Bad Saint (All The Pretty Things Trilogy Volume 1)

by Monica James

  He laughs, but nothing is humorous about the sound. “It happened so long ago, but this memory is one that will haunt me for the rest of my life.”

  I dare not speak and allow him the time he needs.

  He stares off into the distance as if he’s going back in time. “Zoey is my younger sister. She’s always been the free-spirited one while I was happy to follow the norm. She would light up whatever room she walked into. My parents adored her. We all did.” His Adam’s apple bobs, and I hold my breath.

  “Her dream was to backpack around the world. To most, it would stay a dream but not to Zoey. So one day, she packed up her stuff, bought a one-way ticket to London, and left. She sent the occasional email, but she wanted to backpack off the grid. To see the grittier side to life. She got a lot more than she bargained for.

  “I was busy at work but living a good life. The last time we spoke, she had called and asked if she could borrow some money. For some reason, I snapped. I told her to stop wasting her life and to come home. To get a job and to be an adult. I was so stupid. So narrow-minded. I should have known something was wrong as she’d never asked for money before.

  “When my mom called and told me she hadn’t heard from Zoey in over two months, I knew something was wrong. We called the police, but without knowing where she was, they had nothing to go on.

  “We had no idea what to do. At the time, I was dating a woman named Jessica.”

  I curl my fists, leaving crescent moon prints in my palms.

  “She was an IT specialist and was able to trace the last email Zoey sent. It was to her best friend, asking if she could wire her some cash. She was in Moscow, and she had run out of money. She asked Betty not to tell me or my parents because she didn’t want to worry us. She had started working to earn some money. Her plans were to stay in Moscow for no longer than a month. All we had to go on was that she was working at a bar. No name. No address. Nothing.

  “Something didn’t sit right with me, but I didn’t know what it was. My parents were sick with worry, so I decided to go look for her. I told work I would be back in a week, two weeks tops. But little did I know, I would never go back to America again.”

  I gasp, shaking my head in shock. “What? You stayed in Russia?”

  “Yes,” he replies, nodding once.

  “What about your parents?”

  He inhales sharply. “I broke their hearts all over again.”

  I chew the inside of my cheek to stop the tears because I don’t want to cry. Besides, what right do I have? Here he stands, suffering the memories, only for me to understand. I owe him the respect of listening to his story without tears.

  “I didn’t know what I was in for. I searched every fucking bar, but no one wanted to talk to a privileged American boy. They pretended they didn’t speak English. But they all knew what I was there for.

  “I looked for Zoey for over two weeks but found nothing. My parents told me to come home, but I just couldn’t shake that feeling that something wasn’t right, and with every corner I turned, that feeling just got worse. I was desperate to find her, so desperate that I did something that changed both our lives forever.”

  One decision changed the course of Saint’s life. It’s unfair it was the wrong choice to make.

  “I was getting nowhere it seems because I was asking the wrong people. Moscow can be beautiful. But mostly, it can be cruel. I stumbled across a group of men who were nothing but trouble. That was the night I met Kazimir. I asked if he had seen Zoey. They all looked at her photo, and I knew they had, so I wasn’t leaving until they told me where she was.

  “But that’s not how it works. These people, they abide by a different set of rules. They told me they would give me information if I did something for them. I was to deliver a small parcel the next night to an address they gave me. I had no idea what it was, but I didn’t care. I agreed.”

  This is where his tale turns.

  “I was on my way the next night. The moment I turned the corner, four masked men jumped me. They took me to an abandoned building and tortured me for twelve hours,” he calmly relays, and I gasp, horrified.

  “They wanted to know where I got the parcel from. I didn’t budge. I couldn’t. I knew Zoey’s life depended on me being strong. I had already failed her once before, and I wasn’t going to do it again. They were very…creative with their torture methods.” He absentmindedly rubs over his side—over one of the many scars he has.

  “But I still didn’t talk. When they were satisfied, they removed their masks, and I saw they were the men who gave me the parcel.”

