Fallen Saint (All the Pretty Things Trilogy Volume 2)

by Monica James

  “Oh, god,” he pants from around my lips. He begins to work his way down the column of my neck, biting softly. “I am going crazy picturing him with you. Is he sleeping in your bed?”

  “What?” I whimper when he suckles over my pulse. “Of course not. I-I’m in your room.” Being coherent is a sudden issue as he works my body into a frenzy.

  “You still want me?” His question drips with torture.

  “Yes. Always.” I throw my head back when he strokes over my aching center through my jeans. “Please…I need—”

  I don’t even know what I need. I just know I need and want more.

  Saint reads me just as he always does. Yanking open my jeans, he thrusts his hand down the front of my underwear. He isn’t gentle, but it’s exactly what I want. He inserts a finger into me, hissing when he feels how wet I am.

  He holds me effortlessly as I buck and writhe against him.

  “Tell me you’re mine,” he groans against my throat.

  “I’m yours,” I pant without pause, knowing why he needs to hear this.

  He inserts another finger, stretching me so wide, I cry out in intoxicating pain. “I dream about what a life with you would be like. Away from all of this.”

  “Me…too,” I manage to gasp as I chase my release.

  His fingers are relentless as he coaxes me to come. “You give me something to look forward to. You eclipse my darkness and make me want to embrace the light.”

  “Oh, my god,” I cry, clawing the back of his neck as I anchor onto him, afraid I will fall.

  “I never thought there was an after…until I met you.” He bites my chin before claiming my mouth as his because that’s what I am. I am his.

  He continues working me skillfully, circling over my ripened clit with his thumb. I shamefully ride his hand, getting lost in this feeling of utter bliss. He strains against his zipper, but this is for me.

  “Come, aнгел. Give me something to hold on to until I see you again.”

  His demands are reminiscent of when it was just him and me, lost in our own paradise and locked away from the world. What I’d give to go back to that island. What I’d give to be with him again.

  When he moves his hand backward and forward, rubbing every part of me in just the right way, I grow lax and allow him to be my puppeteer. He buries himself deeply, fucking my mouth in rhythm with his fingers.

  A string of sweet Russian leaves him before he flicks over my core with a delicious smack. It’s suddenly too much, and my orgasm bursts from me with a strangled sob. Saint holds me tight, wringing every last tremor from me until I flop forward, totally and utterly spent.

  I am breathless, and my heart threatens to spill from my chest. But I embrace this feeling because he’s the only one who makes me feel alive.

  However, this can’t last forever. I know Alek will come looking for me soon.

  When I stop trembling, Saint gently lowers me to my feet. Our eyes lock as he removes his hand and licks his fingers with delight. My cheeks blister, but I can’t stop the feral whimper from escaping.

  “You are so beautiful,” he whispers sadly. We both know it’s time to part once again. “I’ll be in touch as soon as I can.”

  My head bobbles like a springy toy as I don’t want to say goodbye.

  He caresses my cheek, then lays a final kiss over the corner of my mouth. “Dream of me. I’ll see you soon.”

  I reach out, clutching his shirt, desperate for him to stay. But he can’t. He grips my fingers, nodding that it’ll be okay. “I’m coming for you. I promise.”

  Saying goodbye shouldn’t be this upsetting, but it’s because I know the next time I see him, so much will change. He gives me one final look, his chartreuse eyes luring me in and promising me the world. He opens the door, and just as quickly as he appears, he disappears, leaving me once more.

  I stare at the door, hoping it’ll open, but it doesn’t. I’m alone again.

  His scent lingers as does his touch on my skin. Each time he says goodbye, he takes a piece of my heart with him. But I will do what he says and dream of him until we meet again.

  Quickly fastening my jeans, I wash my face and reapply some makeup, hoping to conceal the fact I was just entangled in my lover’s arms. Once I look semi decent, I take a deep breath and compose myself. Saint is nowhere to be found as I step out from the bathroom.

