Fallen Saint (All the Pretty Things Trilogy Volume 2)

by Monica James

  “May I have everyone’s attention?” Alek calls from the front of the room.

  The moment they hear his commanding voice, a quiet falls over everyone. People in the foyer quickly enter the ballroom, shuffling into the room like lambs to slaughter. Oscar and Saint make their way through the crowd, standing against the far wall as they watch us closely.

  When Alek has their attention, he draws me against his side so we’re touching. The action doesn’t go unnoticed by Saint as he folds his arms across his broad chest exceptionally slow.

  “I hope you don’t mind, but I will speak in English,” he says, not that anyone would dare object. “Thank you for coming. Tonight is about celebrating life and love.”

  I swallow down my nerves.

  “And this woman who stands by my side represents both. It’s because of her that all of this”—he sweeps his hand around the room—“is happening. I wanted to celebrate her existence with all of you because she means…so much to me.”

  Instantly, I gaze at Saint whose chest rises and falls in dangerously measured breaths.

  “I never believed in love at first sight. I laughed, mocking those who believed in such childish nonsense. But my mind has been changed. Willow”—he hugs me closer while I stand as stiff as a board—“she has shown me that there is no shame in being vulnerable. It doesn’t make us weak to lower our guards. It makes us stronger because learning to love allows one to see the world differently.”

  The room listens intently as Alek’s speech has come as a surprise to some. Astra suddenly appears out of nowhere, and the sea of people part, allowing her to take front row, center. Her men flank her, but I’m surprised to see another addition.

  However, he doesn’t appear to be a guard. He seems to be someone…valued. She whispers into his ear, and his lips tip up into a slanted grin. Together, dressed in riches and gold, they are deadly, and the sense of foreboding suddenly returns.

  Alek notices her arrival but soon recovers. “So I ask you raise your glass to my дорогая.” A waiter quickly scurries to Alek, passing him two flutes of champagne. He offers me one, staring at me with longing over the rim of the glass.

  My cheeks heat because Saint’s scorn burns me. But I accept with a small smile. The room raises their glasses, awaiting the toast.

  Alek turns me so I’m facing him as he takes my hand. With nothing but devotion, he declares, “To you, my darling. I promise to cherish you and to hold you in the highest regard. I live only to make you happy. I pledge this to you. Always.”

  Unsuspecting guests gush over Alek’s words as they shout out their approval. Astra and her mystery man raise their glasses at Alek and me, but in no way are they touched. I stand speechless, my mouth slightly parted, unsure what to say.

  But speech isn’t what Alek wants because when he bends forward and kisses me, he stakes his claim that I’m his. I attempt to recoil violently, but he loops his arm around my waist, holding me prisoner. The catcalls from the crowd echo around us while I focus on nothing but this ending forever.

  The kiss isn’t chaste, and when he nudges my lips open with his tongue, it takes all of my willpower not to bite down on it. But as he continues coaxing me to surrender, I finally open up to him, realizing this will be over a lot quicker if I comply.

  His moans slip down my throat while I close my eyes, blinking back my tears. My heart aches because I can only imagine what this is doing to Saint. Surely, he knows I’m only doing this so I don’t rouse any suspicion.

  However, when Alek finally breaks the kiss and lets me go and I seek him out, his usual chartreuse swirls are narrowed and overtaken by a darkness that chills me to the very core. I never believed he was capable of such vehemence, but now, I do.

  Everyone drinks to the happy couple while I look at Alek’s red-stained mouth, disgusted at myself. I shouldn’t have allowed him to kiss me that way. I should have pushed him away.

  “You are everything and so much more,” he whispers against my neck. “I meant every word. You have opened my eyes, and I hope, in time, I can do the same to you.”

  The walls close in around me, and I suddenly find it hard to breathe.

  “Oh, Alek, I never took you for a romantic,” says a voice, dripping with pure sarcasm.

  Astra and the mystery man stand before us, smirking as if they’re privy to a secret no one else but them knows. She looks stunning in a royal blue ballgown with a gaping neckline. Her ruby pendant dangles between her bountiful breasts, setting off her royal glow.