  “It was a test?” I question although I know the answer. I know the game well as Saint had delivered his own tests when we first met.

  Saint nods. “Yes. They wanted to make sure they could trust me. And they did. They took me to meet their boss, Popov…the bastard who had my sister.” Waves of anger roll off him. “He told me Zoey was well. She was happy. But I didn’t believe him. She would never do that to my parents. He showed me a picture of her, and it seems a picture doesn’t lie.

  “He would allow me to see her if I did a small job for him. I had no choice, so I said yes. The small job was, in fact, a two-million-dollar drug deal. The thing about the bad guys is that they don’t like change, so when they saw me, they instantly thought they were being set up. All hell broke loose, but I was a quarterback. And I also know how to throw a punch.

  “When I came back bloody and bruised but holding that bag of money, Popov saw more value in me alive than he did dead. No doubt, the drug drop was yet another test, one that I passed. So from that day on, Popov made me his personal…security.” Nothing but sarcasm laces his statement as it’s clear security is the code word for what he was forced to become.

  “I agreed, thinking that when I finally saw Zoey, we would get the fuck out of Dodge. But when he finally allowed me to see her…” He pauses, needing a moment. “It was apparent that wasn’t happening.”

  “Why not?” I’m almost afraid to ask.

  “Because the person standing before me wasn’t my Zoey. She had changed because Popov had broken her. He had broken her spirit, her soul.” The moonlight accentuates the shine to his eyes. “She was hooked on whatever drugs he fed her. She was his slave and a slave to whatever she snorted or injected. She was his personal zombie to do whatever he pleased.”

  Nausea rises, and I cover my mouth to stop from being sick.

  “Most days, she sat by his feet while he patted her head. And other times…” He squeezes his eyes shut, before opening them.

  There is no need for him to elaborate. I can fill in the blanks.

  “So I worked for Popov. I did his dirty work in hopes that one day, he would get sick of Zoey and let her go. The times when she was sober, small glimmers of the spirited sister I once knew would shine, but she’s broken, Willow, and it’s all my fault.”

  “It’s not your fault, Saint,” I press, storming forward, clutching his hand. But he rips from my hold, not wanting my sympathy.

  “Yes, it is. I should have asked if she was all right when she called. I was so caught up in my life that I didn’t even think to ask if she was okay. I could have stopped all of this from happening.”

  I can see why he would blame himself, but we don’t have a crystal ball. No one can predict the future. We all make choices, and those choices come with consequences.

  “She was Popov’s любимый. His favorite. His pet,” he explains. “And in her own warped way, I think she believes he loves her. So for two and a half years, I’ve watched my sister be treated like nothing but a dog. I’ve wanted to escape with her so many times, but he’s brainwashed her. She believes she can’t live without him. She keeps going back to him, no matter how many times I set her free because that’s what he does. He is the most potent drug of all.”

  “What about your parents?”

  Saint casts his gaze downward. “I’ve saved them as much heartache as I can. I’ve told them that we’re okay an
d that we’ve made a new life in Russia. But we will be back. One day. I can’t go back home. I can’t look in my mom’s eyes after everything I’ve done. And I won’t go back home until Zoey is with me. I won’t leave her. Not again.”

  My heart breaks for this family. One man has destroyed the lives of so many—the man who is set on shaping my future like Zoey’s.

  “Popov is growing bored with Zoey. I’m surprised he’s kept her for as long as he has. But I’m not stupid. I know it’s because of me. I’m good at what I do because I have so much pent-up anger within me.” He makes a tight fist on his chest over his heart. “Each person I kill, they wear Popov’s face, and they bring me one step closer to bringing my sister home.”

  A tear rolls down my cheek, but Saint steps forward and wipes it away.

  “Your husband,” he spits, curling his lip in disgust. “He was my out. When he made that deal with Popov, I knew it was because Popov wanted a new pet. Zoey knew it too. After two and a half years, I finally saw my sister. She begged to go home. She begged me to do what Popov wanted, and in return, Popov promised to set me and my sister free. The conditions were simple—you were to take the place of Zoey. You were to be Popov’s new pet.”

