Bad Saint (All The Pretty Things Trilogy Volume 1)

by Monica James

  A single tear trickles down my cheek and into my gag. This is useless. I’m bargaining with the devil. But when he exhales loudly and slowly bends forward, a new sense of hope overcomes me.

  “I’m going to take this out, all right? Don’t make me regret it.” He pins me with a promise—if I disobey him, I will pay.

  I dare not breathe.

  The blood whooshes through my ears, and my heart races in a deafening staccato as he removes the gag from my mouth. He is poised by me, ready to put it back in if I go back on my word. I don’t…for now.

  The moment it’s out, I gulp in mouthfuls of air to replenish my depleted lungs. I instantly get dizzy as it’s too much, too fast. Steadying my breathing, I calm the storm within.

  When I stop wheezing, I peer upward at Saint. “Th-thank you.” My mouth is dry, and my voice hoarse, so it takes me three attempts to speak. He nods once, arms folded, but other than that, he makes no attempts to move or talk.

  Visions of him dropping to one knee and punishing Drew with his fists overwhelm me, but I swallow down my fear. “I need to use the bathroom.”

  It’s the oldest trick in the book, but I’m certain that door leads to a bathroom, a bathroom which will hopefully have a window. As far as plans go, it’s weak and will probably get me killed, but I’d prefer that option to awaiting my doom.

  Saint’s chest rises before it depresses with a loud exhale. “Please, I know you’re not like the others,” I say in a rushed breath. “You tried to help me earlier.”

  “You know nothing,” he growls, shaking his head firmly.

  Recoiling, I quickly backtrack. “My name is Willow, Willow Shaw.” By telling him my name, I’m hopefully allowing him to see that I’m a person and not a thing.

  “Stop talking.” He swoops forward, intent on gagging me again, but tears, ugly tears break past the floodgates.

  “Please d-don’t gag m-me.” My lower lip quivers as the thought of it turns my stomach.

  “You talk too much,” he counters as though gagging me is the acceptable solution.

  “I know. I’m s-sorry. But I’m sc-scared. What are you going to do with m-me?” I whisper, afraid of his reply but needing to hear it anyway.

  Thankfully, he stops his advance and doesn’t gag me for the time being. There is so much behind those vivid eyes. He is wrestling with his decision once again. “I’m going to untie you so you can use the bathroom. You go with the door open.”

  I nod eagerly.

  Sighing, he yanks a thin silver chain from under his shirt, and I see a key dangling from the end. I have the sudden urge to draw back when he steps forward because his presence commands attention, but I remain utterly still as he bends low and reaches behind me.

  My breathing is heavy, and being this close to him intensifies his fragrance. His fingers on my skin have me breaking out into goose bumps. He works deftly as he slips the key into the cuffs and unlocks them.

  I instantly drop my hands by my side and roll my shoulders to get the feeling back into my arms. I clench and relax my hands until the circulation begins to flow.

  He pulls away slowly, stopping when our faces are mere inches apart. An intake of breath gets trapped in my throat, but I peer up, challenging him to do his best.

  Our pants fill the air as we examine each other carefully. My proximity appears to affect him, causing his pupils to dilate, and I gasp. His eyes dart to my heaving chest before they snap back up to meet my terrified ones.

  He reaches behind him with an unhurried speed, and when the full moon peeking in from the window reflects off the silver from the blade he holds, I whimper, but I don’t move. This is a test, and I pass with flying colors as he drops to his knees, eyes still locked with mine, and he cuts through the rope around my ankles.

  He is feral and in command, but I don’t feel threatened. Lord knows I should, but I’m not because I know that using my looks for evil has bought me some time. He likes what he sees, which is maybe why he skims his finger over my silver anklet before he stands and pockets his switchblade. If I wasn’t paying attention, I would have missed it or played it off as an accidental touch. But I know there is no such thing.

  I’m free, but I suddenly have never felt more imprisoned than I do right now.

  He’s waiting for me to make my next move. Again, another test.

  I rise cautiously as I have no doubt I will be lightheaded. The blood whooshes through my body, but I find my center of gravity and stay upright. Placing my arms out wide, I balance myself, inhaling and exhaling slowly.

  The decking feels cold beneath my feet, but I commence a slow stagger toward the bathroom. My steps are sluggish with the pins and needles feeling in my legs, but I make sure not to touch Saint as I stumble past him. He inhales through his nose.

  When the bathroom is within reach, I open the door, never feeling more relieved. However, seeing the small window above the toilet pleases me more. I do as he says and leave the door open as I shuffle into the tiny space. There is only enough room for a toilet, a tiny shower, and a sink, but it’ll do.

  I watch him, arching a brow, hinting for some privacy.

  With arms folded, he turns slowly, showing me his back.

  Not wanting to alert him to my plan, I shyly reach under my skirt to pull down my underwear and quickly sit onto the toilet. I have to go, but with him standing there, my bladder gets stage fright.

  “What’s taking so long?” he asks when there is silence.

  My cheeks turn a beet red. “I can’t…pee with you standing there.”

