BAD SAINT (All the Pretty Things #1)

Three-1

This is the only kindness I can show her because where she’s headed, he will show her no mercy. She’ll be expected to submit, and if she doesn’t…he will kill her, regardless of how beautiful she is. And she is…beautiful.

Day 4TWENTY-SIX CANS OF tuna fish. Eight lemon pepper. Seven honey barbecue. Five herb and garlic. Six ranch.

Forty-eight ounce tin of classic roast ground coffee.

A bottle of vodka.

There are three hundred and sixteen panes of wood decorating the ceiling and walls.

I know all this because I’ve been stuck down here for two days. Forty-eight hours of utter hell. I ache. Mind. Body. And soul.

After that very strange evening when I was sold to a pirate for two thousand dollars before Saint slit his throat and then spanked me, all to teach me a lesson, he left me down here in hopes the solitude would break me—it didn’t.

He visited every hour, proposing the same thing—submit. And each time, I replied the same way—f**k you.

The visits became less frequent, and before long, it seemed I was the only one who could stand my own company. But that suited me just fine as I needed the quiet to process everything that has happened.

I don’t know much, but what I do know is that Saint intends to give me to someone named Boss. That’s why he kidnapped me, it appears. But the thing is, I have no idea who Boss is, so I don’t know how he knows me.

Yes, my face may be recognizable to some because of my modeling, but it’s not like I’m in the league of Victoria’s Secret models. Besides, my audience is more homegrown and not European, which is where we are clearly heading.

I also can’t deny that talks of submission, breaking, obeying, and the spanking are very troubling. Whoever Boss is doesn’t want a companion…he wants a slave, and apparently, I fit the bill.

Swallowing down my fear, I reach for the bottle of water left for me by the Russian with the birthmark, who I have named Mark. He also left a bucket and some food close by, cementing that I am indeed a prisoner.

Reality has set in, and my bravado is slipping every single minute I am caged down here. The fight in me is slowly fading because each sunrise brings me closer to my doom. And that’s why he’s left me down here covered in my attacker’s blood…to break me.

The hatch opens, and like a vampire confronting the breaking dawn, I shrink backward, protecting my eyes from the bright light. I know it’s him, and a small part of me, a part I loathe, is relieved he’s here.

When I see him, all dominating and commanding, I blush, thinking about the control he showed when he threw me over his knee. But I soon forget such ridiculous thoughts. “I’ve been too lenient with you. We need to set some ground rules,” he states, ducking as he walks down the stairs to avoid hitting his head on the ceiling. I hate how refined he looks and smells.

I could ignore him, but I desperately want to take a shower and change my clothes, so I simply arch a brow, indicating I’m listening.

He pulls up a chair and spins it around, so he’s straddling it. I can’t believe that after four days, I still haven’t seen his face. “Thanks to the s**t you pulled, we’ll now be spending a lot more time together.”

I lick my dry lips. “What does that mean?”

“It means, everything has changed. So if you disobey me…I punish you.”

My mouth parts, and I half laugh in disbelief. But when I see that he’s serious, I blanch. “Excuse me?”

“You talk out of line…I punish you.”

“Wha—”

“You try to escape again…I punish you,” he says, interrupting me to prove my point. “We clear?”

“Where are we going?”

He inhales through his nose, clearly annoyed I’m not acknowledging his ground rules. “I said, are…we…clear?” His pause between each word is a warning.

“Very,” I snarl, glaring at him.

“Good. You will no longer address me by my name. From now on, it’s мастер.”

I have no idea what that word means, but it’s no doubt Russian as it rolls freely off Saint’s tongue. He can’t be serious. But when he taps his boot against the floor, awaiting my response, I cave. “Fine.”

He clears his throat while it takes all my willpower to yield. “Yes…мастер.” I don’t know what I just called him since my pronunciation is horrible, but he nods once.

Victorious, he stands. I want to cut out my tongue. “Good. You behave; I reward you. You don’t; I punish you.”

But it’s not that simple. “What happened to my husband?” I ask quickly, afraid he’s going to leave me down here for another two days.

“Forget him,” he snaps, surprising me.

The ring on my finger burns in defiance because I will do no such thing. “He will be looking for me.”

“Don’t hold your breath.” I open my mouth, intent on arguing, but Saint hints this conversation is done. “I’m going to uncuff you, and then you’re going to take a shower.”

That sounds like heaven, but what’s the catch?

He reads my suspicion instantly. “This is your reward for listening. Would you like to take a shower?”

He waits patiently while I grind my teeth. “Yes.” When he folds his arms across his chest, I add, “мастер.”

I may as well have told him to go f**k himself, but he seems pleased.

He loops the chain out from under his shirt and eyes me closely as he bends low to unlock my cuff. We lock gazes, and I can’t keep the contempt from mine while he can’t mask the triumph in his. The moment I’m free, I rub my wrist, which is red and raw. The skin is grazed and swollen.

He walks over to a white waterproof box in the corner and opens it, revealing a stack of clothes inside. They are clearly for me. When I see a white bra and matching underwear on top of what looks like a yellow sundress, I sigh in relief.

