by J, Bella
“Mila!”
The sharp tone of his voice forced me to open my eyes.
“Look at me.”
I shook my head, on the verge of closing my eyes again.
“I said look at me. Breathe and look at me.”
My nostrils flared as I took a deep breath, the air burning its way into my lungs while I kept staring into the crystal blue of his eyes. The stone expression he wore so well was still there, but his gaze lacked the cruel glint it had all night as he stared back at me. Swirls of sapphires and slate held me captive while my heartbeat kept rising. I couldn’t look away even though I knew what a ruthless son of a bitch he was. The darkness lured me in while fear gripped me tightly in its claws. As seconds passed, I managed to breathe more easily while keeping my eyes on his.
The plane steadied until it no longer felt like we were even moving.
Saint relaxed back and held a hand up. “James, bring the girl a drink.”
“I don’t—”
“Yeah, you do.”
James handed me a glass, which I reluctantly took.
“Drink up,” Saint started. “It’s going to be a long flight.”
“A long flight to where?”
He grinned. “Somewhere no one can find you.”
7
Saint
It was a nine-hour flight we had ahead of us, and having her sit across from me forced me to look at her. Her face. Her eyes. The way her jaw clenched as she bit the inside of her cheek. She never crossed her legs, not once, keeping her knees locked together. Was it a sign of a lack of confidence? A sign of discomfort? Of course, it was. She had no idea what was going on, or who I really was. She was on a plane and didn’t know the destination, wearing clothes that weren’t hers.
A tear trickled down her cheek, and I knew by the haunted look on her face she was thinking about him. For some reason, it irked me, like metal scratching against bone. “He doesn’t deserve your tears.”
She scoffed. “He wasn’t your friend.”
“And neither was he yours.”
Finally, she turned to me, dark circles framing her tired eyes. “Did he know?”
I knew what she was asking. From all the research I gathered about her, I knew she was a smart girl, and she could easily put two and two together.
I nodded. “He knew he was delivering you to me.”
Her bottom lip started to quiver, but she bit back her tears. “He knew all along? All those months we were friends?”
“Do you really think it a coincidence he literally ran into you on the subway, among hundreds of people? An act of fate?”
Long lashes weaved together as she closed her eyes, tears falling, a visible trail left over her layer of make-up. Knowing those tears were meant for that low-life son of a bitch was enough to bring my blood to a simmer in my veins.
I slammed the last of my drink down my throat, holding up the empty glass, indicating for a refill. “He played you, Mila. You were nothing but a paycheck for him. You should think about that before you waste another tear on that jackass.”
A soft whimper rolled off her lips, and she wiped at her cheek, not saying a word. I didn’t know why, but I fucking hated it. If that asshole was standing in front of me right now, I’d fucking shoot him again.
The buzz of bourbon mixed with the rush of white-hot anger made a flurry of harsh thoughts bombard my mind.
James returned with a fresh glass, my stare turning into a glare as I watched her sorrow-filled face. “Stop. Stop crying over him.”
Her heart-shaped lips pulled into a sad smile. “You think I’m crying over him?”
“It sure looks like it.”
“Shows you know nothing.”
I sat upright, moving to the edge of my seat, still clutching the tumbler between my fingers. “I know you’ve been passed from one foster home to the other your entire goddamn life. I know you’ve never had any real friends.”
“I thought Brad was my friend.”
My control slipped, and I reacted, throwing my glass across the plane, the sound of it shattering splitting through the cabin. “That fucker fooled you, played you, pretended to be someone he wasn’t, said the words you wanted to hear so he could win your trust. Meanwhile, when he wasn’t with you, he was shooting crack and fucking whores like the low-life piece of shit he was.” I stood, pulling my hand through my hair, the level of anger rising with every passing second.
Her green-eyed glare corrupted with misplaced grief locked on to mine. “I know he betrayed me.”