  I walk back to the garage, keeping my nerves in check as I see Alek talking to a man. When he notices me, he says a quick farewell and walks over. “Everything all right?”

  “Yes,” I reply in an even voice. “I probably shouldn’t have had all that chili with lunch. I don’t have any antacids. Can we please get some on the way?”

  “Of course,” he replies, eyes narrowed as he watches for any signs of deceit. But there aren’t any. Saint taught me well. “The car is almost ready.”

  “Great. I really need to lie down.” I leave out the reason that is.

  Alek senses something is off, but he nods nonetheless. “I will make you some of my special broth when we get home. It’ll help settle your stomach.”

  But it’s not my stomach that needs settling. And when he reaches out to tenderly stroke my cheek, it just confirms the fact that I’m so screwed.

  Day 73

  TOMORROW IS THE night of the ball, the ball that will change so much.

  My dress hangs from the back of the door, and although it quite possibly may be the most beautiful dress I’ve ever seen, it taunts me. The pure white shade is no accident, no doubt implying my chasteness beneath.

  The sweetheart neckline bodice is encrusted with shimmering jewels. The skirt balloons out layer upon layer of ruffled material. The quinceanera-style dress is rather lavish and over the top, which is exactly the point.

  I don’t know what tomorrow holds, but it can’t be good. I haven’t heard from Saint, but I guess that’s because his plan is set in motion and there is no changing his mind. This time tomorrow, I will be free and Alek…Alek will be dead.

  Since the day he took me to the orphanage, he’s been pleasant, nice even. But I can’t stop thinking about Saint’s warning. Never forget just who he is.

  However, when I hear a soft piece of music float across the still air, it contradicts everything.

  From what I know, Alek and I are alone after the house has been bustling with commotion for the past two days. Caterers, party planners, gardeners, you name it, have been here as no expense has been spared to ensure tomorrow night’s celebrations go off without a hitch.

  I’ve dared not ask about the proper protocol regarding the “ceremony,” and Alek hasn’t mentioned it either. He has been quiet, and I can’t help but think something is bothering him. I overheard him on the phone a few days ago chewing someone’s ear off.

  Although the majority of the conversation was in Russian, for the parts that weren’t, he made it clear that he wasn’t someone to be fucked with. I wondered why the person on the receiving end would ever question his authority in the first place. Wasn’t it common knowledge that he was the top dog?

  I then began to wonder if maybe there was a shift in power. Had someone challenged his throne? It all seemed like a storyline out of a bad mafia movie, but I can’t stop thinking about Chow’s last words.

  You’re going to regret this.

  Has Alek’s time come? Someone stronger, someone more powerful is always biding their time. If someone did challenge him, who would remain standing, loyal by his side? This is a dog-eat-dog world where loyalty is few and far between.

  My thoughts drift to Astra. Something about her encounter with Alek has played at the back of my mind. She mentioned Chow, but he immediately shut that conversation down. Why?

  This entire thing grows far more complicated by the second, and even though Saint has a plan, I can’t help but believe that getting out of here seems close to impossible. I can’t shake the feeling that something wicked is coming this way.

  And the melancholy of the piano keys only confir
ms this thought.

  Deciding to find the source of the poignant music, I walk the quiet halls in the direction of one of the living areas where I’ve seen a piano. I peek my head around the doorjamb to find Alek lost in the music. His fingers work skillfully over the ivory keys as he plays a sorrowful yet beautiful piece.

  I watch him for a moment, wondering what emotion he’s tapping into to play something clearly from the heart. Which is ironic because I’m doubtful he has one. But seeing him this way, with his guard lowered, and the way he was at the orphanage, I’m beginning to see that Alek has many sides.

  “Hello, дорогая.”

  His voice jars me from my thoughts, and seeing as my ruse is up, I step into the room without a word.

  Alek continues playing, exhibiting his true talent as he closes his eyes and allows the music to take him over. As much as I hate to admit it, seeing him this way is…fascinating. There is something about seeing a man of his stature being this way. Being vulnerable.

