Page 2 of Saint

“Can I go?” he asked.

Her face screwed up in a sneer. “Yes, please do. In fact, go far, far away.”

Swallowing back a retort, he stood up, grabbed his notebook and headed for the door. He was almost home free when his mouth seemed to open of its own accord and, even though he knew he shouldn’t, he couldn’t stop himself from uttering, “Ved'ma.”

“What? What did you just call me?”

“You heard me,” he snapped, spinning around.

Welp, there goes dinner.

“You’re a mean and nasty witch,” he continued. “And you call me names all the time! But if anyone around here is the Devil, it’s you!”

And here comes the closet.

Vanya “Ved'ma” Victorovna stalked over, grabbed him by the ear and Nik cried out, dropping his notebook. She dragged him out of the classroom and down the hall, and he had to jog to keep up. Other kids darted out of the way, trying to avoid her wrath. When they reached the closet, she opened it, gave his ear a good twist and shoved him inside.

Clapping a hand over his hurting ear, he made a face at her right before she slammed the door shut and locked it.

Her voice came through the wood a moment later, loud and clear. “The day you leave here, the devil will dance. Because you, Nikolai, will become his soldier. I pray for your soul.”

Nik lifted his middle finger even though she couldn’t see it. A moment later, he heard her low heels clicking away. Slumping against the wall, he crossed his arms and tried to be brave. But the darkness and the narrow space had a way of getting to him…of making him feel trapped and like the walls were closing in all around him.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he clenched his fists and swore he wouldn’t cry. But the fear morphed into a palpable terror and when he opened his eyes again, it seemed like the closet had shrunk to a fraction of its original size. He tried to draw in a breath, but he couldn’t. Gasping, he leaned his forehead against the wooden door and a hot tear slid down his cheek.

No more,he vowed. He didn’t deserve this torture and he refused to tolerate it any longer. Once they let him out, he was going to run away. Leave this hellhole and never look back. And if the devil wanted him, what did he care? No one else did. Not his mother or father, and certainly not anyone here.

Breathing through his mouth, rocking back and forth, he promised himself he’d do anything to be rid of this place. Even if it meant making a deal withD'yavolhimself.

Chapter One

Current Day

Inhaling deeply on the cigarette pinched between his inked thumb and index finger, Saint looked up at the dark, starless night. He’d once stared up at the same sky from behind the bars of a Russian prison. Sometimes it felt like a lifetime ago. Other times, like just yesterday.

A shiver ran through his big body and he quickly shut down that line of thinking. He needed to focus on bringing down The Agency, not dwelling on his fucked-up past. At this rate, he could spend the rest of his life in therapy and still never find peace.

Because peace wasn’t meant for a man like him. Only death, destruction and, if he was lucky, vengeance.

Exhaling the smoke through his nostrils, he leaned his elbows on the edge of the balcony’s railing and thought over what his team knew so far. He supposed more than they did last week, but it still wasn’t enough. The Agency had turned out to be a more formidable enemy than any of them had anticipated.

And Saint was getting antsy. He liked keeping things swift and simple, whether it was work or relationships. The moment a situation turned into a production, he was the first one to bail. In all honesty, he was a little surprised he was still with Ex Nihilo. Although he was reluctant to admit it, the team had grown on him. Braxton, Ryland, Gray, Zane and Inda had become his littlefucked-up crew who always had his back. Until them, no one had ever had his six.

But regrets and what-ifs were a waste of time. So was sitting around chain smoking when he could be hunting down bad guys. He itched to go out there and do something.Shit, he hoped like hell that itchy feeling didn’t have anything to do with testicular parasites.

With a curse, he scratched his balls. Now he was paranoid. But at least he was clean. If the choice between staying in a locked down lab or fleeing through a sewer tunnel ever came up again, he’d stay and shoot his way out of the facility.

Fuck shit, piss and parasites.

Fuck staying here, too,he thought moodily. He needed to get out of there before he went batshit crazy.

Stubbing the glowing end of the cigarette out against the railing, he flicked the butt into the darkness and headed back inside.

The rest of his teammates were stowed away in their private quarters with their significant others, most likely fucking their brains out. Well, all except Braxton—the other “last man standing”—who sat on the couch by himself with River’s cat lying next to him. The TV was on, but muted, and he stared off into space, most likely wondering how he’d wound up in charge of such a dysfunctional group. He must’ve really pissed somebody off.

“I’m going out,” Saint said, shrugging into his black leather jacket. He threw a glance Brax’s way. “And I thought you didn’t like cats.”

“I don’t,” Braxton said. “Not usually, anyway. But this one won’t leave me alone. You going to the bar?”

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