He offers it to me while I purse my lips with my head tilted to the side. I can’t help but feel this comes with strings attached. However, the need to shower wins out, and I stand wearily as I haven’t used my legs for two days.

I stagger forward, the sting in my ass reminding me of what transpired between Saint and me. My cheeks flourish a deep crimson, but I snatch the clothes from his hand and await further instruction. He hums low, satisfied by my submission.

“Here.” He opens the box once again, and I almost cry in happiness when he produces a toiletry bag filled with shampoo, conditioner, toothpaste, and everything else a girl who hasn’t had a proper shower in four days would need.

“Thank you.” It comes naturally, but Saint nods once.

Now the kicker.

There is no way I’m undressing with him in here. When I stand firm, he knows it.

“Cut the innocent act. Undress now.”

His judgment of me pisses me off, and I come apart. “It’s not an act,” I state defensively. When those green eyes widen, I arch a defying brow. “Where I’m from, saving yourself for marriage isn’t a crime. Stop looking at me like that.”

It’s not like I haven’t heard it before, but it still riles me up. It’s no one’s business but my own.

But what Saint says next has me gasping. “Where I’m from…it is a crime. A crime against you.” He sighs, heavy with burden.

What the hell does that mean?

“Where exactly are you from?” I’m speaking out of line, but his reaction confuses me. He almost looks…saddened by the fact.

He steps forward, and I’m engulfed in his spice as he towers over me. “A world you don’t belong in.”

The air suddenly sizzles, and a palpable electricity has the hair on the back of my neck standing on end. I have so many more questions, but he makes it clear that question time is over as he c***s his head toward the shower.

“You have ten minutes.”

I blink once, stunned he’s going to let me shower alone.

I don’t waste a second and quickly hobble toward the bathroom, sighing when I hear him march up the stairs and close the hatch behind him. With this newfound freedom, I don’t know what to do first. I have a bad case of cotton mouth, so I decide to brush my teeth.

When I peer at my reflection in the mirror, I stagger back, covering my mouth in horror. I barely recognize myself.

Caked in blood and my eyes wild, my soiled appearance scares me. Is this what I have become?

Unable to face the truth, I strip and toss my clothes into the corner of the room. The moment I step into the shower and turn the faucet to hot, I fold and relish in the feel of washing away my sins. The water runs red, but I coax it down the drain with my big toe.

My muscles uncoil from the warmth, and I melt into the feeling of being clean once more. The water feels wonderful, but when I turn, and the spray hits my ass, I flinch. Peering over my shoulder, I flush as bright as my ass cheeks when I see the red prints left by Saint’s hands. I still can’t believe he spanked me, but what’s most disturbing is I can’t believe my response.

Tears threaten to break past the floodgates, but I don’t have time to grieve.

Saint said ten minutes, and I know he won’t give me a second more, so I hurried to wash my hair and condition it as I lathered the vanilla soap over my body. I’m clean with two minutes to spare, so I turn off the water and dry hurriedly.

I’ve applied deodorant, some body lotion, and brushed my hair when I hear heavy footsteps up on the deck. He’s coming.

Stepping into my underwear, which fit, I thread my arms through the bra, and although the cups are a size too small, I hook it and arrange my breasts so they don’t pop out. Just as I reach for my dress, the hatch opens, and Saint appears.

I attempt to throw it on over my head, but he stops me.

“Wait.”

With my arms raised in the air, I pause, my chest rising and falling quickly as I catch my breath.

“Come here.”

There is no point in arguing with him, so I remove the dress and place it over the edge of the basin and walk toward him slowly. I stop when I am a few feet away.

Bashful to be standing in nothing but underwear, especially a bra that barely fits, I cast my eyes downward, unable to look at him. I bite my lip, unsure what he wants me to do.

“Kneel,” he commands.

Although every fiber of my being is demanding I fight, I know this will be over a lot quicker if I just surrender…so I do.

Gradually, I drop to my knees, averting my gaze as I’m embarrassed to be seen this way. But something changes in Saint. His exhalations are deep as he takes his time before he reaches down and caresses the cross at my throat.

My skin breaks out into goose bumps, but I remain passive, unsure what comes next.

“You look…beautiful,” he says painfully slow while I snap my chin upward, locking gazes with him. I was not expecting him to say that.

The feral look reflected in those green depths has me instantly dropping my chin. My cheeks blister. Using my hair as a veil, I hide behind it as I sit back on my heels, measuring my breaths and wringing my hands together.

Although this could be looked at as s****l, as Saint dominating me, I don’t feel objectified. I feel empowered as I’m the one in control. That doesn’t make a lick of sense, but neither does any of this.

I stay this way, awaiting his next move, and when I hear the distinct shutter of a camera clicking, one on a phone, I realize I’ve just found another means of communication. Him slipping up is slim to none, but stranger things have happened—like him leaving his key for me to uncuff myself with or…calling me beautiful.

“Okay, you can get dressed now.”

This is bizarre, to say the least, but I don’t argue.

Standing, I flick back my damp hair, aware he’s watching me, but I quickly make my way into the bathroom and slip the dress over my head. I don’t know what happens next. So I make my way over to the seat and extend my hands, ready to be cuffed, but he shakes his head.