Bad Saint (All The Pretty Things Trilogy Volume 1)

by Monica James

  “We are days away from finishing this,” he says, interrupting my thoughts.

  “Awesome.” My reply lacks excitement, but he doesn’t address my apathy because he’d rather ignore it, just like our kiss.

  Why does it irk me so much? I shouldn’t care, but I do. I’ve known him for thirty-one days. I knew Drew for roughly forty-two. Depending on how long we’re stuck here, I’ll probably have spent more time with my kidnapper than I did with my husband.

  How messed up is that?

  Saint senses my restlessness. “Go take a walk.”

  “Don’t tell me what to do,” I quickly snap, tying the rope firmly.

  Saint sighs heavily. “Ahгел—”

  I can’t stand hearing that name, and suddenly, taking a walk sounds like a great idea. “Fine.” Jumping up, I brush the sand from my legs, refusing to make eye contact. “I’ll go get dinner.”

  “I can do it,” he presses, but I don’t need him doing me any favors.

  Ignoring him, I grab the spear we use for fishing and march away from him. Harriet Pot Pie follows but soon gives up when I quicken my pace.

  I need to get over it, but I just can’t. I’m not wired the way Saint is. I can’t just pretend that a kiss didn’t happen when it meant something to me. And that’s the real issue here—it meant something to me.

  I am frustrated with myself, for my foolishness when it comes to Saint because this ordeal has bonded me to him when it should have done the complete opposite. There must be something seriously wrong with me.

  Tipping my face to the heavens, I beg the universe to stop being a torturous bitch and cut me some slack—for once. I don’t expect her to listen, but she does.

  The echo is faint at first as it’s so foreign to hear a sound I was certain I would never hear again. But when it gets louder, I shield the sun from my eyes with my hand to ensure I haven’t succumbed to the madness.

  I haven’t.

  It’s a mere dot in the distance, but there is no mistaking what it is—it’s a plane.

  Life has been moving in slow motion, but now, everything whips around me, threatening to swallow me whole. “Hey!” I scream, jumping up and down and waving my hands in the air wildly.

  My heart threatens to burst from my chest because I can’t believe this is happening.

  “Down here!” I bellow at the top of my lungs, waving like a madman.

  The plane gets closer, bringing tears to my eyes.

  “The SOS!” I frantically run along the shore, desperate to get it to before the plane flies overhead.

  My muscles burn, but I persevere because this is my only chance. I don’t know if I’ll get this opportunity ever again. “Saint! A plane!” I cry, running rapidly. “Throw the rum on the fire!”

  We need an accelerant to make that fire go boom! If they miss the SOS, then a bonfire, blazing into the heavens will definitely catch their attention. The sand kicks up as I pound along the shoreline, looking over my shoulder to ensure I keep the plane in my line of sight.

  It’s getting closer.

  “Saint!” But when I reach the fire, he’s nowhere to be seen. And neither is the rum. “No!”

  I don’t have time to search for it because the plane turns, and the flight path is right above me. “Hey!” I jump up and down, waving and screaming like a madwoman.

  I stand by the SOS, ensuring whoever is flying that plane can see that I need help. They’re so high up, I can’t be sure they can see me, but I continue trying to flag them down. The closer they get, the louder I scream.

  When it flies overhead, the noise is my savior, and I wave madly. I’m expecting them to slow down, or at least acknowledge they can see me, but when the plane continues flying away from me, my stomach drops, and I run after it.

  “No! Stop! Help me!” I roar, but I don’t stand a chance of keeping up with it. “Please, no.” Regardless of my pleas, it doesn’t stop and flies away, taking my hope with it.

  Breathless and running on nothing but fumes, I eventually cave and drop to the sand, sobbing. I slam my fists into the soft shore, tears of anger burning my cheeks. All I can do is watch the plane disappear into the distance. Before long, it’s gone for good.

  “Ahгел?”

  I yelp, my already frayed nerves on edge. “Where were you?” My tone is broken.

  “I was picking more vines. Why?”

