BAD SAINT (All the Pretty Things #1)

Two-1

She isn’t what I was expecting. She is strong-willed and stubborn. I have no other choice but to break her. It’s for her own good.

Day 2I’VE BEEN AWAKE since well before dawn.

The night wasn’t kind to me. I had hoped to pass out from fatigue and the splitting pain in my head and not stir for hours, but that wasn’t the case. I slipped in and out of reality, but I eventually stayed awake, counting the stars I could see through the small window to my left. It was my only glimpse of the outside world.

When the sun peaked across the horizon and the moon surrendered to her light, I waited for my punishment. My attempted escape made Saint so angry last night, I’m certain my retribution was coming. But I waited and waited to no avail.

I can hear them up on the deck. The boat has either stopped or is going at a very slow pace, but they are merely torturing me. In some ways, I wish they’d just get it over with because the waiting…that’s half the torture.

I don’t know where we are, why they kidnapped me, or how they knew where to find me. Our location was off the grid. I didn’t see a soul for miles. If they want a ransom, knowing Drew is wealthy, then why are they taking me to Turkey?

None of this makes any sense.

The hatch opens, letting in the vibrant sunshine, but I feel anything but lively. When one of the Russians comes bouncing down the stairs, I don’t know if I should be relieved or scared. Of course, the ski mask covers his face, so I will only be able to tell who he is when he speaks.

Holding my breath, I watch as he hunts through the shelves of canned food, grabbing two. “Eat?” he asks in very broken English. Russian number two. He is the one who speaks little English. He is also the bastard who pistol-whipped me.

“No, thank you,” I spit. I’d rather starve than break bread with them. My throat is dry, and I’m thirsty as all get-out, but it’ll be a cold day in hell when I tell him that. He shrugs, probably thankful there is more for him. He heads back up on the deck, slamming the hatch behind him.

Every part of my body aches, and I desperately need a shower. I am covered in blood, sweat, and tears. The thought of standing under a hot spray to wash away this filth has me slipping into a happy place…until the devil ruins it.

“You need to eat.”

Inhaling, I turn my cheek, refusing to look at him. He responds with laughter.

He seems to have more pep in his step than when he left last night, and I begin to wonder why that is. The closer he gets to me, the more the memories of him foiling my escape incite my anger. “Eat,” he repeats.

“No,” I push out between clenched teeth, my face still facing away. I don’t want to look at him. I won’t be held responsible for my actions if I do.

“I made it myself,” he quips, shoving a plate of baked beans under my nose. My stomach gurgles, and the urge to vomit overpowers me.

“f**k you,” I scowl, uncaring what the repercussions are.

Silence.

I’m testing his patience, but I won’t roll over and die. I did that once, and I won’t ever do it again. If he wanted a docile little hostage, then he kidnapped the wrong girl.

My insolence hasn’t affected him in the slightest because I hear the wooden chair being dragged across the floor and then a loud thump onto the table. “So if you won’t eat…what do you want?”

“For you to let me go,” I counter in lightning-quick speed. Risking a glance his way, I scoff when I see him perched casually on the chair, boots resting on the table, ankles crossed. He has his hands linked behind his head. Just another day in paradise for this asshole.

When we lock eyes, I glare, hoping he knows how much I hate him.

“I can’t do that,” he says, shaking his head slowly. “So pick again.”

“Is this a game to you?” I ask, enraged he seems to be enjoying himself. “My husband is going to find you and kill you.” As far as threats go, it’s pretty severe, but once again, Saint finds my offensiveness hilarious.

“Ooh…I’m shaking in my boots.” He chuckles, waving his hands in the air and feigning horror.

I really f*****g hate him.

“This is growing old fast, so you have one of three options.” He raises a finger. “One—you eat.” I curl my lip in response. He raises another finger. “Two—you shower.” When I don’t reply, he completes his counting with a third finger. “Or three—I gag you, and you don’t have any other options until we dock this boat.”

I pale at the thought. “So what will it be, ангел?” There’s that name again. It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask him what it means, but I won’t give him the satisfaction of my curiosity. “I won’t ask again.”

“Two!” I shout when he kicks his legs off the table and slides his chair back. “Two.”

He stands slowly, nodding. “Good pick because you f*****g stink.” My cheeks instantly redden as I’m mortified.

His eyes soften, but it’s probably just the way the sunlight hits his strange eyes because nothing about the man standing in front of me is soft. “Now, the last time I untied you, we had issues. Is that going to happen again?”

“No,” I reply because with him foiling my plans of slipping out the window, I need to find another escape route.

“Good.” He paces toward me, causing me to shrink back.

Now that I’m standing, I can see that he is, in fact, well over six feet. At a guess, I would say six-three. I have no hopes of outrunning or outweighing him, so it looks like I’ll have to outsmart him, and I will.

When he comes to a standstill behind me and begins untying the rope, I can’t believe I’m actually thankful since he’s the reason I’m tied up in the first place. When he frees my arms, I sigh as the relief is incredible. I rub my shoulders, hoping to get the feeling back.

He then unties my legs and lastly, my ankles.

I’m too relieved to be free to even attempt to run because where would I run to anyway? My jelly legs barely hold me up. That shower can’t come soon enough. I turn in the direction of the bathroom, but Saint grabs me by my bicep and leads me toward the stairs.

