BAD SAINT (All the Pretty Things #1)

Book 2 Five-2

I know he’s mostly bark, but I wonder if they do. He does do Alek’s bidding. What do they see when they look at him?

When he comes into view, I know what I see, and that’s a man who isn’t interested in small talk. Something bad is about to go down. Hans may not know the full story or he may have played it down to calm Sara, but whatever we’re about to walk into can’t be good.

Saint takes a moment to take me in, and when he doesn’t mask his appraisal, I realize Hans and Sara can be trusted. The holster on his hip ruins the moment, and I swallow nervously.

Hans leads Sara out into the hallway while Saint waits for me by the doorway. I want to say so many things, but instead, I close my bedroom door and silently follow him through the rat maze. I’m slowly familiarizing myself with the layout, but this place resembles a labyrinth, which, of course, is done with intent.

When we get to the garage and a large Hummer SUV waits for us, I brace myself for what’s ahead. Saint walks to the driver’s side while Hans opens the door for us, indicating we’re to get in the back. I breathe a sigh of relief, hopeful Alek has decided to ride in another car, but when I climb in and see him in the passenger seat, my optimism takes a nosedive.

Hans closes the door, hinting he won’t be riding with us. Saint adjusts the mirror, positioning it so he can see me. The small gesture is enough to calm my racing heart. Until Alek turns over his shoulder and smiles at me.

“Buckle up,” he says lightly as though we’re simply going out for a casual outing. I do as he says, my fingers trembling as I fasten my seat belt. Saint takes off with speed, his patience already wearing thin.

The radio provides background noise, and when Alek speaks to Saint in Russian, it’s clear he doesn’t want us to know what he’s saying. Although curious, I decide to lose myself in the landscape because this is the first time I’ve been outside.

Although it’s night, the sky radiates a royal blue. The color could be from the abundance of lights illuminating the heavens. Though some of the architecture is quite contemporary, the feel is old world mixed with modern.

Although summer has come and gone and it’s early September, tourists still walk the streets, taking selfies and marveling at the beauty. Something so mundane seems so foreign to me now. I can’t take two steps without looking over my shoulder. I wonder if my life will ever return to normal if I escape? When I meet Saint’s eyes in the rearview mirror, I know the answer is no.

Nothing will ever be the same again.

We drive for about forty-five minutes, and when the neighborhoods become run-down, I guess we’re close to our final destination. The abandoned buildings have graffiti scribbled on them and faded advertisement posters rustle in the wind. The vibe points to these structures being vacant for years.

A flashing bright neon pink sign up ahead seems to be the only functioning establishment in the neighborhood. Saint pulls up in front of the building where two beefy security guards stand watch over the front door.

Craning my neck, I see the sign reads The Pink Pussycat. I dare say this is a strip club. My suspicions are confirmed when two women in jeweled thongs and silver stilettoes walk out the door and make a beeline for our car.

Saint looks at me in the mirror and nods subtly. His reassurance makes me feel remotely better. But when one of the women opens his door and leans in, batting her false lashes seductively, that assurance turns into the green-eyed monster. It seems he and The Pink Pussycat are well acquainted.

She says something to him in Russian, pursing her shiny red lips as she zeroes in on his. His gaze flicks to the mirror, watching me narrow my eyes as I challenge him on his next move. When he stops her advance by placing his hand on her shoulder, she peers down at it, confused.

Alek’s door then opens, and woman number two appears. The corner of her mouth lifts into a slanted grin. She goes in for a kiss, but he too stops her, mimicking Saint’s pose. “Nadia, I want you to meet Willow.”

The moment I hear my name, I stop glaring at Saint and remember where I am. Both women scowl at me, considering I’m the reason they’re not locking lips with their beaus. But Nadia knows better than to upset a man like Aleksei.

“Hello,” she says in a thick accent, nodding.

I nod back.

The thick tension can be cut with a knife, so I’m thankful when Alek gently pushes Nadia aside so he can exit the car. Saint does the same with his admirer, who unhappily walks back into the club with Nadia hot on her heels. When he opens my door and offers me his hand, I peer up at him, wondering if the surprises will ever cease.

Not wanting to rouse suspicion, I place my hand in his, ignoring the sparks crackling between us, threatening to electrocute me where I stand. We instantly drop hands when Alek walks over.

“There is no need to be frightened. You will be by my side.” If that’s supposed to make me feel better, he’s sorely mistaken.

Another car pulls up, and when Hans and two other men exit the black truck, Sara sighs. That soon turns into a strangled wheeze.

“Hans, you will wait outside. I need someone to watch the door.”

Hans nods, but something doesn’t feel right.

“Shall we?” Alek offers me his arm as though he’s some gentleman. With no other choice, I hook my arm through his, hating how close I am to him.

