BAD SAINT (All the Pretty Things #1)

Eight-3

I have no idea what he’s talking about. “I don’t see anything,” I reply, wondering what I’m missing.

He reveals what a moment later. “Exactly. Who knows what’s out there. The foliage is thick, so it’s easy for one to take a wrong turn. Not to mention the animals that remain hidden, awaiting unsuspecting victims to stumble past their lairs. Here, we are the prey…”

I shiver at his ominous words because I know what that feels like firsthand.

“What sort of animals?”

His thumbs rub over my shoulder blades pensively, and it takes all my willpower not to buckle. “I don’t know exactly. But I’m going to take a walk, and I’ll let you know if I see any.”

“What?” All pleasant feelings soon take a nose dive as I spin around, eyes wide.

“I need to figure out where we are. I also need to familiarize myself with this island. You stay up here. I won’t be long.”

“I’m coming with you,” I argue. I’m not his prisoner anymore. He can’t tell me what to do.

Saint shrugs as he snares a bottle of water. He slides it into his pocket before reaching for the rope and stepping over the wood edge. “Suit yourself. But don’t expect me to piggyback you this time.”

My bare feet scream at me, refusing to be subjected to the harsh terrain again.

He reads my thoughts and smirks. “I didn’t think so. Besides, you have a bird’s-eye view from up here. You can warn me if anything with fangs or claws is coming my way.”

I fold my arms across my chest, arching a challenging brow.

“Well, you have a perfect view when it tears me apart then. I’m sure you wouldn’t want to miss that.” Is he making jokes now?

No matter what he’s done to me, the thought of his death doesn’t please me in the slightest. But I don’t let him know that.

As he begins to shimmy down the rope, I quickly step forward. “Here. You need this more than I do.” I go to take off his shirt, as he is the one traipsing through a jungle, but he makes use of his upper body strength and hangs from the rope, effortlessly.

“Keep it. It looks better on you.” He scans my body from head to toe, before meeting my wide eyes. He smirks, continuing his climb down, while I’m unsure if I heard him correctly.

When his boots hit the hard ground with a thud, I peer over the edge, holding my breath. He doesn’t look back and ventures off into the wilderness. My trapped breath escapes me. I don’t know what has come over me, but it needs to stop. Just because he’s no longer my captor doesn’t mean he’s changed into a good guy.

Once he’s lost in the thick backwoods, I decide to strip his shirt off anyway because it’s gotten quite hot. My dress hangs off me, and I feel utterly exposed with no underwear on. I can only hope some of our stuff washes ashore because parading around in this outfit is hardly practical in a place such as this.

Leaves and dust cover the faded blue sleeping bag, so while I wait for Saint, I decide to air it out because it may be our only source of warmth. As I shake it out at arm’s length, fearful a posse of spiders will emerge and eat my face off, something shiny clutters to the floor. When I see what it is, I instantly peer from left to right, afraid Saint will spring out of nowhere and punish me for such insolent thoughts.

But he’s not here. We’re no longer on that boat. We’re out here, wherever here is, and I need to fend for myself. So the pocketknife at my feet seems like a blessing from above. Dropping to a crouch, I hesitantly pick it up.

My fingers tremble as I open it and see that the blade isn’t rusty. It’s a Swiss Army knife, so I know these things are made to last. My reflection stares back at me from the knife’s edge as I grapple with what to do.

Feelings of helplessness overwhelm me, and I refuse to be a victim again. With that as my mindset, I quickly place it in my bra as I have no other place to store it. If Saint finds this on me, god knows what he’ll do.

A false sense of security blinds me, but it feels good to know I can protect myself if I need to.

The smelly sleeping bag needs a wash, so I decide to rinse it off in the ocean. The thought of all that water surrounding us suddenly sends my bladder wild. Saint told me to stay here, but as I hop from foot to foot, I realize that isn’t an option.

Tossing the sleeping bag over the edge, I watch as it sails to the ground gracefully. I can only hope my plummet is just as elegant. However, when I step over the edge and try to reach for the rope without face planting, I know this won’t end pretty.

After three attempts, I manage to grab the rope. But now that I have it, the thought of scaling down it leaves me with sweaty palms. I have no idea how the right way to do this is, but I count to five, breathe in and out, then wrap one leg around the rope. My other foot is still perched against the small platform of the hut, but I slowly push off, yelping as I attempt to climb down.

“Don’t look down,” I chant over and over, but it’s hard not to because I need to know how many feet separate me and death.

I hang, suspended in midair as I shimmy down the rope, inch by inch. My sweaty hands provide no grip, and I begin to slip. That is the kick in the ass I need to hurry my pace and scramble down until I’m low enough to jump to the ground.