  I always knew this was my fate, but now, it means something else.

  “So I told Popov I would do it. I would bring you to him. My conditions were that this was the last thing I would ever do for him. And that he would send Zoey to rehab. He agreed. And I believed him because he knew that I was at the end of my tether, and it was only a matter of time before I snapped.”

  “How can you believe he’d let you go?” I ask as Popov hardly strikes me as an upstanding citizen.

  “Popov does hold some honor among his men, and he will let me go. I have served him well, and in return, he will allow me to leave with my head intact.”

  “What about your soul?” I whisper because the things he’s been forced to do change a man.

  “That was sold long ago,” he replies desolately.

  This is too much. I need a minute.

  “I understand if you want nothing to do with me. I never should have agreed. I was just so desperate to get Zoey home, and I was running out of options. I should have told your husband and Popov to both go to hell. I should have taken Zoey home years ago,” he says, his words heavy with regret.

  The mention of Drew has my finger suddenly feeling like it weighs a thousand pounds. Peering down at my ring, it cements my stupidity for wearing it for as long as I have. Without thought, I brush past Saint and make my way toward the water. There is something I have to do.

  When I enter the water, the coolness sends a shiver down my spine. Something about the water is cathartic. I suppose it’s because it’s our life source. It has the ability to baptize and cleanse, which is why I remove the ring from my finger and hurl it along with my regrets into the ocean.

  The moment it leaves my hand, tears stream down my cheeks. There are so many players in this equation, all of which have played a part in my future. I don’t know what comes next. Everything has changed.

  If Saint lets me go, it will ensure his death, as well as Zoey’s. But if he sticks to the plan, then it will ensure mine. This was never clear cut, but now, everything is a fucking mess.

  Saint stands beside me, allowing me the space I need. But I don’t want space. I want to forget. With a hesitant touch, I reach for his hand and am surprised when he links his fingers through mine. We don’t speak. We stand in waist-deep water, peering up into the star-filled sky, wondering what tomorrow holds.

  “I’m sorry, ahгел.”

  I now understand why he calls me angel. I was supposed to save him. An angel and her bad Saint.

  “Make me forget,” I whisper, turning toward him, not masking my tears.

  His brow scrunches in uncertainty, but I clear up any confusion when I close the distance between us and press my lips to his.

  He freezes as he still isn’t comfortable with me touching him, but after a few seconds, he grows lax and allows me control.

  The gesture unleashes everything bottled up within me, and I coax his mouth open with my tongue. He groans low and surrenders. We slam our bodies together, frantically pawing at each other. He lifts me up, and I wrap my legs around his waist.

  We kiss like starved fiends, the passion between us setting every part of my body alight. I yank at his hair, and he bites my lip. Our tongues clash together, forgetting everything but this electric potency between us.

  I want him all over me, and when I feel his delicious erection pressed against me, I know he wants that too. Tearing my mouth away, I kiss my way down his throat, inhaling deeply because he smells so good. His racing pulse hammers beneath me, and without thought, I bite down and suck—hard.

  A raucous moan leaves him as he tilts his head backward, allowing me free rein. I lick and bite, latching onto him and feasting on his flesh. All bashfulness is gone when I rock against his hard-on, hinting at what I want. What I need.

  He reads my body perfectly and walks us back toward the shore with me kissing and devouring him whole. He lowers us to the sand, our lips never missing a beat. Still kissing frantically, he thrusts his hand into my shorts and sinks a finger into my sex.

  I gasp, breaking our kiss as I need to breathe before I pass out.

  He finds me wet, and that has nothing to do with the water. “Oh, fuck,” he hums, licking his bottom lip, his eyes slipping to half-mast. I shamefully arch into him, deepening the angle. We both hiss at the profound intrusion.

  Everything is happening so fast, but I don’t fight it. He works my body into a frenzy until I’m panting, clawing at his slick shoulders, begging to come. He’s all over me, his lips, hands, his bare chest pressed to mine. But I suddenly want more.

