Page 12 of Lethal Saint

He was dead set on me hurting him, like it would right anything that happened to me tonight. I swallowed hard, not daring to think about what he’d done, orwhyhe’d done it.

I hate rapists and abusers.

That didn’t mean I was safe with him. Men had their own ways of defining sex, of changing words likeforcedandunwillingtoenjoyedandwanted. The Saint probably hated abusers because he didn’t see himself as one.

I held onto that to keep myself wary and alert, but confusion blurred my emotions as he cleaned me, never getting close to my boobs or my pussy, like he knew that would get him kneed in the balls. He caught my hand, meticulously cleaning each finger, and something strange coiled through my stomach. Not sickness. Something else. I didn’t have a word for it, but it relaxed the stress from my shoulders, opened my lungs to more air, and made my eyes burn.

When I was rinsed of soap suds, I waited for him to push me to my knees and say it was my turn to take care of him.

The Saint just turned off the water and stepped out, leaving a puddle of water like he’d left pools of blood on the ballroom floor. My heart beat faster, and whatever that strange feeling was, it vanished in an instant.

It would be the bed, then.

I could endure this. The Saint gave me a gun, armed me, then pointed it against his chest. My fiancée would have dragged me kicking and screaming into the lift, thrown me down on the nearest surface, and fucked me even if I was covered in blood. He wouldn’t have wasted time cleaning the spectres of other men’s hands from me. Compared to the marriage waiting for me, this would be nothing. I could endure this. I could—

“I’m afraid this is the only thing I have that’ll fit you,” the Saint said, angling his head towards the folded brown fleece now sitting beside the towel and my gun. My breath stopped when he grabbed the gun, but he was only getting the towel. I exhaled when he set it back down and lifted my arm, carefully, gently, drying my body.

“It’s a teddy bear onesie, and yes it’s mine, please don’t ask questions.”

I knew I was supposed to laugh or smile but I couldn’t summon either. I should have, would have if my father had been here, commanding me with that silent glare.

“Here, little queen, finish drying yourself.”

I accepted the towel numbly, noticing he avoided my boobs and pussy again, and I was so grateful for that glimmer of kindness that it choked me. I licked my dry lips, athank youon the tip of my tongue, but he was already talking so I just dried my body.

“You’re so fucking brave, you know that? Stronger than most people would be in your position. I know it couldn’t have beeneasy to follow me into a car and come home with me, but I swear, I’ll prove your trust isn’t misplaced.”

Trust. Did I trust him? Just because I wasn’t running, screaming, or shooting him didn’t mean I trusted him. I didn’t trust anyone; that became an impossibility when I watched Dad shoot my mum’s brains out in our sitting room.

“I’ll order you your own things tomorrow,” he said, as if that was a completely normal thing to say. “But for now this will have to do. I’m guessing you don’t want to borrow my underwear.” My horror must have shown because he smiled, knowing. It should have looked out of place on his rugged face, but the smile suited him. “I wouldn’t either.”

He handed me the teddy bear onesie and, completely confused, I stepped into the fluffy legs, blinking when he zipped me up. Was he… going to fuck me in it? Was this his thing? I knew some men were into strange things…

“Warmer?” he asked, scanning my face with black eyes I couldn’t read at all.

I nodded, dumbfounded.

“Good. Let’s get you something to eat. I’m guessing you haven’t had a meal in hours.”

All day, actually. My father didn’t want to risk me being unappealing for tonight, as if a full stomach would have stopped Olivier forcing himself on me.

“What do you like to eat?” the Saint asked, angling his head so I followed him out of the huge bathroom.

I snatched up my gun, refusing to be parted from it, and scurried after him, making sure the safety was on so I didn’t shoot my foot. I didn’t dare point it at the Saint this time, but I wanted to. My heart raced at the idea.

He led me down a hallway so modern and cold it screamedwealthand—to the open-plan kitchen, dining, living room area we’d walked through earlier. Um?

“Vasilisa?” he asked, casting a look over his soaked shoulder at me. “What do you want to eat? Should I list foods and you can nod or shake your head?”

What was he doing? Feeding me? But why? To make sure I had the strength and energy for whatever he planned to do in the bedroom? But that didn’t feel right. This whole thing was… odd. Arming me, cleaning me, drying me and bundling me into soft, fluffy clothes. Why not a revealing, scant dress or even sexy lingerie? He’d put me into the least sexy thing I’d ever worn, and I couldn’t help but give him a strange look.

“You have to explain that look to me or it’s going to kill me,” he groaned, leaning back against the island that separated the kitchen from the dining area, his white shirt see-through and his dark gold hair flat to his head. He looked even more dangerous somehow, his features sharper, and my heart beat faster. But I had the gun; I could shoot him if I wanted to.

So I swallowed and asked, “Aren’t you going to fuck me?”

“I wasn’t planning to,” he replied, trying to make eye contact. I avoided his probing black eyes. “I didn’t bring you here for that.”

Then… why? Because he was a hero who always did the right thing? I doubted that. He’d killed a hundred people tonight. And I needed to knowwhy.I suspected I already knew, but I wanted to hear it.

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