BAD SAINT (All the Pretty Things #1)

Book 2 Four-2

Remembering the main kitchen was down to the left, I decide to try there first. Surely, there is a back door or even a servant’s entry because I have no doubt Alek has many of them. No one was in there before, so the coast should be clear.

And it is.

My feet skid along the polished tiles as I desperately search for an exit. But there isn’t a door. “Goddammit!” I curse angrily, about to flee, but something from the corner of the room catches my eye. An old red rug looks out of place, so going with my gut, I dive for it and kick the edge away, and what I see has my heart almost bursting from my chest. It’s a trapdoor.

I don’t know where it leads, but it’s better than being stuck in here. Besides, someone like Alek has to have a secret passage, and I bet this is it. Just as I drop to my knees and hurriedly roll the carpet away, I hear a voice that makes my skin crawl.

It’s Alek, and I have mere seconds until he busts me.

The old brass handle has a lock on it. “No!” I cry in a mere whisper when I yank at it, only to find it’s locked. I was hoping by some miracle it would be unlocked.

Wishing I had more time to look for a key, I know if he finds me here, my only escape route will be foiled. I will find that key. Just not now.

I look over my shoulder quickly to make sure the coast is still clear. Then I cover the trapdoor and leave it as I found it, springing up and making a mad dash to the stainless steel fridge. Yanking open the door, I bury my nose inside and exhale when I hear Alek enter.

“дорогая?” His surprise is clear.

I take a few moments to catch my breath and calm down. “Hello.” I feel so strange addressing him this civilly. All I want to do is kick him in the balls and make a break for it, but I can’t. I have to be smart, especially since I’ve found my way out.

“You’re awake?”

“Yes.” I refrain from adding he probably should have amped up the dose of whatever drug he gave me.

Unable to hide in this fridge forever, I close the door slowly and come face to face with the man I hate with every fiber of my being. He looks casual in a white linen shirt and fawn-colored pants, but I don’t let his looks deceive me.

“I wasn’t expecting you to be up. I wanted to show you around your new home personally. I see Sara failed to do what was asked of her,” he says, his nostrils flaring slightly.

“She tried to stop me, but I get cranky when I’m hungry. Her red cheek proves just how cranky I can get,” I innocently say while Alek’s lips slowly lift into a sly grin.

“We are one and the same.”

We are nothing alike, but I smile nonetheless.

“I’m sorry about the commotion.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Commotion?” He needs to be a little more specific because this entire shitshow has been a commotion.

“Yes, on the yacht. With Saint shooting you and all.” He points at my wounded shoulder.

The moment I hear his name, my façade almost slips, but I pull it together. “I don’t remember much.” I need to know what exactly Saint told him before I go divulging what I remember.

Alek leans against the counter, folding his arms casually. “Of course you don’t. You drank the drugged vodka. Saint explained how Zoey was trying to hurt you. How she drugged us all because she was green with jealousy over you.”

My legs tremble, but I keep calm. Saint said that? He threw his own sister under the bus to save me? “That would explain the lapse in memory,” I say, nodding as if I’ve just solved an ambiguous puzzle.

“Zoey is spoiled. I blame myself,” he explains offhandedly while I wonder how the hell he’s come to that conclusion. “I should be harsher with her, but she loves me. I can’t punish her for that.”

It takes all my willpower to remain cool.

“Saint revealed how jealous Zoey has been over my need to”—he wets his bottom lip—“broaden my horizons. She thought if she killed you, then that would prove her love for me. Thankfully, Saint didn’t drink the drugged liquor, so he was the only one awake to tell the tale. Zoey, of course, had a far different version of events.”

I gulp because her version is the truth.

“But I know that she’s lying.”

“How do you know that?” I ask, feigning innocence.

Alek never takes his eyes off me when he coolly replies, “Because Saint doesn’t miss. If you had, in fact, done all the things Zoey claimed you did, then you wouldn’t be standing here today.”

No further explanation needed.

“He told me she used you as a shield as she held a gun to your head. He had no other choice but to shoot you so he could disarm Zoey. Adrian, on the other hand, was intent on revenge because of what happened to Kazimir. He was stupid to think he could ever compete with someone like Saint.” His tone holds an almost pride at the killing machine Saint is thanks to him.

Saint has tied a big red bow on this entire story, and Alek has fallen for it. The only other witness is now dead, which only leaves Zoey. But I remember Alek’s words before he was out cold.

You will pay.

At the time, I thought our ruse was up, but it appears I was wrong. I don’t know the full story, but from the pieces I’ve gathered, it seems Saint has blamed everything on Zoey, and it’s stuck because she hasn’t hid her hatred for me.

