Eight-4
1035 Words
I hope he sees reason. But that’s just wishful thinking.
“If you really believe that, then you’re more naïve than I thought.”
“f**k you,” I spit, shoving him in the chest. “You know nothing about me.”
He stumbles backward as I’ve caught him off guard but soon recovers. “I know that no matter what you say, you believe me.”
“You’re hardly credible,” I reply, but my wavering tone hints at my nerves. He’s referring to Drew. But I refuse to show weakness. “So you can say whatever you want, but I plan on returning to my life, to my husband. And you can go back to kidnapping and murdering for fun.”
That comment was supposed to hurt him, but when he laughs, it seems to have had the opposite effect. “Your life of what? Changing the world, parading around in ridiculous clothes as you shake your ass on the catwalk? That sounds very fulfilling.”
I blink once. “Are you seriously judging me? At least I don’t kill people for a living!”
Saint inhales sharply. “You have no idea what you’re talking about. Things aren’t always black and white, but I don’t expect someone like you to understand that.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I place my hands on my hips, furious. How dare he judge me.
“It means you have no idea what’s really going on here. It means your husband,” he snarls, and a phrase has never sounded dirtier, “is the reason you’re here. With me. You wish to return to your perfect life. Go ahead.” He spreads his arms out wide. “But know that the man you lie beside is the man who…”
He pauses as if regretting his words.
“Go on then! Who what?” I scream, calling his bluff. I wish I hadn’t. And I wish I’d used a different phrase.
“Who sold you in a game of poker!” he exclaims. I’m unable to digest what he just said without wanting to be sick. “That’s right. Your precious husband lost a game of poker to Popov, and when he couldn’t pay his dues because he lost his fortune to hookers, gambling, and bad investments, he had to pay up in another way.”
“You lie.” I stumble backward, shaking my head firmly. Drew never flaunted his money, and that was one of the many things I liked about him. Could it be because he never had any money to flaunt?
But it seems now that Saint has started, he can’t stop. “I was there. I saw it all. I am Popov’s right-hand man, remember?” he spits, eyes narrowed as he knows I’ve judged him based on that fact. I now know why watching Saint beat Drew felt personal—it was. “Your husband promised Popov an American girl in exchange for his debt to be cleared. He owed a quarter of a million dollars. It was the only way he could leave Russia with his life intact.”
“Stop it,” I whimper, covering my ears. But Saint storms over, refusing me mercy as he rips my hands free. I wrestle with him, trying to break free, but he holds my wrists tight.
“Popov wanted a docile, pretty girl. Someone obedient. Someone he could dominate. Your husband clearly didn’t do his homework. But I suppose he got one thing right.” I dare not ask what that thing is.
“He was the one who organized the hit. Think about it,” he says, tightening his hold as I writhe like a caged animal. I want to murder him with my bare hands. “How did we know where to find you? At that precise time? Standing on that terrace?”
“Why don’t you go downstairs and wait for me on the terrace? The view is something else.”
Drew’s words play on repeat because that’s why I was standing out there when I was kidnapped. He told me to wait for him there.
Nausea rises, and tears sting my eyes.
“Don’t you think your fairy-tale meeting was a little too convenient?” he poses, but no, I refuse to allow him to taint my love.
“Nice story,” I say, feigning courage. “But why did he marry me? He could have just organized for you to kidnap me anywhere. Why go through the effort of marrying me?” I am confident Saint’s lies will unravel, but I should know by now that Saint is always two steps ahead.
“He took out a life insurance policy on you,” he states without pause. “With you kidnapped and presumed dead, he would get a lot of money. You cleared his debt with Popov, but you’ve also made him a rich man again. He used you…and you fell for it.” He seems disgusted with me. That makes two of us.
The fight in me dies, and I doubt it will return ever again.
“So don’t you dare judge me because at least I can admit what I am,” he says, releasing me. I instantly sag forward, afraid my legs won’t hold me up. “As for you, you can live in your fantasy world, but sooner or later, reality will catch up to you. It always does.” Regret swarms him, but I disregard it because this man is incapable of such a human emotion.
A tear rolls down my cheek as I am broken. My heart, spirit, everything I thought I was is now shattered forever. I watch as he marches away from me and rips open the first-aid kit. Shrinking back, I automatically assume he’s going to shoot me dead. But he doesn’t.
He pockets the knife and goes to turn. “I’m going to find us some food,” he explains, exhausted, while I hold back my ugly tears. “There’s a pond filled with rainwater just past the hut if you want to bathe.”
I watch as he ventures the way he came, leaving me alone with a secret so heavy, I don’t know how to deal with it by myself. He just destroyed me in one breath, and in another, he offered me kindness. This man is my tormentor, but by the same token, he’s also the only person who can give me the answers I so desperately seek.
But I have them now. The truth to why I was kidnapped. To why I’m here. The truth should set you free. But it hasn’t. All it’s done is leave me wishing Saint had left me to drown.
- Writer
