BAD SAINT (All the Pretty Things #1)

Eleven-1

I f****d up. I never should have touched her, but I couldn’t help it. She is poison, a toxic combination to my body. I haven’t touched a woman like that for over two years, but it was never like that with anyone else. When I was “normal,” I never wanted someone as much as I want her. I don’t know what to do because each day, the thought of letting her go evokes a possession I thought long dead. I’m so f*****g screwed.

Day 16I WAKE SORE, but I hurt so good.

I have no idea of the time, but as I crack open my eyes, I see that it’s well past dawn. I slept in, which is a first. Stretching, I see Harriet Pot Pie sitting quietly on her makeshift bed, an egg awaiting me. What I don’t see, however, is Saint.

He no doubt left early, not wanting to have the awkward morning-after talk.

I don’t know what last night means. It escalated so quickly, and before I knew it, I was giving in to my desires. It wasn’t just a physical connection for me. When Saint reached for my hand, uncertain and afraid, it did something to me. And the name he’s been calling me is a term of endearment. Why?

I don’t expect us to ride off into the sunset together. Saint has a darkness. He confessed as much to me last night. He clearly hates Popov as it seems he is the man who robbed Saint of his humanity. Saint thinks he’s dead inside, but I disagree.

I’m left with so many questions, but at the forefront is why.

Deciding to find him, I stand slowly, my legs complete Jell-O. I reach for my shoes, underwear, and shorts, and slip into them. Reaching for his shirt, I draw it up to my nose and inhale deeply. It smells like pure sin.

With Harriet Pot Pie in hand, I scale down the rope, my balance better as I’m getting used to my home being in a tree. We trek through the terrain, and when I hear a fire crackling on the beach, my heart begins to beat quicker.

Pushing through the trees, I make my way onto the sand. There are coconuts and fresh fish, but no Saint. Shielding the sun from my eyes with my hand, I scan the shoreline, but he’s nowhere to be found.

“Hey.”

“Sweet baby Jesus!” I yelp, clutching my chest. Saint’s deep laughter floats through the air.

Craning my neck, I see that he’s indeed not on the shoreline because he’s perched in a tree. A thick, low hanging branch offers the perfect place to sit and write in his journal, which is what he’s doing right now.

Sitting with his back pressed against the trunk, he has the journal resting in his lap. When we lock eyes, my cheeks immediately flush. Memories of last night crash into me, and I gnaw the inside of my cheek to mute my moan.

“I think a storm is coming,” he says, thankfully breaking the silence.

Now that I’m semi-coherent, I look at the heavens and see that he’s right. The sky is laden with swirls of gray, and the sun has decided to sleep in as well. Overall, an energy pulsates through the atmosphere.

Closing the journal, he jumps from the tree branch with ease. I instantly back up while he ignores my insanity. “Are you hungry?”

I nod, passing him the egg.

He pockets the journal before walking over to the fire to prepare our breakfast. “I think we should find higher ground for tonight. Maybe the cave? Let’s grab whatever food and water we can and wait out the storm. I have a feeling it’s going to get rough.”

“Okay, if you think that’s a good idea,” I say, wringing my hands behind my back. The prospect of being caught in another monster storm makes me nervous. But so does seeking shelter in a cave with Saint. There is nowhere to go. No escape. This could end ugly.

We are silent, both mulling over what’s headed our way.

As Saint cooks the fish, I grab a coconut and attempt to crack it open like I’ve seen Saint do. I’ve tried countless times in private but failed miserably. I had the good sense to grab the pocketknife, so I reach for it and stab the three holes in the coconut. When I feel one give way, I make a small hole and bring it to my lips.

The juice of the coconut quenches my thirst, and I offer some to Saint, but he shakes his head. My knife rivets his attention, and when the green to his eyes spark to life, I know he recalls when I pressed it to his throat last night and the events that followed.

The memories slam into me also.

Needing to distract myself, I make my way over to a tree, count to three, and smash the coconut against the trunk. Examining it, I sigh when it didn’t even make a dent. Saint makes it look so easy. I try again, each strike helping me forget the way my body undulated under his touch.

“Here, give it to me.”

I jolt, startled as I didn’t hear him approach me. Gingerly, I pass it to him and step aside. His muscles bulge when he slams the coconut against the tree, the unmissable sound of it splitting into two following. I notice him flinch slightly as if he’s in pain, but he extends his hand, indicating he wants to use my knife.

I pass it to him without hesitation.

A small cut where I pressed the blade into his throat is red and a little puffy. I wonder if he should put some ointment on it so he doesn’t get an infection. I’ll suggest it after we eat.

He severs the coconut into two, using the knife to dig out the flesh. He passes me a piece, and I thankfully accept. When he places a portion into his mouth, a trickle of juice slides down his lip. He instantly laps at it with his tongue while I stop mid chew, transfixed by the sight.

Saint is aware of my gawking, but I can’t help it. I attempt to distract myself by looking elsewhere. But it’s no help as I take in the inked feathers running down his arms. And then the blood red roses on his chest. “I like your tattoos.”

He smiles. I wish he’d stop doing that because it just adds to the appeal. “You don’t have any?”

I shake my head.