Alek believes Saint because why would he lie to save me? Zoey is his sister. She’s the reason he’s here in the first place. He owes me nothing, but that’s exactly what he did. Alek may have clued on to some kind of connection between Saint and me, but he would never suspect Saint to do what he’s done. And neither did I.

I want to ask where he is, but I don’t.

“Tonight, I have some very important guests coming to visit. I will have Sara help you get ready.”

I don’t appear to have a choice in the matter. But thinking of my escape behind me, I nod. The sooner I figure out the layout of this place, the better, and I can’t do that locked in my room.

“By the way, I’m sorry I had to drug you. I didn’t want you to feel any pain. A gunshot wound can be excruciating,” he says as though he did me a favor.

“Who took out the bullet?” I ask, wishing I could remember.

Alek pushes off the counter. “Saint. He’s a godsend,” he replies, his response filled with complete innuendo. “I couldn’t have chosen a better man.”

I gnaw the inside of my cheek to stop myself from hurling abuse. He is the only one who has a choice while we are forced to bend to his will.

“Will Zoey be there tonight?” I need to know where my enemies are at all times because that’s the only way I will be able to escape.

Alek runs the tips of his fingers over the styled side of his groomed hair. Not one lock is out of place, which has me guessing this might be a mannerism of his indicating something has pissed him off. “No, she won’t. She must learn her place. She is no longer my number one girl.”

When he floats toward me, I hold my breath. He sweeps a piece of hair behind my ear. “Because who is?”

He’s not a tall man, but I still feel dwarfed in his presence, especially when he looks at me with that hunger in his eyes. He waits for my reply, but we both know there is only one answer.

“I am.” Bile rises as I confess something which makes me physically ill.

He inhales happily, but it seems my skills as an actress suck.

Leaning forward, he places his lips against the shell of my ear. My chest rises and falls rapidly as I try to steady my breathing. “One day, you’ll really mean that.”

I brace myself for a punishment, but I don’t get it. Instead, Alek leaves me standing in the kitchen with my heart in my throat as he exits.

“I’m sorry for hitting you.”

Sara pauses from applying shadow to my upper eyelid. “It’s okay.”

I figure I owe her an apology seeing as she’s doted on me all day. Of course, this isn’t either of our choices because Alek ordered her to help me get ready. As she pulled out lavish dress after lavish dress while she stood in some ratty maid’s outfit, I couldn’t help but feel like one of the wicked stepsisters from Cinderella.

I picked a green A-line dress with long sleeves and an even longer hemline. The top is fitted, but the skirt flares out slightly past my waist. I wanted to cover as much of my body as possible. When Sara walked me into a closet that technically could be a room of its own, I gaped around at all the shoes, clothes, and accessories on the shelves.

Sara said Alek liked heels, so she picked out a pair of pointy black pumps. When she asked what jewelery I wanted to wear, I clasped the cross at my neck. She didn’t question it but decided my outfit wasn’t complete without pearl drop earrings.

I showered, dressed, and now, I am getting primped within an inch of my life. Sara decided my hair down would complement the dress, so she curled and styled it to fall around my shoulders. Once she was happy with her handiwork, she began to paint my face to hide the real me.

The layers of foundation she applied indicated I needed the excess to make me look human. We remained quiet, both of us lost to this foreign world.

“I’m almost done,” she says, snapping me from my thoughts.

“Take your time. I’m in no hurry.” I have no idea what awaits me out there, but I’m guessing it can’t be good.

Where is Saint? And why hasn’t he come to see me? I need to speak with him to discuss what happens now, but getting two seconds alone in this place seems impossible.

“I know you’re nervous about tonight,” Sara says, uncapping a tube of mascara and coating my lashes. “Just do what you’re told. It will be less painful that way.”

I know she’s trying to be nice, but I’m not nervous. I’m angry. “One thing you’ll come to learn about me, Sara, is that I don’t do what I’m told very often.”

Her lips twitch. “I can see that.”

It’s nice to share a lighthearted moment because we don’t experience them often.

When she caps the mascara and leans back to admire her creation, I wonder what she sees. “You look beautiful.”

When she shifts and allows me to look in the mirror, I see she’s done a great job. My skin looks flawless and sculpted, thanks to her contouring skills. My blue eyes pop because of the gold shimmer eyeshadow, the brown liner, and mascara she’s applied.

An almost nude lipstick coats my full lips, but the subtle rose undertones seem to draw out the pink.

My makeup isn’t overdone. As it appears, I’m hardly wearing much at all. But that’s the look Sara has gone for. “What do you think?” she asks nervously.

Leaning forward to take a closer look in the dresser mirror, I gently bring my curls over my shoulders to frame my face. Her skills rival any makeup artist in Hollywood. “You’ve done a great job.”