I arched over her, clutching the back of her seat. “Then you know why I planted lead in his goddamn skull.” Her eyes widened as she looked up at me, studying me. I smiled. “If you’re looking for any sign of remorse, you won’t find it.” I brought my lips down to her ear. “Because I feel none. Having Brad’s blood on my hands is one of the few things that won’t keep me up at night.”
She shuddered, and a rush of air swept past her lips, her throat moving as she swallowed. Being this close, I could smell her fear, her uncertainty. She reeked of ignorance and naivety, a scent I wanted to replace with my own, like a goddamn animal staking its claim on what was rightfully his to take.
My corrupted thoughts filled my head like a toxin, and I reached up and eased a single digit down the curve of her neck, feeling her rapid pulse beneath my fingertip. It was easy to see she was holding her breath, fearing my next move. Hating my touch. Despising me. Something I planned on changing very, very soon.
Tracing the tip of my nose down the edge of her ear, I allowed my fingertip to travel farther down her chest, across her smooth, satin-like skin. I teased a finger against the fabric of her dress, all along the V-shaped neckline above her breasts. So young. So innocent. A fragile doll that would crack under the wicked touch of a man like myself.
I reached between her breasts, a single fingertip traveling across her soft skin, and I heard her finally take a breath.
“Don’t touch me,” she whispered, her voice and lack of conviction far too weak to deter me from exploring her body. In fact, it only inspired me to want to feel more of her skin beneath my fingertips. Soft, silky, innocent. It made my mouth water to taste her, to ravage and ruin her, to see her back arch while I fucked her sweet little body into submission.
“Oh, dear Mila.” I slipped a hand inside her dress and cupped her naked breast, not giving a fuck whether my touch was welcome. She was mine, after all; she just didn’t know it yet.
A soft whimper of air rushed from her lips, and I closed my eyes, relishing the sound as it fucking thrilled me to feel her stiffen, her breathing labored and heavy. Her nipple hardened against my palm, the tiny pebble begging to be sucked, her body reacting beautifully to my uninvited caress.
“There will come a time, Mila, when you’ll beg me to touch you.”
She turned her face toward me, her rosy pink lips glistening with invitation, begging to be ravaged until swollen. Her chest rose and fell, soft breaths wafting from her mouth like a breeze of seduction. I could practically smell her lust, her eyes boring into mine like she was begging for something. Something she didn’t want, yet inexplicably needed.
She licked her lips, her tongue demanding my attention. “I…would rather die.”
I looked down at where my hand disappeared beneath her dress, smiling. Well played, Mila.
The swell of her breast fit perfectly in my palm, and I squeezed the rounded flesh before pulling my hand from her dress. Her body sagged back in the seat, cheeks flushed and flustered as she visibly struggled to catch a breath. I was a hunter, a man who relished the chase, and it was easy for me to see when a woman was desperate to fight the most basic human urges—to succumb to sin. But there was a strength in Mila I hadn’t seen for a long while, the kind of strength that would put the challenge back into the hunt—a temptation I would kill to indulge in.
Not taking my eyes off her, I watched her unbuckle her safety belt, getting to her feet. “I need to use the bathroom.”
“El
ena will take you.”
Mila brushed past me, purposely avoiding eye contact. I sat back down and stared after her. The sick fuck in me wondered how wet she was between her legs. I didn’t know which thought turned me on more—the thought of her wanting me and submitting, or the thought of her fighting me until her body betrayed her in the worst possible way. But whether she submitted or kept on fighting, she would give me what I wanted. I’d make sure of it. I’d waited for this day for years, following this road of vengeance and retribution until I finally reached the destination I yearned for. A place where I could right every wrong ever done unto me.
8
Mila
I could hardly put one foot in front of the other. My emotions were tearing down every ounce of strength I had left in me, wiping it away like it was nothing but dust.
Elena walked out in front of me, and I followed, praying I wouldn’t break down—at least not until I was alone.