Saint leads the way, our own personal shield as he scopes out our surroundings. The guards at the door move aside, allowing us entry. When Hans takes his post outside, Sara whimpers softly, but she follows us, not wanting to make a scene in front of Alek.

The moment we step inside, I wish it didn’t look like your sleazy stereotypical strip club, but it does. It’s so dark, I can barely see three feet in front of me. The disco ball reflects the hue from the stage lights, showcasing a naked woman clumsily gyrating against a silver pole. Money litters the small glitter stage she dances on. She barely seems to notice, though, because it’s clear she’s high.

Men in suits, their ties loosely knotted, sit around ogling the women with drinks and cigars in hand. The bar is well stocked, and when the bartender sees Alek, he stops polishing the glass he’s holding and instantly reaches for the top shelf vodka.

Saint leads us to a red booth in the back. Alek gestures for me to enter first. I feel trapped, but I slide along the vinyl. Alek sits close to me, placing his hand on my thigh. Even though it’s on the material of my dress and not my bare skin, my stomach still roils.

Sara sits on a wooden stool as it seems she’s not good enough to sit with us. Saint stands with his back facing us and his arms crossed. By his stance, it’s clear he’s watching the door, and when a group of men walk through it, I can see why.

There are four of them, but the older man in the middle, the one with the piercing eyes, is definitely the leader. The others flanking him have their hands on their guns as they scan the room for any threats. Once they see Saint up ahead, they huddle closer to their boss.

When they reach the booth, Saint doesn’t move an inch. His rigid position reveals he isn’t playing. One wrong move, and they’ll all pay dearly…with their life.

“Are we allowed in?” teases the man in the middle. The well-dressed man smiles, flashing a gold front tooth. Nothing about him screams mobster, but that’s exactly what he is.

“Saint, it’s okay.” Alek taps his back, indicating he’s to move to allow our guests to join us. After a few seconds, he does as Alek says. The man enters the booth but doesn’t hide his surprise when he sees me.

“Adam, this is Willow.” It seems I don’t need further introduction because Adam instantly nods graciously at me.

“Lovely to meet you,” he says in an accent I can’t place.

I wish I could share the sentiment.

Adam’s men loiter near the booth, but Saint makes it clear there is an invisible line they are not to cross. If they do, they will lose a limb.

“Shall we get down to business?” It’s Alek who doesn’t want to dabble in small talk and just go straight in for the kill.

The bartender doesn’t say a word. He places three glasses and the bottle of vodka on the table, then makes himself scarce. He knows the drill, but I don’t. I don’t know why I’m here. Or what I’m about to witness.

“Alek, I am so pleased we can do business. I guarantee the best product out there.” One of the men passes Saint a black briefcase.

He slams it onto a table and pops open the lock while I hold my breath. A single brick of white powder appears. No guessing what it is. He reaches for the switchblade in his pocket and cuts through the plastic. Scooping out a tiny portion, he balances it on the tip of his knife.

He offers it to Alek, who shakes his head. When he gestures to Sara, I shift in my seat nervously. Saint has avoided making eye contact with me, and I know why. I’ve seen the real him, and this cold, callous bastard is not that.

“No,” Sara gasps, gripping the edge of the stool.

Alek simply looks at her, and it’s enough for her to nervously brush her hair back and lean forward so Saint can place the knife under her nose. She presses down on one nostril and inhales sharply, the white powder disappearing up her nose.

She rubs her nostril and closes her eyes tight as she sniffs repeatedly and clears her throat loudly. My attention flicks back and forth between Sara and Saint. Both look in pain. When she stops sniffing, she opens her eyes, and I can’t help but notice they’re wet. Alek may think it’s just the burn of the drugs, but I know better. They’re her tears.

Alek looks at his gold Rolex, and when a few minutes pass and Sara isn’t convulsing on the floor or foaming at the mouth, he nods at Saint. Sara is the lab rat. He used her to test the drugs to ensure they weren’t poisoned. That’s how little her life means to him.

Saint does the same thing, but with a bigger portion this time and passes Alek the knife. Alek smiles, before offering the drugs to Adam. Adam isn’t offended because, in this business, you can’t trust anyone. He accepts the knife and snorts the drugs like it’s candy.

Satisfied, Alek licks the tip of his pinkie. He inserts it into the brick, then slips his finger into his mouth and rubs it vigorously along his bottom gum. I watch all this in utter shock. In my line of work, I’ve seen drug use, but this is something you’d expect to see on the set of The Godfather. Alek squeezes my leg and hollers in delight.

“That’s some good cocaine!” he exclaims, reaching for the bottle of vodka. Adam claps happily as the mood lightens.

“I’ll have my men deliver the first shipment tomorrow at the drop-off point.”

Alek pours three glasses of vodka, nodding happily. “Excellent. I will want to triple that amount every month, and I’ll organize payment the first of each month. As long as we’re clear that you sell to me and only me.”