  “Why?” I chuckle, but nothing is positive about the sound. “Because a fucking plane just flew over us. You didn’t hear it?”

  “No,” he says in a rushed breath. “The density of the terrain blocks out any noise, you know that.”

  He’s right. But how did he get there so quickly? The area where the vines grow is about two miles away. And it’s rugged land.

  “Where is the rum?”

  “The rum?” he repeats.

  I nod, unsure why he’s choosing to be so evasive.

  “It’s under the tree, in the shade. Why?”

  “Because I was going to use it to throw onto the fire,” I explain, fatigue overwhelming me.

  My back is still turned, so I can’t see his face, but I can’t shake the feeling that something is off.

  “Let’s hope they saw the SOS then,” he reasons without any meaning. He couldn’t care less. Our only lifeline has just flown away, and he doesn’t even seem to care.

  The fight in me has died, and all I want to do is cry myself to sleep. “I’m going to lie down.” I come to a wobbly stand as this is the first time since this nightmare started that I’ve felt absolute defeat.

  Saint doesn’t say anything. And neither do I.

  I stumble past him, unable to look at him as I’m fearful what I will see reflected in his eyes. Harriet Pot Pie follows me as we make our way through the trees. I travel on autopilot, a sense of doom shadowing us.

  We trek the hill and enter the cave. I collapse onto the sleeping bag and tuck my knees to my chest. And here I stay, sobbing until oblivion comes.

  Day 32

  SOMETHING WAKES ME. Something ominous.

  I gather my bearings and realize I’m still in the cave. For a split second, I believe the plane was a dream, but the hollowness in my chest reveals it wasn’t.

  I don’t know how long I’ve slept, but as I rise slowly, my aching muscles hint it’s been a long while. I guess it’s well past midnight because when I look toward the entrance, it’s pitch black outside.

  Something about today troubles me. I don’t know why, but I don’t believe Saint. He claims he didn’t hear the plane, but I think he did. I suppose my pent-up anger toward him could be clouding my judgment, but I guess there is only one way to find out.

  Harriet Pot Pie stays where she is. She can sense the shitstorm moments away from erupting. I charge down the hill, adrenaline coursing through me. I can’t get there quick enough because I need to get everything off my chest, and when I say everything, I mean everything.

  We will have our long overdue talk whether he wants to or not. However, when I emerge from the trees and onto the shore, it seems we’re way past talking.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” I roar, coming to a sudden stop.

  There must be some mistake. My eyes are surely deceiving me because there is no way I am seeing this—seeing Saint destroy the SOS. But when he turns over his shoulder, completely guilt-ridden, I know there is no mistake.

  “I asked you a question,” I cry, covering my mouth with a wavering hand. He’s demolished endless hours of work because all that sits before me is rubble. “Saint! Why?”

  He closes his eyes for the briefest of moments before tipping his head backward with a groan. “I had to,” is his lame ass reply.

  “You had to?” I repeat, anger exploding from me. I storm over to him and grip his bicep, forcing him to look at me. “Why?”

  I am shaking in rage, and I cannot contain it.

  “Because we will do it my way,” he arrogantly replies, shaking free from my hold.

  “What?” I stagger bac
k, his pride almost winding me.

  “I will get you off this island. I promise. The raft is almost finished—”

  “Fuck the raft!” I bellow. “That SOS was the best way of being rescued. Now it’s ruined!”

  “Just trust me,” he has the audacity to say.

  “Trust you?” I spit, disgusted. “The only reason I’m here is because of you.” An epiphany hits, and I snicker. “You can’t stand that I’m the one who might save us, can you? You selfish asshole!”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” he snaps, folding his arms firmly.

  “It’s true,” I press, refusing to back down. “You know, most people thank someone for saving their life, but not you. Your pride won’t let you do that, will it?”

  “You should have let me die,” he professes, his jaw fixed. He isn’t fishing for compliments. He truly stands by his admission.

  “How do you do it?”

  “Do what?” he asks, standing tall.

  “How do you turn your emotions on and off like that?” I reply, suddenly feeling sorry for him.