“Here you go.” Elena stood to the side and pointed at the door. I rushed inside before it was too late—before the walls came tumbling down, losing myself in the wreckage.
The click of the door sounded, the signal for me to let go. To let the cracks break, to let me shatter into pieces.
It took one breath, one moment for a lifetime’s worth of tears to flush through my soul and pour from my body like a river of sorrow. Everything faded to gray, the blackness of the world blinding me. Except for the blood. Brad’s blood. I could still clearly see it seep into the carpet, his body having no use for it any longer. Saint didn’t even blink. He didn’t give Brad’s corpse a second glance. He just wiped the smears of blood that spattered my face from my cheeks, as if it had the power to taint me.
I turned and fell back, slowly slipping down the door, crying so hard it hurt. Every tear cut down my cheek, the pain unbearable.
Saint took me. He took me against my will. Kidnapped me. Threatened me. Then touched me. Something he had no right doing. Something my body had no right liking. But it did. I did. The moment he slipped his hand in my dress, my core tightened, and it wanted more. My body wanted more. How was that even possible? This man was the devil, evil incarnate and didn’t even try to pretend otherwise. The second I realized what was happening, it was like a switch was flipped, that single moment of desire turning into a violent surge, a sickening feeling I had never experienced before.
He made me sick. Saint made me sick. His touch was venom, and his words were nothing but lies, manipulative deceptions of twisted truths. I had only been in his presence for a few hours, yet it felt like he had been infecting me my whole life. Like he had been slated into my bones.
“Mila, are you okay?” Elena knocked on the door, and I wiped at my cheeks like it was possible to erase every trace of my tears.
“I’m going to pretend that’s a trick question.” Sarcasm was the only weapon I had to hide my fear behind.
“It’s a long flight. I have something more comfortable for you to wear. I’ll just leave it outside the door.”
I straightened my legs out in front of me, staring at the black high heels on my feet. “Why are you being so nice to me?”
There was no answer, and I thought she had left. But then I heard her soft voice. “Because no matter the reasons for you being here, you didn’t ask for any of this.”
“Why is he doing this to me?”
“It’s just the way things are supposed to be.”
I glanced down at the floor next to me. “He’s going to hurt me…isn’t he?”
Silence followed, but she was still there. I could see her shadow from underneath the door.
But then her shadow disappeared, leaving without answering. She knew it as well as I did that Saint would hurt me, and I had every reason to fear him, to want to stay as far away from him as possible.
Pushing myself off the floor, I unlocked the door and found a pair of black tights and a white dress shirt neatly folded on the floor. The pile of simple clothing she left for me was probably worth more than my entire wardrobe back at the crummy apartment I shared with my roommate. I would have been more hopeful that I’d be missed if my roommate wasn’t tripping on cocaine half the time. My absence wasn’t something she’d notice. I wasn’t even sure she was aware of me living there half the time.
I sighed and picked up the clothes before closing the door. Just like the rest of Saint’s private jet, the bathroom was the epitome of perfect architecture and design. Brown marbled countertops complimented the tiled floors. The glass shower door was clear, and a large mirror covered the entire wall on the inside. Two gold rings caught my attention, and I stepped closer. It looked like towel rings, but what would towel rings do on the inside of the shower? I walked up to the glass door as the gold rings piqued my curiosity. Bolted to the wall, I couldn’t figure out its purpose.
I glanced around, looking for anything else that seemed out of place. But everything else seemed like normal bathroom fixtures.
The cabinet beneath the sink practically begged to be opened. I probably should have known better than to snoop around, but given the circumstances, I figured I couldn’t get into deeper shit than I already was.
I glanced at the bathroom door, knowing it wasn’t locked, but my curiosity got the better of me and I crouched in front of the cabinet. The round brass handle was smooth to the touch, the click of the clip causing me to swallow hard as I opened the cabinet door.