He has seen me naked to know that I don’t, but I guess we both need this small talk. The fact he’s seen me naked has my cheeks heating yet again.

He offers me the remaining flesh of the coconut. I accept as it’ll give me something to stuff my mouth with other than gibberish.

We sit by the fire, eating our fish in silence. There is an unspoken current between us because it seems neither of us knows what to say. I want to ask him about last night, but ask him what exactly? He got me off, is that all it was?

My appetite is suddenly shot because I want it to have meant something to him. It meant something to me. “I’m going to check out some plants I found early this morning,” he says, hinting there will be no morning-after talk. “There has to be something on this island we can use.”

So far, Saint and I have both searched for anything green to eat with little success. I tested his theory, and he was right. Everything I pressed to my wrist or lips tingled or gave me a rash, so I knew consuming them wasn’t an option.

I’m getting sick of fish and coconuts, so the prospect of finding something else to eat has me offering to help. “After I bathe, I’ll come with you. The water is becoming stagnate so the rain will be welcomed,” I say. “Maybe we can find something to collect the rainwater in?”

He finishes chewing and nods. “Good idea.”

We’re being awfully polite with one another, but the tension lingers. I can’t stand it any longer. “Saint, about—” But I never get to finish.

He stands up quickly, grabbing his spear. “I’ll meet you near the cave.”

He doesn’t give me a chance to get a word in edgewise as he disappears through the trees, leaving me and Harriet Pot Pie alone.

I understand this is awkward, but I need to acknowledge it happened. It appears, however, that Saint doesn’t feel the same.

The dismal afternoon corroborates Saint’s prediction. A storm is coming. The temperature has dropped and turned quite cold.

Saint fishes and transports our things to the cave while I hunt for food. So far, I’ve found nothing that looks edible. This is really Saint’s forte as he’s proven to be quite the outdoorsman with his knowledge, but the fact he doesn’t want to get within a hundred feet of me has me rummaging on my own.

I don’t know how I feel. Pissed off. Hurt. Overall, nothing has changed as these emotions have rocked me since this ordeal began. Even though it’s only been sixteen days, it feels like a lifetime. I don’t feel like the same person I once was.

Under normal circumstances, doing what I’ve done with someone like Saint would have never happened. Yes, my whirlwind romance with Drew happened in six short weeks, but during that time, I never allowed him to invade my soul like I have with Saint. Nor did I engage in such perverse acts.

Everything has changed, and the only person I have to talk to has suddenly gone silent.

Sighing, I focus on finding something to eat because I don’t know how long this storm will last. When I pass a low growing plant that looks like spinach, I drop to a crouch and decide to investigate. When it passes Saint’s tests, I’m elated to have finally found something useful. I may not know what it is, but it hasn’t set my skin on fire, so it’s okay with me.

“Harriet Pot Pie, did you see what I found?” I’m expecting her to cluck, just how she always does, but I don’t hear a sound.

Standing, I turn around to see that she’s not here. She was moments ago.

The sky begins to rumble as the white clouds give way to gray. “Harriet Pot Pie!” I call out, cupping my hands around my mouth. “Here, girl.”

It’s frightening how quickly the weather turns. The wind howls, and I grip a branch to stop from blowing over. Panic grips me. “Harriet Pot Pie!” I shout loudly, but a sudden crack of thunder drowns out my voice.

Just as I’m about to go searching for her, Saint emerges and grips my forearm. “We have to go. The storm is coming.”

“I can’t. Harriet Pot Pie is missing,” I exclaim, shrugging from his hold.

“Ahгел,” he warns, but I shake my head stubbornly.

“I can’t leave her out here.”

Saint pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. “When did you see her last?”

Shrugging, I hunt our surroundings. “About ten minutes ago, maybe. I found this and got distracted.” I quickly pass Saint the green leafy plant and continue my search.

He smells it and touches it to the tip of his tongue. “It’s Molokhia. It’s rich in anti-inflammatory properties and speeds up the healing process. Good job.” He yanks out a few handfuls, placing them into his backpack. “But we really have to go.”

The thought of leaving Harriet Pot Pie out here has tears stinging my eyes.

Saint reads my distress and steps forward, placing his palm to my cheek with a wavering touch. I instantly turn into his palm. “She’ll be okay. Animals are resilient. She survived on this island before you. She probably sensed the storm is coming and went to find shelter.”

He’s probably right.

“Okay,” I agree, reluctantly. He runs his thumb over the apple of my cheek before severing our connection.

“Let’s go.” He gestures with his head that I’m to follow.

We race through the wilderness, a thunderclap or lightning bolt following each step. The cave was Saint’s thing, and I didn’t want to intrude on his sanctuary, so I have no idea what I’m walking into. I am slightly claustrophobic, so I can only hope it isn’t too small.

I follow Saint as he sprints up a rocky slope. “It’s just up here,” he shouts over his shoulder, heading toward the right.

Just as we’re a few yards away, the heavens open, and a downpour drenches us. The ground soon becomes muddy and slippery, and I almost lose my footing. Thankfully, Saint reaches for my hand and helps me into the cave.

The mouth is quite large which helps put my claustrophobic mind at ease. The ground is rocky, so I watch my step as Saint leads me deeper into the cave. His grip has not loosened on my hand, so I have no other choice but to follow.