I drop like a sack of potatoes, grunting on impact as the twigs and rocks roughly break my fall. I commando roll and end up slamming into a tree. Brushing myself off, I look from left to right, unsure exactly which way we came from.

When I see a purple flowering bush, I remember passing it on the way, so I hobble toward it, ignoring the small rocks biting into the soles of my feet. Although I am almost certain we came this way, I decide to leave a trail, like Hansel and Gretel for Saint.

My dress is ruined anyway, so I tear the neckline, ripping the fabric into small shreds to use as my breadcrumbs. I tie what’s left of the ruined dress at the waist in a tight bow. My bra is all that’s covering my top half. If this was Milan, I could parade this on the runway, but here, it only confirms my desperate need to find some clothes.

I secure a piece of my dress to a stem of the flowering bush and continue on my way, stopping every so often to tie some fabric onto a tree branch or trunk, leaving a clear path for Saint so he’s able to trace my steps.

After a few minutes, I hear the crashing of waves, and a sense of accomplishment overcomes me. I’m proud of myself for being able to navigate through this maze. But I can pat myself on the back later because when I push through the dense foliage and see the water, I half run, half waddle toward it. The crispness feels incredible as I wade in the water, and when I’m about knee deep, I squat and relieve my bladder.

This is not ideal, but it’s the best I’m going to get seeing as there are no bathrooms. I sigh in relief, but that’s soon replaced by a yelp when something nudges my back. Images of being ripped apart by Jaws has me screaming like a banshee and running for the shore faster than the wind.

Breathless and thankful I’m not floating in a pool of blood, I turn around to ensure whatever touched me hasn’t followed, but what I see has me rubbing my eyes to confirm I’m not seeing things. I’m not. Floating feet away is the waterproof box that contained my clothes and toiletries. Saint was right. I wonder what else will wash up on shore.

Running toward it, I drag it out of the water, relieved I will be able to change clothes, but more importantly, brush my teeth. Once it’s far away from the shoreline, I drop to my knees and throw open the lid. I cry out when I see my clothes and toiletries are inside. A black backpack which I assume contains Saint’s clothes is also inside.

Saint’s sudoku book and the leather-bound journal I saw him writing in sits in the open bag. Curiosity has me running my fingers over the leather because this innocent book may be privy to Saint’s most protected thoughts. I should respect his privacy, but in the end, my snooping wins out.

Just as I open it to the first page, however, all prying comes to a screeching halt.

“I heard you scream,” Saint pants as he emerges from the trees. I quickly slam the journal shut, peering up at him. He’s covered in sweat and dirt.

“I’m fine,” I reply, wondering if he ran to find me. His sticky appearance certainly hints that. “I was going to the bathroom in the water when I felt something nudge me. I thought it was a shark, but it wasn’t. It was this.”

Saint’s attention drops to the box in front of me. I’m about to reveal the good news that his beloved sudoku book survived, but it’s clear that doesn’t matter. He is furious. “I told you to stay put.”

“Excuse me?” I gasp, coming to a slow stand. “I left you a trail on where to find me.”

“And what if I was going another way?”

“You can’t tell me what to do.”

“Like hell, I can’t,” he rebukes, storming forward.

Fuck him and his arrogance. I’ve had enough. “I’m no longer your prisoner. We’re both stranded here.”

“Thanks to you,” he spits, coming to a sudden stop a few feet away from me. His nostrils flare, and his chest rises and falls rapidly.

“So, what? You’d rather I just submitted to you? Is that it?”

“It would have been a lot easier,” he counters, running his fingers through his snarled hair.

“Easier for you maybe, but I told you I don’t give up. I would rather die than be someone’s plaything.” I deadpan him.

He returns the glower. “If you had just listened, none of this would have happened.”

He has some nerve. “Well, if you hadn’t kidnapped me, we wouldn’t be here, shipwrecked, god knows where!” I refuse to shoulder the blame. “But now, we’re both stuck with one another!”

He rushes forward, gripping my bicep and dragging me inches from his face. I fight to break free, but his anger is toxic and potent. “That may be true,” he snarls, his eyes pinning me to the spot I stand, “but make no mistake, you will do what I tell you. Nothing has changed.”

“Everything has changed,” I bark, ripping free from his hold. “You can’t stand not being in control, can you?” The truth slaps me in the face because that’s what this is about. Saint needs control. And he’s never had that over me. I infuriate him because I won’t buckle. But more importantly, he doesn’t scare me. And he hates it.

“I refuse to die on this f*****g island with you! So stop being such a stubborn jackass and let’s work together so we can figure out a way to get off it. You can go back to whatever life you led and forget the day we met. And I plan on doing the same.”