Inside were bottles of shampoo, shower gel, toothpaste, and a vast range of aftershaves and shaving cream—all expensive brands, of course. Pursing my lips, I reached inside and moved the bottles around to see what else was in there. My fingers brushed against something rough, like rope, and I paused, looking in deeper. With reluctant fingers and a sudden surge of rattled nerves, I picked it up and held the black braided rope in my hand.
“What the hell?” I murmured and took another look inside the cabinet. In the back corner, I found a gold bottle, and when I picked it up, I read the front label. “Liquid gold. What the hell is liquid gold?”
“Has no one taught you not to snoop?”
My heart about jumped out of my throat, and I shot up, still clutching the rope in one hand but dropping the bottle. It rolled across the tiled floor until it came to a stop right in front of his expensive Italian leather shoes.
Saint’s brows slanted, and he crouched to pick it up, rubbing his thumb across the label before focusing his gaze on me. “Do you know what this is?”
I eyed him with caution. “Should I?”
“I’ll take that as a no.”
He took a calculated step forward, closing the distance between us. His presence made the large area around us seem so much smaller than before, and my heart was on the verge of exploding inside my chest. Saint held the bottle up, and the veins on his arms bulged with the strength that pulsed through his body. “It’s meant to make fucking so much more…pleasurable.”
The word rolled off his tongue like liquid seduction, twisted temptation dripping from his lips. I swallowed hard, taking a step back as he kept stalking closer, blue eyes holding me captive.
“Have you ever been fucked before, Mila?”
With another step, I felt the countertop bite into my back, and I grabbed hold of the edge. “That’s none of your business.”
His eyes flashed with something primal. Threatening. And I knew the hunt had just begun. “Answer my question.”
Deadly ripples lurked below the surface, and I wondered what kind of sick, twisted pleasures he was into—what kind of woman he preferred in his bed.
I lifted my chin to continue looking him in the eye as he towered over me. Crowding me. Stalking me. “I’ve had sex before.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
My breath hitched when he leaned in, placing his hands on the countertop behind me, cocooning me, trapping me between his arms with nothing but a breath of distance between us. “I asked have you been fucked before?”
“Is there a difference?”
He grinned. “With me, there is.” The low drum of his voice was laced with dirty fantasies and wicked desires, and I was taken aback by the blaze of jaded lust that struck me.
Ice-blue eyes studied every contour of my face, his head cocked. In a desperate attempt to avoid his entrancing stare, I craned my neck to the side, turning my face away from him. A part of me hoped it would seem more like an act of defiance than a reaction of a woman cowering away.
He brought his hand up, tracing a gentle finger down the side of my jaw, my skin hyperaware of the seduction in his touch. I shuddered and closed my eyes as his hand traveled down the side of my neck, my chest. With parted lips, I exhaled, and the second his greedy fingers reached the swell of my breast I reacted. It was instinct that took over as I swung my arm, but he saw it coming and blocked my hand aimed at his face, grabbing my wrist. His reaction was fast and calculated, pulling my arm to my side, and grabbing my throat with his other hand, pushing my head back against the mirror, my body leaning awkwardly over the countertop.
With a snarl, he brought his face close to mine, jaw clenched, baring his teeth as his top lip curled. “This will be your last warning, Milana. Do not fight me. Do not defy me. And most of all,” he squeezed, fingers biting into the skin of my neck, “do not tempt me.”
His eyes burned into mine like a beast about to devour its prey, his fingers tightening a little more before he finally let go of me with a jerk, stepping back.
I inhaled deep, my body sagging down the counter as I rubbed the skin his fingers bit into.
“You have two more minutes, or I’m coming back to drag your ass out of here.”
I dropped to the floor, still taking one deep breath after the other, watching his black, polished shoes walk away.
“Milana.” My voice croaked, and I looked up at him as he stilled. “You called me Milana.”
He didn’t move. He didn’t turn to face me either.
“Is that me? Is that my real name?”