Page 11 of Lethal Saint

We were on the second highest floor, to my eternal frustration. The penthouse owners refused to move, every bit as stubborn as I was. Not that I even needed the top floor. But Iwantedit.

“Three floors,” I told Vasilisa, glancing down at her to find her still staring at me. “You’re in control, little queen. Always.”

It was a dangerous position, and an even deadlier picture: this girl dressed in my jacket, her eyes unwavering and her hands steadier with every second as she pressed a gun into my chest. Now was a very bad time to get hard, but I couldn’t help it. Part of me wanted her to shoot me, just to see if she’d pull the trigger.

My heart thumped my ribs, blood rushing in my ears.

Her eyes darted away, checking what floor we were on.

“One to go,” I told her, forcing my arms immobile at my sides even if I wanted to stroke her hair back from her face again. I was a bastard. “Do you want to do it? Shoot me?”

She nodded. She didn’t even hesitate. Goddamn.

I grinned, the smile filling my whole face.

I was saved by the lift doors opening with a whoosh, and Vasilisa lowered the gun, letting out a shaky breath. The damage was done, though. I’d expected to see more fear when I guided her gun to my chest. I hadn’t expected her to love it.

I was in serious danger of becoming obsessed with this girl. Her strength was insane.

She didn’t hesitate this time when I gestured her out of the lift and into my apartment.

I swore I fell for her right there, with her eyes on me and her gun threatening to kill me.

CHAPTER 5

VASILISA

Water poured down my body from the massive shower, so hot it almost scalded me, but every burning trail it carved over my skin was a relief. It burned away the stain of their touches, cleansed me of every disgusting squeeze and the horrible feeling of Olivier’s clammy hands gripping my knee, forcing my legs apart. No, not even scalding water could burnthatfrom my mind.

My eyes drifted to the gun sitting on a towel beside the quartz sink, and I dragged my mind from the memory of Olivier to what the hell just happened in the lift. I knew the Saint was a psychopath from all the stories of him, and that was proven by what he did to everyone in the ballroom, but I didn’t know he was clinically insane. He must have been, to press a loaded gun to his chest and tell me to put my finger on the trigger.

And then tosmile.

I stared at the glass door of the shower, chills racing through my insides even as my outsides burned.

I’d liked it. Pointing a gun at him, knowing I could kill him. I’dlikedit. Power had filled me, foreign and seductive, and my eyes returned to the gun even now, my fingers twitching as I craved the weight of it in my hand.

I must have zoned out because the next thing I knew, I was being pulled out from under the scorching spray. A golden hand grabbed the dial, twisting it to a softer temperature. I stared down at the arm around my middle, at its warm skin, pronounced veins, and the bronze hairs travelling down to his wrist. The only time I’d been this close to a man’s arm was during my training, and I’d been so focused on staying still, and showing no discomfort, that I hadn’t paid any attention. This arm was so warm around me, steadying when my feet threatened to slip on the shower floor. This arm had presented me with a gun, and I found that made all the difference.

“Shit,” the Saint breathed, his eyes travelling down my body when he let me go. They were black and deep and strangely sharp, lacking that eager light I’d seen in most people tonight when they watched my body. “Jesus, Vasya, you could have really hurt yourself.”

I licked my dry lips, wanting my gun back in my hand.

A sigh expelled from his chest. He wasn’t wearing the bloodstained shirt he had on earlier; this was white and pristine and soaked all the way through when he guided me back under the spray. The water was warm, comforting, but nowhere near hot enough to burn the touch-memories from my body.

“Feel free to kick me in the balls since we can’t bring your gun into the shower,” the Saint said, reaching for a cloth and soap. “But you need someone to take care of you right now, and I can’t ignore the urge to look after you when you’re in here, willingly burning yourself because—”

He sucked in a rough breath and visibly calmed on his exhale. How did he do that? How did he manage his emotions? Iwanted that skill so badly. All I could do was lock mine up tight and pretend they weren’t there.

“It’s in your mind, little queen, not your body. Injuring yourself isn’t going to erase anything those bastards did to you. You can still feel it, can’t you? Them touching you.”

I nodded stiffly, staring at his shoulder because I wasn’t brave enough to meet his eyes. He was fully clothed; I was naked, vulnerable. Was this where he’d make me do all the things Olivier planned? Or would he wait until after, when he’d got me in bed?

“Do you know how to throw a punch?” he asked, making me frown. That was a huge jump in subjects.

I shook my head.

“Best not, then,” he murmured, lifting the soaped-up cloth so I could easily see him coming closer. I let him swipe it over my shoulder and down my arm, confused. “Stick to kneeing me in the balls if I do something you don’t like.”

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