  “Either you go with me here, or you don’t go at all. Take your pick.”

  Narrowing my eyes, I plot the ways to make him pay for being such an asshole, then decide to hum under my breath so I can pee under the cloak of music. It works. I don’t even know what I’m humming to, but it doesn’t matter because once I’m done, I’m going to slam this door shut and attempt to get the fuck off this boat.

  Craning my neck, I see that the window has a latch. It’s unlocked. It’s small, but I’ll be able to squeeze through. Once I’m done, I reach for some toilet paper, my gaze floating between Saint and the window.

  I flush and decide to wash my hands as that’ll give me more time for him to lower his guard. When I peer into the square mirror above the sink, I gasp as my reflection resembles something out of a horror movie.

  Coagulated blood sticks to my matted hair in clumps. Crimson paints my cheeks, with rivets of dried tears cascading all the way down my chin. My mouth looks swollen and my eyes puffy. So much for using my looks because the only look I’m rocking right now is shit.

  The reason that is zaps through my veins, and a surge of adrenaline overthrows me. It’s now or never. Ensuring his back is still turned, I take a deep breath. And then another.

  With the water still running, I lunge for the door and lock it, taking back my life. I only have seconds before he’s breaking down the flimsy door. My heart is in my throat as I climb onto the toilet, and with fumbling fingers, I unlatch the window.

  When it pops open, I don’t have time to celebrate as I frantically boost myself up and wiggle my body through the hole. I can taste my freedom as I’m almost through, but it’s the last time I will taste it on my tongue because before I know it, I hear an ear-splitting crash and am being hauled backward violently.

  “No!” I scream, flailing like a madwoman as I kick my legs. But it’s in vain. “Let me go!”

  Saint jerks me back, wrapping his hands around my waist as I clutch onto the frame of the window, holding on for dear life. He is so strong, and eventually, I cave, afraid he’ll rip me into two.

  “No.” I sob as he throws me over his shoulder like I weigh nothing at all. I pound on his back, thrashing to break free, but he only tightens his hold. When he twists, and I’m able to reach his side, I go on instinct and bite down—hard.

  He grunts as my bite clearly stung, but when he rips free from my teeth, I know I’ve just made things so much worse. He is furio
us. His hulking body trembles in rage as he storms through the boat and slams me to my feet. I attempt to run, but he grabs me by the throat and shoves me backward. My back hits a support pole, and I gasp for breath.

  “You want to act like a dog, I’ll treat you like one.”

  “Please,” I beg, tears and spittle running down my face. But he doesn’t listen.

  With his fingers still clutched around my throat, he reaches for a length of rope and forces my hands behind my back. With the rope, he then viciously ties it around my arms, just under my breasts, so I’m bound to the pole.

  “You don’t have to do this,” I plead, but he’s so angry, he won’t listen to a word I have to say.

  When he drops to his knees and forces my legs shut so he can tie them to the pole also, my fight dies, and I begin to weep. By the time he’s bound my ankles, tiny snivels wrack my body. I’m bound to the pole by my arms, legs, and feet. I’m not going anywhere.

  Yet what scares me the most is how he won’t look at me.

  “Saint…” It’s too late to take it back.

  His head snaps up, and he launches off the floor, roaring into my face, “How do you know my name?”

  “I-I…” I fumble over my words, his once smooth, chartreuse-colored eyes now a flaming amber.

  “Tell me!” he yells, his breath fanning the hair from my cheeks.

  “I h-heard one of the men call y-you th-that. I’m so-sorry.” I am gasping for breath because my fear is robbing me of air.

  “Don’t mistake my kindness for weakness because I am far crueler than those two upstairs,” he growls, cupping my throat once again. Swallowing hard, I bow backward in an attempt to escape, but I have nowhere to go. “I have a lot more to lose than they do, so don’t force me to hurt you.”

  He releases me, and I sag forward, sobbing. I have never felt more defeated in my life.

  When he reaches for a roll of duct tape, I whimper. “Pl-please do-don’t gag m-me. I can’t st-stand it. Pl-please.”

  My pleas go unheard as he stretches out a length and is about to fasten it to my lips. It’s my last chance. “Please, Saint, d-don’t…” I don’t even care what he does to me for using his name. I’m dead anyway.

  I brace for the suffocation, squeezing my eyes shut, but I don’t get it. I get nothing.

  “Fuck!” he roars before I hear something smash. He’s going to kill me; I’m sure of it. But when I hear his heavy boots pound along the floor and up the stairs, slamming the hatch closed, it appears I’m not sure of anything at all.

  My heavy eyelids open, and I take in my surroundings. He’s gone. I’m still tied to a pole, but he’s gone. The smash I heard was the duct tape being hurled against the wall, shattering a glass in the process.

  I have no idea why he didn’t gag me. The fact I used his name was enough of a reason to. But he didn’t, and I need to know why.

  But for now, I surrender to the exhaustion, anticipating what day two holds.

  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 2

  I’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.

  “Fuck 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 fucking 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 fucking 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.