Page 16 of The Rise of Saint (The Sins of Saint 1)

“Why? Because she got the order wrong?”

“Because she didn’t listen. Because she couldn’t complete a task as simple as ordering the correct meal.”

“I still don’t think her mistake justifies you firing her.”

He placed his glass down on the table next to him. “Will the fact that I’ve fucked my stewardess countless times make you think otherwise?”

I gaped in disbelief and shook my head. “Oh, my God.”

“Will it?”

“No.” I answered, clipped, yet feeling flustered and uncomfortable. “I don’t give a shit about your sex life or who you’ve fucked. I don’t even know you.”

He placed his elbows on his knees, a shrewd look flashing in his blue eyes as he stared at me. “So, if I told you the rope you held in your hands earlier is the same rope I tied her with in the shower, it won’t make any difference to you?”

Now I knew what the gold rings in the shower were for.

I shifted in my seat, never taking my eyes off him. It became increasingly clear what kind of man he was. A hunter. A sexual predator. The most dangerous sort.

“Is that why you took me?” I asked. “To turn me into a sex slave and sell me to some rich Arabic pervert named Abdul?”

His face went dark, his expression unreadable, until he burst out laughing. “Abdul?”

I frowned. “I’m glad you find it amusing.”

The rolling sound of his laughter continued, and I shifted as it faded to a snicker.

He wiped his fingers across his forehead. “No, Mila. I am not selling you as a sex slave to some Arabic pervert named Abdul.” His eyes narrowed as his expression closed up. “You are far more valuable than that.”

“You keep saying things like that. What does it mean? What do you really want with me?”

“All in due time, Mila.”

“Milana Katarina.”

His eyes flashed with warning.

“That’s my name, right? My real name?”

He sat back, rubbing his palms together, and my attention faltered from his sapphire eyes to his muscular hands, silken skin, and strong knuckles with symbols I didn’t recognize tattooed on each finger.

“Yes,” he answered simply.

“How do you know? How do you know who I am?”

He continued to rub his fists. “You ask too many questions.”

“You give too few answers.”

He scoffed. “How do the Americans put it? You’ve got balls talking to me the way you do after you saw me kill Brad without fucking blinking.”

I sat back, brushing my hair out of my face. “Something tells me if you wanted me dead, I would be.”

“Clever girl. It would be smart to remember that, though.”

I looked out the window. The sun was starting to peek out from the horizon, a picturesque clear view of the blue ocean stretching for miles and miles, nothing else in sight.

“What is it you want from me?”

---