAINT (All the Pretty Things #1)

Book 2 Three-1

Popov isn’t fooled. But the thought of hurting her more than I already have…I don’t know if I can.

Day 35ONCE AGAIN, PASSING out from exhaustion allows me to forget where I am. But when I wake, it doesn’t take me long to remember the nightmare that has been my life for the past thirty-five days.

I haven’t seen Saint or Aleksei since they left this room. Others have brought me food and water, and uncuffed me so I could use the bathroom, but it’s clear I’m to remain handcuffed to this bed until further instruction from Aleksei.

The clock on the bedside table reads just after 7 a.m. I wonder what the day holds and how close we are to Russia. The thought of reaching my final destination turns my stomach, but it’s the lesser of two evils.

Being stuck on this yacht with Aleksei and his men is far more suffocating than being held prisoner in Russia. I may be naïve in thinking this, but being on land will present more plausible opportunities to escape than my current predicament of being trapped at sea.

If by some miracle I were to escape now, where exactly would I go? I’m surrounded by nothing but water. Truth be told, there is no need for me to be handcuffed because I’m truly a prisoner—a prisoner to the elements as well as to a maniacal psychopath.

When the door opens, I turn to see who it is. When Zoey floats in, wearing a grin from ear to ear, I instantly dread what’s headed my way. “Time for breakfast.” She’s in a black bikini top and sarong with her hair piled high on her head. She looks like she’s ready to laze about in the sun all day, circumstances be damned.

The mere mention of food turns my stomach. “I’m not hungry.”

When she bursts into laughter, I know I’ve missed the memo. “That’s a good thing for you then because until we’ve all been fed, you don’t eat.”

I raise my head off the pillow to get a better look at her. “Excuse me?”

She’s clearly enjoying herself, and when she produces the key to my cuffs, I know why. She’s in control for once, and I suddenly feel like an ant being roasted alive under a magnifying glass. “It’s time you earned your keep.”

“Unless you’ve had a lapse in memory, I’m here against my will,” I snap, tugging at the cuffs to prove my point.

But she doesn’t seem to care either way.

She reaches over me and unlocks my cuffs but doesn’t give me a moment to rub my raw wrists before she yanks me up by my arm. I try to shrug from her punishing grip, but she holds on tight. “Alek doesn’t like to be kept waiting, and this will be the first breakfast we’ve had together that I didn’t cook.”

I’m soon brought up to speed.

It seems I’m to be a slave in every sense of the word. “Cook your own damn breakfast,” I spit, prying her fingers off me.

My suggestion falls on deaf ears as she shoves me between my shoulder blades. “Move.”

Not having much choice, I open the door and wonder if this is how someone feels when they walk into a room where everyone is talking about them. All heads turn my way and the conversations pause as the men gawk at Zoey and me.

I’m guessing most are placing bets on who would win in a fight because it’ll come to blows if she doesn’t stop pushing me. “Alek likes his eggs poached.”

It takes all my willpower not to tell her to go f**k herself as I walk past the perverts to the kitchen. Saint isn’t down here, which has me wondering where he is.

“The eggs are in there.” When she points at the fridge, I realize she’s serious. The men look at me and then at Zoey, and I know she’s doing this in front of company to humiliate me. She wants them to see her as the top dog because even though I’m here to take her place, she wants to reiterate that she’s still number one.

Without a choice, I hunt through the fridge and cupboards to gather what I need. Both are well stocked. There is enough bacon to feed a small army, which I suppose I am. By the fresh produce on board, I dare say we are close to Russia because it’ll run out in two, three days tops.

Or we could always dock somewhere.

The unknown adds to my nerves, so I decide to focus on feeding these assholes so I can go back to my prison. I find a monster glass bowl in the cupboard above the stove and go about cracking the eggs into it.

However, a pained oof leaves me when my head is yanked back—hard. “What do you think you’re doing?” Zoey snarls, tugging my hair harder when I twist violently to break free.

“Making breakfast!” I cry, reaching behind me to force her fingers out of my hair. But the movement only infuriates her further.

“Are you f*****g stupid? I just told you Alek likes his eggs poached.”

I want to strangle her. But I can’t move. Hair pulling is such a catty thing to do. I would respect her more if she knocked me out cold because then I wouldn’t haven’t to cook her f*****g breakfast.

“I’m making scrambled eggs for the merry men,” I explain sarcastically through gritted teeth. “Let go of me.”

When she does, I spin quickly, intent on killing her, but she stops me in my tracks when she slaps my cheek so hard, I taste blood. I cup my face, eyes narrowed as I move my jaw from side to side.

Zoey isn’t bothered in the slightest. “Alek and I eat first. Then they eat. Now do it again.”

Anger spurs me forward, and I don’t care if this action ends my life. It will be so worth it because if I go down, I’ll make sure she comes with me. Sadly, all plans of killing her with my bare hands will have to be put on hold for now.

“What’s going on?” Saint’s voice booms across the room, reminding me that regardless of how badly I want to murder Zoey, she’s still his sister. She may be a mega b***h, but that will never change who she is to Saint.

And judging by the winner’s grin she’s sporting, she knows it.

