BAD SAINT (All the Pretty Things #1)

One-2

“You can put me down.” I giggle, not sure why he’s still carrying me.

We left Los Angeles right after the wedding and flew to Greece. Drew was very secretive about where we were going, and now, I can see why. There is no way to describe this place.

It’s isolated, away from prying eyes. When we rode our boat in, I didn’t see a soul for miles. The beachfront is our private beach and isn’t used by anyone. No one can hear me scream.

When Drew’s bowed lips tip into a mischievous grin, it’s evident that’s exactly what he intended. “Okay.” He feigns a sigh, placing my bare feet on the plush carpet. “But only because I’m going to take a shower. Can I get you anything?”

I shake my head, still reeling that this is my life.

“Okay, babe, love you. I won’t be long. Why don’t you go downstairs and wait for me on the terrace? The view is something else.”

“That sounds amazing. I love you…husband.”

Drew draws in a victorious breath. “And I love you, wife.” I will never tire of that title.

We kiss gently, a promise of what’s to come.

Drew grabs a few things and makes his way into the bathroom. When he shuts the door, I exhale because this is really happening. I can’t believe I am here, on my honeymoon, with the man of my dreams.

Deciding to follow Drew’s suggestion, I make my way downstairs, marveling at the high glass windows, which provide breathtaking 360-degree views of the full moon illuminating the rippling ocean. I’ve been lucky enough to go to Milan and Paris for fashion shows, but this is something else.

It’s so quiet.

The carpet feels like heaven beneath my bare feet, and when I see my reflection in the double terrace doors, I stop and take a moment to absorb it all. My hair is down and windswept from the boat ride we took to get here. My cheeks are flushed, and that’s not because I’m wearing makeup as I’m hardly wearing any at all.

I’m happy.

My eyes sparkle, and a permanent smile is affixed to my lips. I look giddy, but I suppose I am. My simple white cotton summer dress may not be glitz and glamour, but it’s me. When I’m not modeling clothes, I’m usually in jeans or a casual dress. My face and body may be plastered on billboards and magazines, but at heart, I’m still the innocent Texas girl who likes to wear her cowboy boots and prefers the country to the city.

My beautiful diamond puts any star-kissed night to shame and shines brightly as I place my hand in front of me, wiggling my finger. This cements my commitment, and I don’t ever intend to take it off.

Walking out onto the terrace, I inhale deeply and sigh. I tilt my head back and peer into the star-filled heavens. I like to think my father is looking down on me and is proud of everything I’ve accomplished. Instinctively, I reach for the small silver cross around my neck. My father gave it to me as a gift many years ago, and I haven’t removed it since.

I have no idea what happened to my mother or Kenny. I lost all contact when I moved.

Drew knows everything. The first thing I wanted to do was tell him about my not so perfect past. He wrapped me in his arms and told me he was my family now. The fact my childhood was so shitty seemed to encourage Drew to speed up the marriage. He knows he’s the only family I have as my grandparents passed years ago.

I suppose you could say I’m a loner. I don’t really have any close friends, merely acquaintances. If I were to disappear…the only person who would truly miss me is Drew—my husband and the man I trust with my life.

An electric charge suddenly fills the air. I don’t hear it until I feel it, which, in most cases, is too late. “Don’t move and you won’t get hurt.”

Those words out here in paradise sound so wrong, as nothing but tranquility surrounds us, but when I feel something cold and hard shoved into the small of my back, that serenity soon shatters.

“Wha—”

“I said don’t move,” says someone with a thick, cruel Russian accent. My fingers dig into the railing, afraid if I don’t hold onto something, my knees will give out from under me.

Another voice sounds behind me. I can’t understand what they’re saying, but they’re definitely speaking Russian. They seem to be arguing.

My eyes dart from left to right as my fight or flight kicks into full swing. I can jump from this terrace and land on the sand. It’s not high. Worst-case scenario—I’ll end up with a sprained ankle. Better than the alternative of ending up dead.

I dare not look behind me as my hearing is all I need. Whoever is behind me is still arguing, which will give me the opportunity to jump from the terrace and call for help. Adrenaline soars through my veins, and I can taste it at the back of my throat. Just as I boost myself up, about to spring for safety, a warm hand grips my bicep, dragging me back.

“Now where do you think you’re going?” His hoarse, honeyed breath bathes the back of my neck, and I know he’s close. When his chest presses against my back, I’m hit with a combination of smells—spicy, sweet, and floral.

“Please let me go,” I whimper, attempting to feign innocence. I hope he falls for it because then I’m going to fight with all my might.

He doesn’t.

“You’re coming with us. Move.” He’s American.

“My hu-husband is upstairs,” I plead. Shrugging from his hold, I keep my gaze forward because if I don’t see him, he won’t have to kill me.

