BAD SAINT (All the Pretty Things #1)

Eight-2

Even though he’s unsteady on his feet, he stands, gathering his balance before he walks away.

Sighing, I’m disappointed in his response. We very well may be the only people on this island, which means we’ll have to work together to figure out a way to get off.

Packing up the first-aid kit, I take a quick look around to see if anything else survived. I don’t see anything, but I’m hoping some of our stuff may eventually wash up on shore. Saint is nowhere to be seen, so I decide to gather whatever I can to make an SOS signal.

Dawn is approaching, and now that the adrenaline has worn off, I realize I’m shivering. My dress hangs off one shoulder, thanks to Kazimir’s rough hands. I also don’t have on any underwear. Thankfully, my bra remains unscathed, but overall, I look like I belong on this island—a perfect castaway.

Reaching for Saint’s long-sleeved shirt, I slip it over my head, ignoring the scent clinging to the soft material. It stops mid-thigh, which is perfect as I don’t feel as exposed. Blowing out a breath, I gather some rocks from along the shoreline. This is going to take me all day, so I decide to venture uphill and into the thick jungle.

The towering trees and dense foliage mean I don’t stray too far as I’m afraid I’ll get lost. I gather whatever I can and return to the shoreline half a dozen times. I am nowhere near collecting enough supplies, but I refuse to give up.

The sun slowly rises over the horizon, the vibrant beams skimming the tranquil blue water. The crystal clear water allows me to see the schools of fish swimming through the colorful coral even from this distance. It really is a sight. Too bad I’m stranded out here with someone who probably won’t ever speak to me again.

“What are you doing?” Saint asks, proving me wrong.

Turning over my shoulder, I refuse to appease my curiosity of watching his skin glisten under the rising sun and look into his eyes and nothing else. “I’m making an SOS,” I reply as though it’s a no-brainer. “Maybe we should start a fire?”

“Don’t bother,” he says, raining on my parade.

Spinning around, I place my hands on my hips, unappreciative of his negativity. “How will a passing plane know we’re in trouble?”

He does a quick appraisal of my new attire but doesn’t address the fact I’m wearing his clothes. “There will be no passing planes. Or ships for that matter. This place is off the grid. No one has been here for years.”

I’m suddenly filled with dread. “You don’t know that,” I argue, but a small part of me agrees with him.

“No, I don’t know for certain, but after a quick look around, it’s safe to assume we’re the only people here. I found a small hut, but it’s been empty for a long time. There are some things in there, but judging by the appearance, it was left behind years ago.”

“Years?” I gasp, shaking my head, unbelieving. “Where are we?”

Saint’s cheeks billow as he exhales. “My guess is we’re somewhere near Malta. We left Egypt roughly two days ago. There is no way Kazimir was headed back to Russia, so I think we’ve turned off course. The fish and coral are a sure sign that we’re still in the Mediterranean Sea. Originally, we were headed to Cyprus, and from there, we were going to navigate around Turkey and sail the Black Sea. Once we hit Ukraine, we weren’t far from a port in Russia.”

My mouth gapes open because this is the most information he’s given me since this nightmare began.

“Seven days, that was how long this journey was originally supposed to take.” The frustration is clear in his tone. “But now, I have no f*****g idea.”

He doesn’t need to say it. I know what he’s probably thinking. If I had just been obedient, none of this would have happened. But I don’t regret a thing. If I didn’t do what I did, I would be in Russia right now as the personal slave of some mobster.

We may not know where we are, but at least I’m free.

“So what do we do now?” I ask, refusing to just give up.

“Let’s hope some of our stuff washes up. I don’t think we capsized too far away, so I hope the current works in our favor.”

“And until then?”

“We scope out our surroundings. We need water. Food. Shelter.”

“You said there was a hut? Let’s start there. If someone was here, surely there is water nearby?”

Saint doesn’t look too convinced since we’re surrounded by salt water. But he humors me anyway. “Okay.”

I forget my SOS idea for the moment and follow Saint as he hikes up a small hill and passes through a small alcove between two trees. I crane my neck to peer at the soaring greenery. Nothing distinguishes one way from another, which scares me because one could easily lose their way in here.

Saint seems to know where he’s going, so I stick close. But the ground is littered with rocks and fallen branches, making walking with bare feet very uncomfortable. Before long, I’m hobbling from foot to foot to avoid hazards, but it’s impossible.

“Wait,” I breathlessly say, placing my hand on a tree trunk and balancing on one leg as I clean the sole of my foot and dig out a small twig embedded between my toes.

Saint turns to look at me, only just realizing that I’m walking barefoot. Sighing, he marches over while I instinctively back up. It doesn’t stop him, however. “Here.” He offers his back to me while I c**k my head to the side, confused. “Get up.”

“Get up?” I repeat, so lost in translation.