  The man in a sharp tuxedo makes no secret he’s examining me closely. “I’m Sokolov. Borya Sokolov. Nice to meet you.” He lowers his voice while I wonder who introduces themselves by using their surname. It’s not like he’s James Bond.

  He offers his hand while I notice Astra roll her eyes.

  “You have outdone yourself with this one.”

  This one? I claw my palms to stop myself from slapping his cheek. His comment has me guessing he is a member of The Circle.

  “She has a name, and I’d appreciate if you’d use it.” Alek’s quick retort stuns everyone, but he soon recovers. “And yes, I am most fortunate.” He wipes his mouth with a crisp white handkerchief, and it comes away red with my lipstick.

  Astra smiles, but she is, without a doubt, sizing me up. Her smile soon turns into a bitter scowl.

  “Where is your wife tonight, Borya?”

  The temperature drops to artic levels, and when a smug smirk tugs at Alek’s lips, I wonder if he said this to get under Astra’s skin. “She had to look after the kids. Our sitter took ill.”

  “Hmm,” Alek replies, peering around the room, bored by his story.

  “You still owe me a game of poker. How about we play a game? Are you afraid I’ll beat you?” Borya states. It seems like an odd thing to say, considering we’re at a party.

  “Afraid?” Alek scoffs. “Of you? Mother Superior is far more frightening than you are.”

  I can’t help the winded chuckle that leaves me because Astra’s sour face is priceless. “Mother Superior is an old wench who should leave those children in the gutter where they belong.”

  Horror soon replaced my humor. How can she be so cruel? Alek’s lips twist into a scowl.

  “Then let’s play,” Borya challenges, ignoring Astra.

  “You and your gambling will be your downfall, my friend.” Alek slaps him on the back, then hooks an arm around my waist, hinting it’s time to go. “It’s a party. Have fun. We will play another time.”

  Just as Alek is about to usher us away, Astra folds her arms under her breasts, leveling Alek with an intense stare. “I know what will change your mind.”

  Her confidence piques his interest, and he waits for her to elaborate.

  When she runs a hand down her throat and circles over the ruby around her neck, something in Alek changes. She not only has his attention. She owns him. “How about we use this as a wager? I know how much you want it…back.”

  Alek’s body tenses as he glares at the necklace. She’s implying it once belonged to him, and the way he’s looking at it, I dare say it holds some value to him. But why would he give it away if it does?

  “I suppose I can sneak away for a few minutes,” he says, playing it cool.

  “I thought you might,” Astra replies. “Come find us when you’re done playing house.”

  Alek’s spine stiffens because her comment was a blatant insult. She clearly wasn’t touched by his speech. But I suppose it’s hard to touch a heart made of ice. She and Borya saunter off in victory while I wonder why it’s so important to play a game of poker.

  Unless Borya has a gambling problem…

  I’m Sokolov. Borya Sokolov.

  Oh, my god. Why didn’t I see this sooner?

  Saint’s journal said Shaken, not stirred, which is a James Bond quote, and Seven deadly sins with +2. At the time, I was completely perplexed to the meaning of this all. But now, I know what it means.

  Borya is the missing member o
f The Circle. His James Bond-inspired introduction was the first clue to unveil his identity. And the seven deadly sins come into play because the second sin is greed. And Borya reeks of it. Not to mention, Alek let drop he had a wife, but it’s fairly safe to assume that he and Astra are a thing. No wonder Saint used that quote. Their union, like a shaken martini, is very, very cold.

  “I’m sorry about that,” Alek says, his jaw clenched as he watches his frenemies walk away. “I shouldn’t let them get to me like that, but the wager is one I couldn’t say no to.”

  “The necklace means something to you?” I ask softly, unsure if he’ll answer me or not.

  He inhales deeply, appearing to steady himself. “Yes. It was my mother’s.”