“That’s nice for your husband,” he quips while I feel the walls beginning to close in on me. “Now move.” He tugs at my right arm without any real force, but another hand rips at my left, almost tearing my shoulder from my socket.

Tears of pain sting my eyes as I feel like I’m being torn apart by a savage dog. “Put this on!” Russian number one shouts. “b***h, I said put it on!”

My fight gives way to flight because I am suddenly scared.

“No, please, no,” I beg, but when I’m spun around and forced to face all three of them, I know this isn’t optional.

My brain can’t seem to process what’s going on because standing before me in paradise are three men in ski masks. This place is not meant for such a sight, but they don’t seem to appreciate the beauty. One steps forward and slaps me so hard across the cheek, I taste blood. This can’t be happening.

“Won’t ask again,” he snarls as he attempts to shove a gag into my mouth, and I know the thick black pillowcase hanging from his hand will be next.

Memories of Kenny shoving me into the carpet and my air being siphoned off by his large hand smash into me, and I sway, instantly gripping the first solid thing I can find, which just happens to be the hulking bicep of one of my captors.

The warmth through his long-sleeved T-shirt burns me. Slowly peering up, I lock eyes with him and am confronted with an unusual shade of green with swirls of warm amber. The color of his eyes are akin to a bottle of chartreuse. Out here in the pitch black, they glow…like a predator.

The thought has me quickly severing our connection.

The Russians are losing patience with me because when I don’t bend to their demands, another attempt is made to shove a white cloth into my mouth.

“Please, don’t gag me,” I say. Holding my hands up in surrender, I hope they see reason. They don’t.

Just as Russian number two rears back to pistol-whip me, the American’s arm shoots out in lightning-quick speed and grips his wrist in warning. I have no idea why he just saved me, but that doesn’t matter because Drew suddenly appears.

“What the f**k?” he curses as he frantically attempts to make sense of what he’s seeing. “Who are you?”

“Drew, run!” I scream, lunging forward, but the move is my last as I’m slapped once again. I stagger backward, gasping for air and cradling my cheek, but I still manage to slur, “Run.”

Drew rushes forward, but he doesn’t stand a chance when the American advances and slams his fist into Drew’s jaw. Drew stumbles backward, dazed and confused. The American doesn’t show him any mercy as he pushes him onto the floor and commences to beat the hell out of him.

He drops to one knee and pins Drew by his shoulder as he raises his fist over and over again. I scream, begging for mercy for my husband, but there is none. The American towers over Drew, and even though he’s donned in head-to-toe black, it’s evident he’s in good shape.

Drew doesn’t stand a chance.

Although tears cloud my vision, I still attempt to save Drew, but Russian number two is sick of my disobedience. He raises his gun, and this time, he pistol-whips me. The world spins on its axis before I hit the deck.

I’m floating in and out of consciousness, but I’m certain I see Drew’s lips move. I can’t make out what he’s saying, though. The American punches him one last time before spitting on him. This seems personal. But what do I know because I’m suddenly losing consciousness.

My eyes flicker shut, but with what little strength I have left, I extend my arm out to Drew. He’s feet away, wheezing. “Dreeww.” It comes out slurred, but I need him to know I’m here.

It’s too late.

Although my lack of strength leaves me floppy like a rag doll, one of the Russians jerks me up and shoves the white gag into my mouth. When he attempts to shove the pillowcase onto my head, I kick out, squealing muted screams, but my body is limp.

You’re going to be a good little girl, aren’t you, Willow? Let me f**k that tight virgin p***y. You’re gonna come for Daddy.

Tears leak from my eyes, mixing with the blood gushing from my temple as the horrible memory, one which I haven’t allowed into my world, floods me, and I can’t breathe. I gasp for air, but the harder I try, the more difficult it becomes, and soon, I’m hyperventilating.

I’m preparing myself for another strike, but I don’t get one. Instead, the American brushes the bloody, matted hair from my cheeks. I try to fight, but my depleted body fails me.

“Trust me. Just put it on.” Trust him? Is he f*****g serious? He’s asking me to trust him when I just witnessed him beat my husband into a bloody mess.

But what choice do I have? Clearly, this is happening whether I cooperate or not, so I surrender. Just as I did with Kenny, I grow lax and allow him to win.

“Good, ангел.”

I have no idea what he just called me, but it didn’t sound insulting. It sounded almost…thankful.

He nods, indicating he’s putting the pillowcase on, and all I can do is comply. However, when Drew moans, twisting and turning and still very much alert, I see something in his white bathrobe pocket, but I must be hallucinating as there is surely some mistake.

Before I can question myself, the world turns black, and I am engulfed in my own personal hell. The pillowcase and gag are certain to kill me soon, and if not, my racing heart will give out in next to no time. Arms link through mine from behind and help me stand. I know it’s the American. His fragrance gives him away. I stand wearily, but I will stagger to my death before anyone carries me.