  I’ve never felt such a strong desire before, and the need for him to be my first collides into me. But I don’t know how to ask, so I decide to let my actions speak for me.

  With his fingers buried deep within me and our lips locked urgently, I timidly brush over the bulge in the front of his shorts. When I feel how hard he is, my sex pulses. I am so turned on. I unsnap his button, and with fumbling fingers, I slip my hand into his shorts.

  He isn’t wearing any underwear, so I touch his hot, hard length instantly. He rips his lips away, pressing his forehead to my shoulder as he hums low. I’m all thumbs because I’ve never touched someone of his size before. I take my time feeling him because each stroke has us both moaning fervidly.

  “Show me what to do?” I whisper, embarrassed.

  “What you’re doing right now feels incredible,” he encourages, pumping into my grip.

  He circles my clit. I mimic the action and trace around his thick tip. If possible, he grows bigger in my hand.

  “I need you naked.” He doesn’t give me a chance to reply because he’s yanking off my shorts and tank. My bra soon follows.

  He caresses my breasts before lowering his head and suckling them with his lips and tongue. I am a soft mess, but a tight coil unravels inside. He circles my nipples, sucking them, before biting them softly. He sinks two fingers back inside me, all the while lapping at my breasts. I think I’m about to die.

  “More,” I pant, yanking his hair, my body undulating with his touch.

  He attempts to slide down, but I clutch his cheeks, dragging his face to mine. His uncertainty isn’t a sight I see too often, so it makes what I’m about to ask a little easier. “No, I want you…inside me.”

  His eyes widen before he gently brushes the hair from my cheeks. “Not here,” he says, which leaves me speechless.

  “You don’t want to?” I can’t help but feel a little rejected.

  “Of course, I do.” He grabs my hand and places it over the front of his shorts. The evidence doesn’t lie. So what’s the problem? “Just not here. Not now.”

  This is hardly the place where I’d choose to lose my virginity, but with Saint pressed to me, it feels perfect. “If what you said is true and Popo
v is coming, then I don’t want my first time to be with someone like him. I want it to be with you,” I confess shyly, stroking over his hard-on.

  His eyes flutter, but he eventually shifts from my grip. “I’ll get you off this island. I promise.”

  But I want him. Now. “But—”

  He swoops forward, stealing the air from my lungs. “No more talking.”

  Openly kissing him has my mind turning to mush, so this will do—for now.

  We kiss madly, unable to stop touching one another, and it feels so good. My sex pulses with every touch, and Saint knows it. I’ve never wanted to come more than I do right now. I am on the cusp of begging, but the air is ripped from my lungs when Saint flips us over so I’m straddling him. I have no idea what he wants me to do until he drags me up his body and coaxes me onto his face.

  I try to resist, horrified, but I don’t stand a chance when he positions me so my knees are on either side of his head. He anchors my hips so I’m slanted at an angle where he can latch onto my sex and drive his tongue into me.

  I scream, instantly rolling my hips and working in sync with his mouth. He cups my waist while I lean backward, resting my hands against his hard abs. He begins to eat me out slowly, arching his neck and burying himself between my heat. Being suspended above him this way gives me the perfect bird’s-eye view of him pleasuring me to the brink of ecstasy.

  He doesn’t rush. He pays attention to every inch of me, suckling and licking. His fingers dig into my hips as I unhurriedly arch into him. Being positioned this way is beyond intimate because our eyes are locked. We watch one another, and I know he’s opted to devour me this way because I’m in control.

  I control the depth, the rhythm. He’s handed over the reins. And for a control freak, I can only imagine how difficult that must be. The thought has me moving faster.

  He hums around my sex, the vibrations rocking me deeply, and I groan, bowing backward, running my hands over his stomach. He flicks his tongue over my clit before sucking gently. I see stars and increase the tempo, ensuring not to go too fast because I don’t want to hurt him. But Saint’s grip on my hips tightens, and he coaxes me to move faster.