  But Saint reminds me just who he is as he advances forward and grips my biceps, dragging me toward him. “You forget…I don’t have any.”

  Although every part of me trembles, I challenge, “Bullshit. You want to believe that, but it’s not true.”

  But when I think about our kiss, and how he can treat me this way without feeling, I wonder if maybe I want to see something that isn’t there.

  He lets me go, and I sag forward, wrapping my arms around my middle. “I can feel it…every time you touch me. When you…kissed me.”

  He hisses, turning his cheek. “Do you know how many men I’ve killed?” he cries, startling me because I’ve never heard him so…emotional before.

  “I-I don’t care,” I reply, surprising myself because I mean every word.

  It appears I’ve surprised him as well when his lips part, but he soon recovers. “Well, you should,” he spits with venom.

  “What have I done to make you hate me so much?” My lower lip quivers, but I try my best not to cry.

  “I don’t hate you.” He interlaces his hands behind his neck, inhaling deeply.

  “Then why would you kiss me and then just disregard it like it didn’t matter? It may not have mattered to you, but it did to me.” I need to stop talking, but I can’t. I’m done playing this cruel game. “I couldn’t let you die,” I confess, locking eyes with him, “because I didn’t want you to. I should hate you, but you’re right. I don’t. You scare me”—he frowns—“but not because I’m afraid of you. I’m afraid of what you make me feel. I don’t understand it, any of it, especially when I know you’ve lied to me. You heard the plane, didn’t you?”

  His silence is all the response I need.

  “I just don’t understand why you wouldn’t want to be saved. Why did you destroy the SOS? Why did you touch me the way you have? Was it to humiliate me? And why would you kiss me the way you did and not mean it?” A sob escapes me because my questions are the ones that weigh heavily.

  I know I sound desperate, but I am. I’m desperate to understand what any of this means.

  The air suddenly whips around us and leaves me winded as Saint rushes forward and cups my cheeks between his palms. He frantically searches my face while I hold my breath. “It’s because of that kiss”—he avidly pants, his touch wavering with emotion—“that I’m doing this. All of this.”

  A gasp leaves me. “Wh-what do you mean?”

  “You’re right; I did see the plane.” His confession confirms what I already knew to be the truth. But I need to know why he didn’t react.

  “Why wouldn’t you be happy about that? I thought you wanted to get off this island as much as I do.”

  “You don’t get it,” he spits, squeezing my cheeks gently. “That plane, it was most likely Popov’s men.”

  My eyes widen.

  “Which means he knows where we are. I destroyed the SOS because, by some miracle, I’m hoping I’m wrong. I should have destroyed it days ago. I just didn’t think he’d come for us. I thought he’d grow bored by now, but I should have known better.”

  “Maybe it wasn’t them?” I try to reason. Saint’s hollow expression reveals that’s just wishful thinking.

  “Maybe it wasn’t, but if it was, that means he’s found you and…he is coming,” he pushes out in a rushed breath. “And that means I will have no other choice but to give you to him…no matter how badly I don’t want to.” Tears sting my eyes. “I don’t have a choice, ahгел. But if we escaped, I wouldn’t be forced to do the worst thing in my entire life.”

  “You’d let me go?” I whisper, not believing his admission.

  A single word changes my life forever.

  “Yes.”

  I have finally attained my freedom, but it’s too late. What a cruel, cruel world.

  “I never wanted this for you, and I’m sorry for everything I’ve done,” he says while I begin to cry. “I’ve done some unspeakable things in my life, but this…” He brushes away my tears with his thumbs. “This is by far the worst thing I’ve ever done. He’s already taken so much from me. Giving you to him…how can I do that when I—” He pauses, wrestling with his words as he stares me deep in the eyes.

  “I shouldn’t feel this for you…but I do,” he concludes with sadness while my mouth parts in utter shock. “I don’t even know what this is, but the thought of you and him…” His jaw clenches while a guttural growl gets trapped in his throat.

  My mind swirls as his confession has left me a speechless mess.

