BAD SAINT (All the Pretty Things #1)

Thirteen-3

I need to get over it, but I just can’t. I’m not wired the way Saint is. I can’t just pretend that a kiss didn’t happen when it meant something to me. And that’s the real issue here—it meant something to me.

I am frustrated with myself, for my foolishness when it comes to Saint because this ordeal has bonded me to him when it should have done the complete opposite. There must be something seriously wrong with me.

Tipping my face to the heavens, I beg the universe to stop being a torturous b***h and cut me some slack—for once. I don’t expect her to listen, but she does.

The echo is faint at first as it’s so foreign to hear a sound I was certain I would never hear again. But when it gets louder, I shield the sun from my eyes with my hand to ensure I haven’t succumbed to the madness.

I haven’t.

It’s a mere dot in the distance, but there is no mistaking what it is—it’s a plane.

Life has been moving in slow motion, but now, everything whips around me, threatening to swallow me whole. “Hey!” I scream, jumping up and down and waving my hands in the air wildly.

My heart threatens to burst from my chest because I can’t believe this is happening.

“Down here!” I bellow at the top of my lungs, waving like a madman.

The plane gets closer, bringing tears to my eyes.

“The SOS!” I frantically run along the shore, desperate to get it to before the plane flies overhead.

My muscles burn, but I persevere because this is my only chance. I don’t know if I’ll get this opportunity ever again. “Saint! A plane!” I cry, running rapidly. “Throw the rum on the fire!”

We need an accelerant to make that fire go boom! If they miss the SOS, then a bonfire, blazing into the heavens will definitely catch their attention. The sand kicks up as I pound along the shoreline, looking over my shoulder to ensure I keep the plane in my line of sight.

It’s getting closer.

“Saint!” But when I reach the fire, he’s nowhere to be seen. And neither is the rum. “No!”

I don’t have time to search for it because the plane turns, and the flight path is right above me. “Hey!” I jump up and down, waving and screaming like a madwoman.

I stand by the SOS, ensuring whoever is flying that plane can see that I need help. They’re so high up, I can’t be sure they can see me, but I continue trying to flag them down. The closer they get, the louder I scream.

When it flies overhead, the noise is my savior, and I wave madly. I’m expecting them to slow down, or at least acknowledge they can see me, but when the plane continues flying away from me, my stomach drops, and I run after it.

“No! Stop! Help me!” I roar, but I don’t stand a chance of keeping up with it. “Please, no.” Regardless of my pleas, it doesn’t stop and flies away, taking my hope with it.

Breathless and running on nothing but fumes, I eventually cave and drop to the sand, sobbing. I slam my fists into the soft shore, tears of anger burning my cheeks. All I can do is watch the plane disappear into the distance. Before long, it’s gone for good.

“Ahгел?”

I yelp, my already frayed nerves on edge. “Where were you?” My tone is broken.

“I was picking more vines. Why?”

“Why?” I chuckle, but nothing is positive about the sound. “Because a f*****g plane just flew over us. You didn’t hear it?”

“No,” he says in a rushed breath. “The density of the terrain blocks out any noise, you know that.”

He’s right. But how did he get there so quickly? The area where the vines grow is about two miles away. And it’s rugged land.

“Where is the rum?”

“The rum?” he repeats.

I nod, unsure why he’s choosing to be so evasive.

“It’s under the tree, in the shade. Why?”

“Because I was going to use it to throw onto the fire,” I explain, fatigue overwhelming me.

My back is still turned, so I can’t see his face, but I can’t shake the feeling that something is off.

“Let’s hope they saw the SOS then,” he reasons without any meaning. He couldn’t care less. Our only lifeline has just flown away, and he doesn’t even seem to care.

The fight in me has died, and all I want to do is cry myself to sleep. “I’m going to lie down.” I come to a wobbly stand as this is the first time since this nightmare started that I’ve felt absolute defeat.

Saint doesn’t say anything. And neither do I.

I stumble past him, unable to look at him as I’m fearful what I will see reflected in his eyes. Harriet Pot Pie follows me as we make our way through the trees. I travel on autopilot, a sense of doom shadowing us.

We trek the hill and enter the cave. I collapse onto the sleeping bag and tuck my knees to my chest. And here I stay, sobbing until oblivion comes.

Day 32SOMETHING WAKES ME. Something ominous.

I gather my bearings and realize I’m still in the cave. For a split second, I believe the plane was a dream, but the hollowness in my chest reveals it wasn’t.

I don’t know how long I’ve slept, but as I rise slowly, my aching muscles hint it’s been a long while. I guess it’s well past midnight because when I look toward the entrance, it’s pitch black outside.

Something about today troubles me. I don’t know why, but I don’t believe Saint. He claims he didn’t hear the plane, but I think he did. I suppose my pent-up anger toward him could be clouding my judgment, but I guess there is only one way to find out.

Harriet Pot Pie stays where she is. She can sense the shitstorm moments away from erupting. I charge down the hill, adrenaline coursing through me. I can’t get there quick enough because I need to get everything off my chest, and when I say everything, I mean everything.