  He continues playing for minutes, each note even more desolate than the one before it. It pains me, but he is a superb pianist. Some people are musically gifted, and he is one of them. When he’s done, he hangs his head low, his chest rising and falling steadily.

  “I didn’t realize you played,” I say, needing to break the sudden silence.

  He exhales, then lifts his steel blue eyes. “All my life. It’s the only thing that brings me peace.”

  I blink once, stunned by his honesty. “You are really talented.”

  “Thank you.” A gentle smile splays across his weary face. It’s only now do I realize how exhausted he appears. “I have something for you.”

  He rises from the polished piano, and I watch on with curiosity as he walks over to the mantel and retrieves a blue box. A white ribbon is wrapped around it.

  “I-I don’t want anything.” I know I sound awfully ungrateful, but I don’t want his gifts.

  “I know, but please, just open it.” He offers me the box while I peer down at it like it’s a live grenade. “It’s something I’d like for you to wear tomorrow.”

  “I definitely don’t want it now.” I take a step backward, shaking my head as images of obscene items come to mind.

  Alek sighs, his last tether surely about to snap. I am actually surprised he hasn’t reprimanded me sooner. God knows he wouldn’t have let Zoey get away with being so disobedient. But with me, he seems to make an exception, which leaves me wondering why.

  “It’s not what you think. It’s something to remind you just who you are.”

  I arch a brow, a little curious. “Who I am?”

  “Go on. Humor me.”

  Goddamn my inquisitiveness.

  He shakes the box, coaxing me to take it. With a heavy sigh, I accept.

  I untie the ribbon, astounded at how soft the silk feels beneath my fingertips. Whoever tied it did so with the utmost care. Deciding this is best to do quick, I yank open the lid, but what I see leaves me speechless.

  I can feel Alek watching me, attempting to gauge my response. “Do you like it? I know it’s a little over the top, but I thought it was fitting.”

  “H-how?” I ask when I finally find my voice.

  “Nothing but the best for my queen.”

  And he means that in the literal sense because enfolded beneath the ivory tissue paper sits a gold tiara layered with red rubies. Matching drop earrings lay close by.

  “How is this supposed to remind me of who I am?” The lights catch the vivid sparkle to the jewels as if eager to hear his response also.

  Alek places his hands into his pockets, taking a moment to examine me. I stand unbending while he softens. “I know tomorrow is going to be… difficult.” I scoff, unable to keep my contempt at bay. “But no matter what you think, never forget that you are now royalty. You are with me; therefore, you will always be respected and feared.”

  “I don’t want to be feared,” I state defiantly.

  But Alek stands firm. “You will. You will soon learn that fear gives you power.”

  And the egocentric asshole I’ve come to know has returned. “Is that all this is to you? A power play?”

  It’s supposed to be an insult, but it rolls off him. “No. I do what I have to, to survive. Like you.”

  Touché.

  But I won’t be compared to the likes of him. “We are nothing alike.”

  Alek takes a step toward me, pinning me with those intense eyes. “You may think that I’m a heartless bastard, but I’m a lot nicer than others who would do anything, and I mean anything, to be on top.”

  Now I’ve heard it all. “Really? Well, what have you done to get to where you are because from where I stand, you aren’t exactly the moral upstanding citizen?”

  Alek turns his cheek, appearing wounded by my comment. “If you think that of me, then I’m sorry I’ve given you that impression. The people you’ll meet will soon change your mind because you’ll come to learn that I’m not the big bad wolf. Someone is always crueler. Others will sacrifice everything to be in control.”

  A shiver passes over me because I suddenly don’t think Alek is speaking in hypothetical terms.

  “No matter if you believe me or not, I wish you could grow to at least like me before I take what’s sacred.”

  My eyes widen, and all words escape me when he brushes the back of his fingers down my cheek.

  “But things are expected of me. And to remain in control, I can’t show weakness”—his eyes soften—“no matter how weak I feel when it comes…to you.”