  A whoosh of air leaves me as I am taken aback by his revelation. His mom’s? From the story he told me about her, I thought there was no love lost between them. So why is winning back her necklace so important? And why does Astra have it in the first place?

  My head begins to throb. “I need to use the bathroom.”

  “Are you all right?”

  “No,” I reply, not seeing the point in being coy. “I want nothing to do with these people. And neither should you.”

  Before he has a chance to get a word in edgewise, I lift my dress and excuse myself through the crowd. Thanks to his speech, everyone knows who I am, but I have no desire to converse with anyone because I need some air.

  Once I break through, I race up the stairs, my feet barely able to keep up with my frantic steps. The hallway seems never-ending, but when I finally burst into Saint’s room, I slam the door shut and lean up against it, catching my breath.

  This is far harder than I thought it would be. For the greater good, I was certain I could play nice, but I don’t think I can go back downstairs. The thought of pretending for a second longer turns my stomach. I need to find Saint.

  God only knows what he agreed to, to be here. I can only imagine what sick and disgusting things Oscar made him do. He will get his pound of flesh, and it pains me to know that means in the literal sense.

  “We need to get out of here,” I whisper as a surge of adrenaline courses through me.

  Without a moment to waste, I yank open the door but bump straight into a wall of divine smelling muscle. I bounce back, steadying myself as I grip the wall to keep from falling over. The masked man rushes into the room, slamming the door shut behind him.

  His mask, divided into black and white halves, is the perfect analogy to describe him because even masked, I know him. Saint encompasses both, but right now, with his eyes sparking alight, it’s evident he skates close to the edge. He grips the bottom of the mask and yanks it off his face, revealing the light in my forever darkness.

  He looks dangerously pissed off, and the room suddenly shrinks, clouded by his fury. I wait for him to speak, but it seems he can’t find the right words to properly reveal what he wants to say.

  I’ve never seen him dressed up before, and I know this isn’t the time, but I can’t help but admire how good he looks. He doesn’t look refined or gentlemanly. He looks like he’s ready to eat me alive.

  Instinctively, I take a step back, but that doesn’t deter him in the slightest.

  “You kissed him,” he states in a low timbre, his blazing gaze rivaling the sun.

  “I-I…I didn’t want to rouse any suspicion.”

  My answer should appease him. It doesn’t.

  He prowls forward, engulfing me with his commanding frame. “I am going to rip him apart with my bare hands.”

  And I don’t doubt him for one second.

  “Saint,” I coo. Placing an apprehensive hand to his cheek, I’m thankful he doesn’t pull away. “It didn’t mean anything. I did what I had to. Just as you have.”

  His nostrils flare.

  “Tell me it’s time to go,” I whisper in a plea. “I can’t bear to be here anymore. What’s the plan?”

  Inhaling, he closes his eyes for a few seconds, and when he reopens them, he seems focused, and the anger has dispersed. For now. “We leave when they sit down to play their game of poker.”

  My mouth hinges open as realization hits. “You know about that?”

  He nods slowly.

  Everything collides into me at once, and I gasp. “That, that means you’re working with them?” All of them.

  There is no need for me to elaborate on who they are.

  “Better the devil you know,” he says without emotion. It scares me.

  “How?” It’s all I can muster.

  Saint looks over my shoulder. “That’s how.”

  Completely baffled, I turn to see what has ensnared his attention. But when I do, I stagger back, shaking my head slowly. My gaze floats to a modest green ballgown and mask which lay on the bed. And then to Sara, who steps from the en suite, sheepishly. “No, absolutely not.”

  “This isn’t negotiable,” he states. “This is the only way I can get you out of here.”

  “I will not,” I press, eyes filled with tears because I could never live with myself if we went through with what he proposes.

  Sara nervously toys with her hair, hair styled identically to mine. I now understand why she was so insistent that I wear extensions because her hair and her makeup are a complete mirror image of mine. “Sara, I can’t let you do this.”

  “I want to,” she says in her soft voice, a voice which has carried me through this nightmare. “This is the only way he can pay for what he’s done. We’re the same size. He won’t know—”

  But I raise my hand, nausea rising. “No. I won’t allow you to sacrifice yourself. He will…kill you.”