We will have our long overdue talk whether he wants to or not. However, when I emerge from the trees and onto the shore, it seems we’re way past talking.

“What the f**k are you doing?” I roar, coming to a sudden stop.

There must be some mistake. My eyes are surely deceiving me because there is no way I am seeing this—seeing Saint destroy the SOS. But when he turns over his shoulder, completely guilt-ridden, I know there is no mistake.

“I asked you a question,” I cry, covering my mouth with a wavering hand. He’s demolished endless hours of work because all that sits before me is rubble. “Saint! Why?”

He closes his eyes for the briefest of moments before tipping his head backward with a groan. “I had to,” is his lame ass reply.

“You had to?” I repeat, anger exploding from me. I storm over to him and grip his bicep, forcing him to look at me. “Why?”

I am shaking in rage, and I cannot contain it.

“Because we will do it my way,” he arrogantly replies, shaking free from my hold.

“What?” I stagger back, his pride almost winding me.

“I will get you off this island. I promise. The raft is almost finished—”

“f**k the raft!” I bellow. “That SOS was the best way of being rescued. Now it’s ruined!”

“Just trust me,” he has the audacity to say.

“Trust you?” I spit, disgusted. “The only reason I’m here is because of you.” An epiphany hits, and I snicker. “You can’t stand that I’m the one who might save us, can you? You selfish asshole!”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he snaps, folding his arms firmly.

“It’s true,” I press, refusing to back down. “You know, most people thank someone for saving their life, but not you. Your pride won’t let you do that, will it?”

“You should have let me die,” he professes, his jaw fixed. He isn’t fishing for compliments. He truly stands by his admission.

“How do you do it?”

“Do what?” he asks, standing tall.

“How do you turn your emotions on and off like that?” I reply, suddenly feeling sorry for him.

But Saint reminds me just who he is as he advances forward and grips my biceps, dragging me toward him. “You forget…I don’t have any.”

Although every part of me trembles, I challenge, “Bullshit. You want to believe that, but it’s not true.”

But when I think about our kiss, and how he can treat me this way without feeling, I wonder if maybe I want to see something that isn’t there.

He lets me go, and I sag forward, wrapping my arms around my middle. “I can feel it…every time you touch me. When you…kissed me.”

He hisses, turning his cheek. “Do you know how many men I’ve killed?” he cries, startling me because I’ve never heard him so…emotional before.

“I-I don’t care,” I reply, surprising myself because I mean every word.

It appears I’ve surprised him as well when his lips part, but he soon recovers. “Well, you should,” he spits with venom.

“What have I done to make you hate me so much?” My lower lip quivers, but I try my best not to cry.

“I don’t hate you.” He interlaces his hands behind his neck, inhaling deeply.

“Then why would you kiss me and then just disregard it like it didn’t matter? It may not have mattered to you, but it did to me.” I need to stop talking, but I can’t. I’m done playing this cruel game. “I couldn’t let you die,” I confess, locking eyes with him, “because I didn’t want you to. I should hate you, but you’re right. I don’t. You scare me”—he frowns—“but not because I’m afraid of you. I’m afraid of what you make me feel. I don’t understand it, any of it, especially when I know you’ve lied to me. You heard the plane, didn’t you?”

His silence is all the response I need.

“I just don’t understand why you wouldn’t want to be saved. Why did you destroy the SOS? Why did you touch me the way you have? Was it to humiliate me? And why would you kiss me the way you did and not mean it?” A sob escapes me because my questions are the ones that weigh heavily.

I know I sound desperate, but I am. I’m desperate to understand what any of this means.

The air suddenly whips around us and leaves me winded as Saint rushes forward and cups my cheeks between his palms. He frantically searches my face while I hold my breath. “It’s because of that kiss”—he avidly pants, his touch wavering with emotion—“that I’m doing this. All of this.”

A gasp leaves me. “Wh-what do you mean?”

“You’re right; I did see the plane.” His confession confirms what I already knew to be the truth. But I need to know why he didn’t react.

“Why wouldn’t you be happy about that? I thought you wanted to get off this island as much as I do.”

“You don’t get it,” he spits, squeezing my cheeks gently. “That plane, it was most likely Popov’s men.”

My eyes widen.

“Which means he knows where we are. I destroyed the SOS because, by some miracle, I’m hoping I’m wrong. I should have destroyed it days ago. I just didn’t think he’d come for us. I thought he’d grow bored by now, but I should have known better.”

“Maybe it wasn’t them?” I try to reason. Saint’s hollow expression reveals that’s just wishful thinking.

“Maybe it wasn’t, but if it was, that means he’s found you and…he is coming,” he pushes out in a rushed breath. “And that means I will have no other choice but to give you to him…no matter how badly I don’t want to.” Tears sting my eyes. “I don’t have a choice, ahгел. But if we escaped, I wouldn’t be forced to do the worst thing in my entire life.”