“This b***h is useless,” she says with a condescending chuckle. “She can’t even do a simple thing like make breakfast.”

When I turn slowly to lock eyes with Saint, he discovers my reddening cheek. He inhales deeply through his nose, like someone would when asking God to give them strength.

I don’t know how he’ll respond since we’re all on show. I want nothing more than to go to him, but I can’t, so I stand here like a trained poodle and not say a word. But Saint, it seems, has enough words for us both, and that has me nodding in gratitude even though his sentence is a double-edged sword.

“She isn’t your slave.”

“No, but she’s Alek’s,” Zoey counters, folding her arms in challenge. But she doesn’t stand a chance against her brother.

“Therefore, only Alek has the right to command her.”

Technically, no one has the right, but I understand what he’s doing.

Zoey’s eyes narrow, and her lips twist into a bitter scowl, but she doesn’t argue. It seems she’s submissive to Alek and her brother.

“Go wait for him,” Saint commands, which I can only imagine eats him up inside. He’s giving her orders like a dog to save her punishment. She’s chosen this life, and this is the only way Saint can guarantee she stays safe.

She doesn’t argue but pushes past me forcibly, ensuring I lose my balance. I grip onto the counter to stop myself from face planting. She floats through the room and does what Saint said—she waits on her knees by the golden chair at the head of the table, which looks like a throne, for her master.

I turn my back, sickened.

Although the last thing I want to do is make her breakfast, I commence poaching the eggs and frying the bacon because I need something to do with my shaky hands. As I’m brewing the coffee, I can feel someone watching me closely.

No guessing who.

“Something smells good.”

A shiver passes over me; an automatic response, it seems, to whenever Aleksei enters a room. However, I continue preparing breakfast because it allows me to keep my back turned.

“Good girl,” Aleksei says to who I presume is a kneeling Zoey. She hums in response. I can imagine him patting her head. “Come sit.”

This is so f****d up, and I can’t do a damn thing about it. I desperately need to speak with Saint in private, but these walls have ears, and I have to be careful.

Once I’ve prepared Aleksei’s breakfast, I hunt for crockery. When I open a drawer and find it filled with plastic forks and knives, I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. It appears Aleksei has thought of everything.

Gathering everything I need and serving up two plates of food, I take a deep breath and turn around. Saint stands off to the left of Aleksei with his eyes forward in what I assume is his usual post. He is Aleksei’s hitman, after all.

Shaking such thoughts from my mind, I make my way over to the table and place Aleksei’s breakfast in front of him, ensuring I don’t stand too close. I do the same with Zoey sitting to his right. The rest of the men remain standing. It appears their boss eats first without them encroaching on his space.

It’s amazing that he commands this much power, and I wonder if any of them are here against their will too. What has he promised for them to exhibit such loyalty? Or are they just fearful for their lives?

I go back into the kitchen to pour the coffee.

When I make my way back over to the table and place the mug in front of Aleksei, he reaches out and gently grasps my wrist. I flinch, as I’m still sore from being handcuffed, but I don’t struggle. What would be the point?

He strokes his thumb over my skin, peering up at me. “Thank you for breakfast. It smells wonderful.”

I blink once, taken aback by his manners. But I quickly recover as it’s clear he’s waiting for my reply.

“It’s my pleasure. I hope you enjoy it.” I swallow down my lie because it feels like acid against my tongue.

I chance a quick glance at Saint and find his jaw clenched tight. He may appear docile, but I know better. In order to convince Aleksei that Saint is the key to curbing my behavior, I need to behave.

Aleksei nods once. He’s brushed back his damp hair after taking a shower, and the slight graying at his temples only adds to the refined look. He doesn’t look like a monster, but I suppose those are the most dangerous types.

He lets me go, examining me closely as he can’t seem to read me as well as he does Zoey. I will use this to my advantage because it’s the only way to survive whatever I will face. I quickly make my way back into the kitchen.

I’m guessing the men have to wait to eat until after Aleksei finishes, so I’ll make their breakfast when he’s done. This is so incredibly sexist, but the more time spent out here, scoping out my surroundings and what’s at my disposal, the better it is for me.

There is some chitchat, mostly in Russian, but Saint stays as quiet as a ghost. I wonder what’s going through his mind? Is he searching for an escape route just like I am?

A loud clutter causes me to jolt.

Pausing from where I’m washing up, I turn and look over my shoulder, taking in the sight of Zoey’s breakfast spilled on the floor. The upturned plate leaves a trail of yellow yolk marring the polished surface. “This is disgusting,” she spits, glaring at me.

Aleksei stops midchew, appearing just as confused as I am. “What’s wrong, любимая?”

I remember Saint told me Aleksei used this nickname for Zoey, which means favorite. Irony at its finest, considering he treats her like dirt.

She leans back in her seat with her arms folded and her lips pressed into a scowl. She looks like a spoiled little girl. “The eggs are overdone. The bacon is soggy. Do it again.”

My hands are buried in hot, soapy water, so no one can see me clench them into fists. This is just a power play. Aleksei places his plastic fork and knife on the rim of his plate, watching this unfold. Technically, I am to obey him, not Zoey, so how am I supposed to respond?