  Sara and Saint propose something so far beyond valiant, it could be called suicidal. Sara is willing to take my place and pretend to be me as I slip away into the darkness in that simple green dress. The poker game is a ruse because Alek will be focused on winning back that pendant. As long as someone who looks like me is by his side, he won’t notice until it’s too late.

  But when he notices, Sara will be the one to take the blame.

  “I won’t,” I cry, pleading with Saint because there must be another way.

  But Saint doesn’t have time for sentiments. “I won’t let anything happen to her.”

  “And what happens if you fail?” Tears leak into my mouth as I gasp for air.

  “Then I’m finally free.” Sara’s response makes this worse.

  “No.” I rush over to her, gripping her upper arms. “We go together. That was the plan.”

  “In an ideal world, that would work. But unless someone who looks like you is by his side, then no one will leave.”

  “How could you?” I turn to look at Saint, horrified. “By saving me, you’re endangering someone else.”

  He flinches, and I instantly feel guilty for blaming him when he’s only trying to help.

  “It was my idea.” I turn back around to look at Sara, my grip on her releasing.

  “What? Why?” I manage to choke out, taking off my mask. “Why would you do that for me?”

  Sara smiles, and for the first time ever, it’s void of pain. “Because we’re friends.”

  A sob escapes me as I place my hand over my mouth. This isn’t negotiable. The plans are set in motion. I’m to abide by them, no matter how wrong they are.

  Saint stands behind me, knowing better than to touch me. “Once the game starts, you make an excuse to slip away. Come up here and Sara will be waiting. You change into the dress and mask, and we slip out through the front door. No one will know.”

  Closing my eyes, I shake my head, but it’s in vain. This is happening, and it will work because no one will suspect anything. Nothing will be seen as unusual about two people walking out the door, especially two people whose true identities hide behind guises.

  “What did you agree to for them to work with you?” I don’t want to know, but for this to work, I need to know every detail.

  “You let me worry—”

  “Tell me!” I exclaim, cutti
ng him off.

  His warm breath bathes the back of my neck as he exhales. “To kill Aleksei.”

  I always knew it would come to this, but it doesn’t make the certainty any easier to accept. “And what do they get?”

  “His empire,” he replies without pause.

  “And you believe them? You think they’ll just let you live after everything you know?”

  His silence is all the answer I need.

  Saint’s journal now makes perfect sense to me. The Oscar Wilde quote sums Oscar up to a T. He would betray Alek for something he wants—Saint—but this isn’t a deal without strings. And as for Borya and Astra, they are two sociopaths who are sick of being second best. They want true reign—all hail the king and queen of the underworld.

  “I think I’m going to be sick.” Hugging my middle, I take a moment to compose myself because I know Alek will come searching for me soon.

  “Aнгел.” Saint gently places his hand over the slope of where my neck and shoulder meet. “It’s going to be okay. I promise. Someone will be waiting for you. You can trust him. I will come meet you as soon as I can.”

  I can’t shake the feeling that he’s not telling me something.

  “As soon as you can?” I turn around slowly, hating that I feel this weight in the pit of my stomach. This was supposed to be our out, the moment when we were both reborn, but it’s fallen short because leaving here will just be another blemish on my soul.

  “You mean when Alek is dead? And god knows what will happen to Sara?”

  I don’t mean to be confrontational, but how can I do this?

  Saint arches a dark brow, folding his arms across his chest. “And you have a problem with Alek being dead? I thought you wanted this to be over with as much as I do.”

  And that’s the catch. I thought I did. But now, the thought of me having a hand in Alek’s death makes me sick.

  “Of course, I do. I just…I know it’s personal because of what he did to Zoey. I’m not excusing his behavior but—”

  Saint shakes his head, his cheeks billowing as he exhales. “But? It sounds like you are excusing his behavior. There is no but in this situation. I never thought you’d be so…naïve. He’s gotten to you, hasn’t he?”