  His admission throws my mind into a tailspin, leaving me feeling…confused. He can’t actually mean it. This must be just one of his ploys to blindside me. But I see nothing but sincerity as he brushes a lock of hair behind my ear.

  “If what you say is true”—I swallow down my nausea—“then you won’t go ahead with tomorrow night. You will tell all those sick, twisted bastards to leave and never come back.”

  Alek sighs, his fingers gently caressing the shell of my ear. “I wish I could. But it’s too late. If I were to do that, we both would be dead.”

  “I don’t understand,” I say, stepping away from his touch.

  He seems saddened by the disconnection. “You will soon enough,” he replies, indicating this conversation is over with. “Please think about wearing your gift. It will make me most happy if you did.”

  The box tingles in my hand.

  “As much as I wish tomorrow could go a million other ways”—he pauses, inhaling deeply—“I am counting down the minutes, the mere seconds until I make you mine. I will ensure you enjoy every moment because I meant what I said.”

  Swallowing deeply, I question, “You’ve said a lot of things.”

  He smirks, thankfully keeping his hands to himself as he states, “You’ll be begging for me.” His comment isn’t cocky. It’s simply fact.

  My cheeks heat for so many different reasons. “That’ll never happen,” I spit, sickened by his confidence.

  He shrugs, placing his hands into his pockets. “We’ll see. Stranger things have happened. Good night, дорогая.”

  I brace myself for a kiss or a touch, but he surprises me when he turns his back and leaves me standing like a dumbfounded fool.

  The box in my hands rattles as I squeeze the sides, my body trembling in rage. The jewels stare back at me as I recall Alek’s words. All of them.

  I am not his queen. Nor will I ever beg for him to touch me. But something has shifted inside of me. I don’t know what it is, but I don’t like it. It has no right being there, and the need to flee suddenly suffocates me.

  Without thought, I toss the box onto the floor because it makes me feel…dirty. The tiara rolls across the polished flooring, seeking refuge under the piano. It spins and comes to a stop, standing upright and regal, taunting me with what it represents.

  But I will never be Alek’s plaything because that’s all I will ever be to him—his property. In light of his words, his actions will al
ways speak louder, allowing me never to forget what he’s done.

  Tomorrow is too far away. I need to leave. Now.

  Consequences be damned. I race out into the hallway without looking back as I only have one place I need to be. Thankfully, Alek is nowhere to be found, but even if he was, it wouldn’t stop me. Better he kill me than feel this, this sympathy within.

  The hatred I had for him is slowly ebbing away, and I am becoming what Saint, Zoey, what everyone predicted. He’s worming his way into my soul and making me feel…this, whatever this is. And I hate myself for it. I should want him dead, but I don’t. And something is very wrong with that fact.

  My bare feet skid along the floor as I am focused on only one place, and that’s the kitchen. I’m getting the hell out of here. Tonight. If that means breaking open that trapdoor, then so be it.

  There is no one inside, which allows me to frantically remove the carpet over the secret doorway and try the handle furiously. Of course, it’s locked. And no matter how hard I pull, it won’t budge.

  “Come on!” I cry out in frustration, peering around the room for a key.

  Springing up, I open every drawer and cupboard, tossing everything out of the way as I desperately try to find my way out. There is no key, which has me focusing on the razor-sharp knives sitting innocently on the magnetic holder above the blender.

  The metal of the cleaver shimmers like an arrow pointing me home. Without hesitation, I yank it down and race back to the trapdoor where I drop to my knees. If I can’t open this door with a key, then I will break my way through it. I know Saint has a plan, but I can’t wait. I’m fearful for my soul if I do.

  The old wood splinters as I raise my arm and bring it down, cutting into the sturdy material. I am running on pure adrenaline, unsure what I plan on doing once I get through. But none of that matters. I just want to be free.

  I hack into it over and over as sweat drips from my brow and collects at the small of my back. The sharp knife hardly makes a dent in the thick and durable wood. But I don’t allow that to deter me. Each strike brings me one step closer to fleeing this betrayal within.