Page 71 of Saint

“Kill you? No.” He tilts his head, and his eyebrows pinch. “I’m going to tell you a story since your curious little mind has been wandering around the internet trying to figure me out. So, tell me, kitten, do you want to know something real? Something you’ll never find online?”

Probably not, but I have no choice in this position.

“Yes.”

Saint grins, but it feels more like rage. Like a painted warning on his face.

“When I was a child, my stepfather used to take me hunting.” Saint presses his body tight to mine, pinning me to the tree. “He taught me everything I needed to know about tracking an animal. Tying them up. Killing them. You can fight all you want, but the more you do, the harder those ropes will hold you. Just like if you try to escape me.”

Blinking, I fight back the sheen starting to fog my vision.

“Don’t cry; animals kill each other all the time.” He wipes the tear that trails my cheek. “But do you want to know the difference between hunting and killing?”

I swallow hard. “What?”

“Mercy.” Saint pulls back on the knife so he can skate the tip of the blade gently down my throat. “Killing is kindness. Putting them out of their misery. Erasing them from their meaningless existence. Killing is quick.”

I don’t know what to make of the fact that Saint thinks of killing as showing mercy and not murder.

Saint drags the knife down over my chest, down my arm, scratching the fabric of my sweater.

“But hunting… hunting is for the thrill.” Saint unbuttons my jeans and pulls them down until they fall to my ankles. “It’s for fun. For sport. With or without purpose, it’s a demonstration of power. One animal versus another. And you can draw that out if you like. Until they fear you. Until their imagination runs wild with everything you could do to them. Fear can be worse than doing anything at all.”

He grabs the front of my underwear and rips them off me.

“So what are you then?” I challenge him, knowing better but not able to help it. “A hunter or a killer?”

What I’m really asking is if he believes his actions are mercy or if he simply wants to incite fear. But even as the words come out, I know it’s not that simple.

“You already know the answer to that question.”

“Because you’re both.”

“I was…” Saint’s gaze snaps to mine at my question, a wicked smirk painting his perfectly chiseled face.

“Past tense?” I glare at him. “Then what are you now?”

He grazes my cheek with the back of one hand, bringing the knife between my thighs and shoving the handle of it into my pussy.

I tip my head back as I lose my breath. And Saint grins as he fucks me with his knife.

“I don’t know, Violet. What am I other than being yours anymore?” he asks. “You feel better than any kill. Your fear tastes unlike any hunt. There is no gratification without you. And I can’t fucking get enough.”

He shoves the knife handle deeper and grinds his thumb over my clit. My feet are trapped with my jeans at my ankles, but I do my best to widen my stance to avoid being cut with the blade as he thrusts in harder.

“Saint,” I moan.

My eyes flutter closed, my entire body shaking as his movements rocket through me.

“So beautiful. Let me see it, Violet,” he praises. “I’ve waited a week to watch you come again. To hear youscream for me. I thought of your blood on my cock while I stroked it, and even that wasn’t enough. I need to see you.”

Opening my eyes, I lock gazes with Saint.

With Kole.

With the man who has so many layers, he reveals my own.

He moves the blade handle in and out, and my breath races. I hate how easy it is for him to make me feel like this.

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