I dig my heels in. “Where are we going? The shower is back there.” I hook my thumb behind me, but he ignores me and continues to haul me up the stairs. With no other choice, I follow.

The hot sun blasts down around me, and I shield my eyes with my hand as it hurts my sensitive pupils. The Russians are mid bite of their breakfast when they see me behind Saint. It’s clear this wasn’t part of their plans.

They exchange words in Russian, and I am surprised when Saint replies back in their native tongue. I didn’t know he spoke Russian, but I suppose I don’t know a lot of things about him. They eventually cave as it’s clearly not a fight worth having.

I take in my surroundings and see nothing but blue ocean for miles. The scene would be quite pretty if I wasn’t here against my will.

I was right. We are on a mid-sized yacht. Nothing too fancy, but nothing too shabby to alert anyone of the illegal activities on board. Standing out here, I feel my skin begin to fry. I can’t believe they are sitting out here in long sleeves and ski masks. They look ridiculous. I wouldn’t be surprised if they sleep with the masks on.

Saint allows me to take it all in, which surprises me. His mood swings are sure to leave me with whiplash. I peer around, wondering if maybe a shower is located somewhere up here. But there doesn’t seem to be. Just when I’m about to ask, he clarifies just why we’re here.

“Strip.”

My mouth gapes open, and I blink once. “Excuse me?”

“Strip,” he repeats, releasing me.

I stumble backward, his command winding me. “I will not,” I argue, folding my arms around me in protection. The two Russians watch on, our quarrel much more interesting than their food it seems.

“Suit yourself.” He grips my forearm and drags me toward the front of the yacht. I squirm, attempting to break free, but it’s useless. When we get to the edge, he gestures with his chin to the water. “You can just jump in wearing your clothes. See if I care.”

“Jump?” I question, horrified. No way is he implying for me to shower in the ocean. But when he stands rigid, I know that’s exactly what he’s proposing. “You’re f*****g insane! I’ll drown.”

He chuckles in response. “There are worse ways to die.” Even though he’s right, what’s wrong with using the shower?

Curse my inability to mask my thoughts, because before I know what he’s doing, he’s taking off one boot, hopping on one leg as he then removes the other. When he begins to unbuckle his belt, I back up, gulping. “What are you doing?” I don’t want to know, but I torture myself anyway.

“Preparing in case you drown.”

Fuck him and his smugness.

When he threads his fingers into the waistband of his pants, clearly about to disrobe, I instantly turn my back, embarrassed. I feel stupid, but I don’t want to see him get naked. I hate the man.

As I look out at the ocean, I wonder if maybe this isn’t such a bad idea. This could be escape attempt number two. I literally have nothing to lose, which is why I shift to the right, hoping the high sail can provide some privacy. But the thought of taking off my dress in front of those two Russian perverts turns my stomach. And with them gone, I only have to outswim one captor instead of three.

Saint comes up behind me, startling me. “We haven’t got all day. You have one minute.”

“I…” I lick my lips, refusing to look at him. “Please make them go away. I don’t want them to see.” I know this is absurd as I model for a living, and most times, I don’t wear much to those shoots, but that’s different. That’s work, and this is…something else.

“Don’t be shy. They’ve seen plenty of ass and t**s before, believe me.”

I flush all over as his bluntness catches me unaware. “Well, congratulations to them, but they haven’t seen mine, and I would prefer to keep it that way.”

I’m expecting him to tell me to stop being so precious, but when he shouts, “Go,” I almost fall over my feet.

They exchange words in Russian, a few expletives I believe, before I hear them rise and pound down the stairs. The hatch slams shut, leaving me alone with my captor.

“Your wish is my command. Now hurry up.” He’s running out of patience. Not wanting to push him more than I already have, I spin around, surprised to see his pants are still on.

But I soon recover. “You too.”

“Me too what?” he asks, the vibrant yellow in his eyes challenging the golden sun.

“You leave as well.”

“Nice try, but I don’t think so.” When he stands with his arms folded, legs apart, I know this is the best I’m going to get.

“Fine.” Sighing, I pretend I’m just at a photo shoot as I turn my back and lift the hem of my soiled dress over my head. I toss it to the floor, standing in my white underwear and matching bra. Instantly, I wrap an arm around me to cover my breasts.

Saint is quiet. I nervously shuffle my feet.

“You done?” I’m surprised he’s given me the option of keeping my undergarments on.

I nod quickly.

My hair whips in the wind, and the sun thaws the chill from my skin. It’s actually quite pleasant up here. Too bad I can’t enjoy it, seeing as I’m a prisoner. Looking over the edge, I see that the jump isn’t too far, but I’m not worried about that. I’m desperately seeking a way to escape.

Maybe luck will be on my side, and a passing ship will save me. Or a massive wave will sweep me toward shore. All unlikely scenarios, but I will take my chances because I will take drowning over getting back onto this boat.

I shuffle forward, stepping over the silver railing and standing on the tip of the boat. Luckily, I have no fear of the water, and fortunately, I’m a damn good swimmer. With a kick of adrenaline, I take my leap of faith to what was supposed to be my freedom. But when I hear a snap around my wrist and a heavy weight crashing into the water with me, I realize I’ve just jumped holding an anchor.