BAD SAINT (All the Pretty Things #1)

Four-2

My attention flickers back and forth between him and the hatch. Kazimir has backed up, realizing that I’ve turned rogue. But they’ve left me with no other option.

“I…I…” I’m suddenly filled with a mouth full of nothing, and I have no idea why. My subconscious screams at me, demanding I tell the truth, but when I see the hatch lift and the unmistakable shine to the barrel of a gun, I know that’s the reason I can’t speak.

There is no getting off this yacht. Saint will ensure that.

My gaze drops to his gold wedding band, and guilt smashes into me. I can’t jeopardize his life because I would be robbing a family of their husband, father, grandfather. How can I live with that on my conscience?

I can’t.

“Miss?” he presses.

The gun barrel catches the sunlight, and I swallow down my tears. “We’re in dire need of food. All my husband packed was tuna fish. He knows how much I hate fish,” I say, feigning annoyance. Inside, I’m dying as my lie is burning a hole straight through me.

The man arches a brow. He doesn’t believe me. “Food?” he repeats, ensuring he’s heard me correctly.

I nod with a strained smile.

“And you’re here because you want to be?”

“Of course, I am.” Holding up my hand, I flash my ring, certain I’ve just sold a piece of my soul. “We’re on our honeymoon.”

Kazimir exhales and saunters toward me now that I’m on his side. “Aren’t I lucky man?” Before I have a chance to protest, he wraps an arm around my shoulders and kisses my cheek.

Bile rises, but I go along with the charade.

The man doesn’t look convinced, but there is nothing he can do. Without me confessing, he’s got nothing. “Okay then. Have a good day.” He tips his hat my way, his intelligent eyes sizing me up.

It’s his last attempt to help me, but I just can’t. There is no point in both of us losing our lives. “Thank you.”

Kazimir falls quite easily into the role of doting husband as his lips trail down my neck. My stomach roils, and I think I’m going to be sick.

As the man walks past the hatch, he looks down at it but doesn’t bother probing further because I’m clearly a convincing actress. When he drags the ramp back onto his boat, he takes away my last chance at freedom.

“Good girl,” Kazimir whispers into my ear, waving at the man who starts his boat and leaves me alone to deal with my lies. I watch with tears in my eyes as he sails off.

The moment he’s out of sight, I shrug Kazimir off me and wipe my cheek and neck, wanting to erase his touch from my skin. He smirks in response. “I’ll reward you later…when everyone is asleep.” He accentuates his promise with a wink while I remain stoic, not wanting to clue him in on what I’m currently feeling inside.

Disgust. Hopelessness. Betrayal. That’s just a start to how I feel. But I will ensure my efforts don’t go unrewarded. “I can’t wait,” I reply, batting my eyelashes because I will make sure this bastard lowers his guard, allowing me to get to that radio.

That can wait because when Saint emerges, I have other matters to deal with. “Good, ангел.”

“We had a deal,” I reply, not interested in small talk. And neither is he.

“Yes, we did. Come on then.” He gestures with his head for me to follow.

I do.

I leave the two Russians up top as I follow Saint down the stairs. He casually takes a seat, indicating the floor is mine.

Given the option of knowing it all is suddenly daunting, and I begin to pace. How much do I want to know? He’s shared tiny scraps of information, all of which have left me with nightmares. But knowing he won’t give me this opportunity again, I quash down my fears.

“Why me?”

Saint rocks back in his seat, the air thick with tension. “You were chosen because of your looks. Because of your background.”

“Background?” I ask, confused.

He nods. “No one will miss you when you’re gone,” he explains while I stop pacing.

“My husband will!” I shout, annoyed that he believes he’s privy to what my relationship entails.

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” he replies coolly, crossing his legs and resting his ankle against his knee.

“How dare you! You know nothing, nothing!” I shout, storming forward.

“Stop yelling and ask your questions.” He remains unmoved by my emotion.

“Where are we going?”

“Russia.”

Russia? I thought they smuggled people out of Russia, not in.

His sharpness is hard to digest, but I continue. “Why?”

“You’ve been sold to Aleksei Popov.”

I blink once. There is so much wrong with that short sentence. “Sold?” I whisper because I’ve surely misheard him. But when he nods, I know that this is really happening. “Who is he?”

He takes his time, which scares me. “He’s one of the most powerful, most feared men in Russia. His specialty is drugs, guns, and money.” Now his nickname of Boss makes sense because it appears that’s what he literally is.

“Why does he want me?”

“Because he likes to collect pretty things.”

I flinch, turning my cheek, never feeling dirtier. “So I’m his…plaything?”

Saint’s shoulders rise and fall. “Yes.”

“I don’t understand. Who sold me?” I cry, dropping to my knees in front of him, begging he end this turmoil once and for all. “Please, tell me.”

Saint sighs, the first sign of emotion surfacing. He reaches forward and sweeps the hair from my brow. I hate myself because his touch, his kindness are what I crave, and I lean into him, wanting him to take away this pain. But what he says next just slashes at the already gaping wound. “Your husband.”