He turns over his shoulder, grips my wrist and drags me forward until I hit his back. “I’ll carry you,” he explains while I’m certain I’ve just inhaled a swarm of mosquitos as my mouth hinges open.

“It’s fine,” I argue. I don’t want to owe him anything else. I already owe him my life. But he clucks his tongue, annoyed.

“Stop arguing with me, and do what you’re told for once.”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him he should know by now that I don’t follow the rules, but my aching feet are begging for mercy. I don’t know how far away this hut is, and as I look farther ahead, all I see is dense forest. At this rate, I’ll get there by nightfall.

I hate that this is the better option, but I eventually cave. Climbing him is going to be an issue because he’s a freaking giant, but I wrap my arms around his shoulders and boost myself up. He grips the back of my knees and helps me get into a comfortable position.

Being pressed up this close to him is awkward, but I loop my arms around him, ensuring not to choke him as I position my legs on either side of his trunk. The fact he’s topless does nothing to soothe my embarrassment as I’m not wearing any underwear, but I try my best to use his shirt and my dress as a barrier.

Saint doesn’t seem to care either way.

He takes off quickly while I yelp and tighten my hold around him. I swear I feel his shoulders vibrate with a muted chuckle, but I ignore such nonsense and focus on the marvelous sights around me.

This place is truly another world, and I think Saint is right—I think we really are the only people here. Apart from the gentle rustle of leaves and the occasional bird squawking in the distance, there is absolute silence. I can’t remember the last time such stillness surrounded me.

It’s daunting, but also, in some ways, after the past ten days, this peace is exactly what I need.

Saint’s skin is scorching hot and slippery with sweat as the sunrise carries some warmth. I can only imagine how hot it’ll get at its full peak. I feel bad that he’s carrying me since he’s wounded, but we are covering a lot more ground as he’s like the wind.

His muscles ripple against me, and I gnaw the inside of my cheek to stop a mewl from escaping. Being this close to him just intensifies his scent, but it’s mixed with a hit of pure masculinity. Being out here in the open has somehow upped his wildness.

A low fire begins to simmer, but we’ve reached the hut, putting an end to any inappropriate thoughts. When Saint said it was small, he was actually being generous.

The circular structure fashioned from sawed-off tree trunks looks weatherworn and unstable. I didn’t think these sorts of things existed, but I’ve been proven wrong. It’s not that far off the ground, but a tattered rope hangs over the edge of the logs, which seems to be the only way to enter and exit. There are no ladders. Just whatever this punishing forestry can provide.

The roof consists of giant palm leaves. The foundation is tree trunks or, more accurately, what looks like the trunks of coconut trees. I didn’t think coconuts grew in the Mediterranean, but I hope I’m wrong because that would solve our water issue.

“Want to take a look?”

“Sure.” I scale down his body, dismounting very ungracefully as I attempt to cover my modesty. He turns over his shoulder, his lips twitching.

I arch a brow, indicating I don’t have all day, which technically, I do, but I’ll be damned if I allow him to be clued in on my response to him. His grin soon disappears, and he reaches for the rope. His tattooed wings come to life, and he soars to the top with ease. I ignore the way his back muscles ripple with his sheer strength.

When he swings his legs over the edge and stands inside the hut, he c***s his own brow, indicating he doesn’t have all day.

Screw him.

Peering up, I shield the sun from my eyes with my hand, wondering the best way to climb this weathered rope without falling on my ass or, worse yet, flashing Saint. I never excelled in gym class, and I’m not going to lie, I’m not a fan of heights.

But I suck it up, grab the rope, and pull myself up. It’s a lot harder than I thought it would be, but I manage to climb it without chafing my lady parts. I’m sure I look ridiculous as I feel like a sloth, lazing around on a sunny day, so when Saint offers me his hand, I accept gratefully.

An electric current courses through me the moment we touch, but I disregard it and focus on climbing over and keeping my important parts covered. When my feet hit solid ground, a relieved breath leaves me.

My hand is still nestled in Saint’s. He meets my eyes, the perfect poker face, while a blush overtakes me. “Thanks,” I say, gently severing our connection.

He nods in response.

As I focus on my surroundings, my high soon fades because there isn’t much inside. Old food wrappers. A dirty sleeping bag. Some bottled water in a six-pack. That’s it. “Is that water still sealed?”

“It seems to be,” he replies, which has a bubble of hope surfacing.

“That’s good, right? That means whoever was here had to be rescued. If they weren’t, surely all their water would be gone.”

Saint and I are clearly worlds apart on whatever happened to this lodger. “Not unless something happened to him,” he suggests calmly.

“Happened to him?” I’m almost too afraid to ask.

Saint nods, not giving much away.

“What would happen to him? He had food, water, shelter.”

I wait for Saint to argue, thinking my argument is pretty solid until he places his hands on my shoulders and turns me around. I’m too engrossed with his hands on me once again to take note of what he’s implying, until he says, “That would happen to him.”