  Saint has just admitted that he too feels this inexplicable connection, and regardless of our current circumstances, I need him to know I feel the same way.

  Placing my hand over his, I softly declare, “I feel it too.”

  A weight lifts off my shoulders because I suddenly feel free from my oppressive guilt. But Saint takes a step backward, running a hand through his hair. “Then we’re both screwed.”

  “Why are you doing this?” I’ve asked him this before, but unlike those times, he’s ready to tell me the truth now.

  With hands threaded atop his head, he exhales deeply. “Remember when I told you I don’t get paid in money for doing this?”

  I nod once, too afraid to reply.

  “Giving you to Popov, I get paid with my…” Everything slows down because all roads lead to this moment in time. “Freedom. Freedom for me and…Zoey. My sister.”

  Time comes to a standstill, and the noise quietens.

  You’d give up everything for this whore? Zoey would be very disappointed to know that. I know now what Kazimir meant.

  “Zoey is your s-sister?” I stumble over my words because I feel like I’ve just swallowed lead.

  This is the final piece to the puzzle, the piece I’ve been missing this entire time.

  “Yes.”

  I stagger backward, covering my gaping mouth with a wavering hand. “So you’ve done all of this for…her? You trade me for your freedom? And for Zoey’s freedom?”

  He tips his head back, staring into the heavens. “Yes.”

  Oh, god.

  The truth has been presented to me. It’s what I wanted all along. I thought once I knew it, I’d understand everything, but I was so wrong.

  My legs threaten to buckle, but I wrap my arms around my middle and blink away my tears. “I feel sick,” I whisper, my voice hollow, broken.

  “Everything I did was to teach you a lesson because I couldn’t give you to Popov the way you are. He would break you, ahгел. Badly. I couldn’t let him do that to you.”

  This cruelness is the only kindness I can show you. I can’t deliver you to him with you behaving this way.

  Saint’s words play on a loop as I didn’t understand them when I first heard them. But now, I do.

  “All the things I did.” He slowly lowers his chin, meeting my eyes. “All the horrible things I’ve done to you…Popov will do to you. But far worse. I wanted to be the on
e who broke you because I’ve seen what he can do.”

  “Why did you sleep with that woman?” I cry, emptily. It wasn’t him needing to get off. And it stemmed far deeper than him simply needing to teach me a lesson.

  “Because I was, am crazy in whatever this is with you…Willow. I needed an outlet. I needed to forget how much I wanted you. And I needed you to see what it will be like.”

  My name has never sounded sweeter than right now.

  “You are so innocent but so brave. Underneath that strength is a vulnerability Popov will thrive on. He will break your modesty any way that he can because you’re a challenge for him. He is the fox while you are the rabbit. He will hunt you until you’re his. He will force you to watch him do some deplorable things. And other times”—he inhales, closing his eyes—“he will force you to engage.”

  My stomach turns. I was right all along.

  “He will be your tormentor, but he will also be the person who will make the pain go away. I was cruel because I needed you to submit…any way that I could. My ways are less painful than Popov’s. He would destroy you. I’ve seen it. I’ve seen what he’s done to my sister.” He shakes his head slowly as if attempting to rid whatever memory plagues him.

  “So that’s why you treated me…touched me the way that you have?” My disappointment shines. “To prepare me for what Popov has in store for me?”

  His chest rises and falls, and my heart sinks. But it kick-starts back to life.

  “No, ahгел. I touched you because I wanted to, and I hate myself for being so weak.” He runs a hand down his face in exhaustion.

  “Why?” I don’t understand.

  “Because my weakness is Zoey’s demise,” he explains, his tone pained. “You were supposed to be the solution I’ve been searching for, for over two and a half years. But this…pull I feel toward you, it will destroy so many lives.”

  And there’s the kicker.

  His feelings for me result in his sister being imprisoned forever. I am a trade for Zoey. For his freedom. I finally understand why he’s done it. You sacrifice everything for the people you love.

  “What happened to Zoey?” It feels alien to speak her name as for so long, it was forbidden.