“What?” His touch suddenly feels like acid because I’ve been burned. I immediately recoil. “No. No,” I repeat, shaking my head wildly. “You lie.”

“No, I don’t. Your husband sold you to Popov because he’s a worthless piece of s**t. You were always a pawn, his get out of jail for free card,” he presses, but I cover my ears, unable to listen to the deceit spilling from his lips.

“Willow—” When he attempts to touch me once again, I shrink back, falling onto my ass.

“Stop it!” I scream, my body shuddering. “I don’t want to hear any more.” Images of Saint beating Drew viciously assault me, and I remember thinking it seemed personal at the time. Could I have been right?

I’m drowning in tears as they flow freely with no end in sight. There must be some mistake. I know Drew. He would never do what Saint is proposing. He’s my husband, for god’s sake! What sort of monster would do that to his wife?

“Le-leave,” I whimper, choking on my stilted breaths, thumping my fist against the floor. This can’t be happening.

Saint comes to a slow stand, respecting my wishes. “I would never lie to you. Not about this.”

“I hate you,” I snarl, spit and tears running down my downturned chin. How dare he say such filth about Drew?

His trademark scent engulfs me, and I realize the only person I hate is myself. Dropping to a squat, he lifts my chin with a finger, pinning me with those eyes. “You wish that you did…but you don’t.”

“f**k you,” I spit, ripping from his hold. He doesn’t know me.

I brace for punishment, but I receive a different sort of torture. Saint walks up the stairs, leaving me alone with this giant hole in my chest.

Only when I’m shrouded in darkness do I allow my guard to drop and weep ugly tears. I lie down on the cool floor and curl myself into a ball. There must be some mistake, a different sort of torture. Not physical, but emotional. Saint wanted to break me, but that doesn’t make any sense.

I did what he wanted.

Nothing makes any sense anymore.

I squeeze my eyes shut, closing myself off from this anguish because if what Saint says is true…then I truly am alone in this world.

I wake to someone sucking my big toe. Surely, there must be some mistake.

My eyes snap open, and when I see a bald dome at my feet, I know there is no mistake. I lower my head to the floor, muting my voiceless screams by shoving my fist into my mouth.

I passed out after Saint delivered the worst news of my life. My mind clearly needed to shut off from reality. I still don’t know what to believe. And now I wake to this—to Kazimir sucking my toe.

Gathering my courage, I peer around to see Saint passed out on his stomach on the lounge he once tied me to with a half-empty bottle of vodka hanging limply from his fingers. The other Russian sits slumped in a chair, snoring softly.

That just leaves me alone with Kazimir, who is clearly making good on his word to pay me back later when everyone is asleep. I focus on anything other than his lips kissing a trail from the top of my foot to over my ankle. He swirls his tongue along the bony ridge before licking his way upward.

I remain perfectly still because this is what I wanted—to exploit the weakest link—but with the way he’s slithering up my body, I can’t help but feel like I’m the one who’s being exploited. My legs tremble, and my stomach roils, wanting to be sick.

When I feel his wet tongue slurp at my inner thigh, I can’t pretend any longer. I shoot up, cupping his cheeks. His beard is coarse beneath my fingers. “Upstairs,” I whisper with doe eyes, hoping he falls for the innocent act.

His attention flicks back and forth between Saint and his other comrade, weighing the options, but he finally agrees. “Okay.”

I release him as the need to flee is more than overwhelming. He comes to a stand, ensuring to be quiet. I do the same.

I take one final look at Saint because regardless if what he told me is true or not, I need to get the hell off this boat. I need to look Drew in the eyes and ask him if he did what Saint said he did. Tears sting, but I quickly wipe them away.

Kazimir opens the hatch slowly, waving me to follow. It’s pitch black out, but the sliver of moon provides all the light I need. I ensure to close the hatch, desperate to place something on top of it so if one of my captors’ wake, they can’t follow.

But I don’t have time to do anything because the moment we’re alone, Kazimir is on me, his chest pressed to my back as he fondles my breasts and bites my neck. I fight my instinct to strike back and headbutt him, and instead, I go lax, eyes focused on the radio.

He speaks to me in Russian as I walk us deliberately toward the helm. He pinches my n*****s as I’m still in my bathing suit and rubs his hard-on against my ass. I detach myself from my body as I continue leading us toward the radio.

“I want to f**k,” he says into my ear, sucking the side of my neck. My mouth gapes open as I silently dry retch, but I just hum in response.

When I’m close enough, I know what I have to do. Bending forward, I grab the railing and position my ass high in the air. The radio is within reach, but I can’t make a reach for it until this asshole is knocked out cold.

“f**k me,” I purr, but the tremble to my tone gives away my nerves.

Kazimir either doesn’t notice or care. His pants hit the deck before I hear him spit in what I’m guessing is his hand. I bite the inside of my cheek to stop my screams. When a distinctive friction noise is heard, it’s evident he’s working himself up and down, intent on fulfilling my request.