Page 28 of The Sins of Saint (The Sins of Saint 3)

“Of course I have.” She retreated from my advance, but I continued to stalk closer. “But you had no right to play judge and executioner to these men.”

Her back hit the wall, and I towered over her. “They had no right to lay a fucking hand on you.”

“You think I don’t know that? I’m not one of those naïve girls who got brainwashed into thinking punishment is what I deserved.”

“Maybe not you, but what about the others?”

Her expression fell from anger to disbelief. “What others?”

“Oh, come on, Mila.” I slammed my hand against the wall next to her face. “Tell me you’re not that naïve. This man, all these fucking men, didn’t start and stop their abusive behavior with you.”

I bent down, picked up the other images, and held one out for her to see. “Theo Burges—assaulted six women, and two claimed they were raped by him. He never got convicted.” I tore the image in half and tossed it to the ground, lifting the second photograph for her to see. “Keelan Jones. Convicted pedophile. Served seven years in jail before he was granted parole. During the two years he was out, he assaulted multiple women. All of them too shit-scared to press charges.” Again, I tore through the image, only to show her the third one. “Harold Wheeler. Sex offender, pedophile, drug addict, and most recently before hisunfortunatedemise…rape.”

I ripped through the photograph and held up the final one, the man responsible for the scar my wife was currently touching behind her ear. I was willing to bet she didn’t even realize she was doing it.

“Now, this guy,” I grinned, yet my veins were filled with disgust, “this guy was one special kind of psycho.”

Mila wiped at a tear that rolled down her cheek.

“You weren’t the first kid to be abused by this fucker, and you weren’t the last. In fact, his violent sexual tendencies toward minors only increased after that piece of shit wife of his threw him out, claiming she didn’t know about how he roughed you up.”

“She lied.” Mila stated the obvious.

“She also claimed she had no idea of his midnight trips to your bedroom where he would sit and watch you in your bed, wanking his filthy cock.”

Her jaw clenched, and she sucked air through her teeth. “You’re telling me this as if I don’t know any of it. As if I weren’t there.” Mila launched forward and shoved her palms against my chest, the anger in her eyes wild and aggravated with her pain. “I was there, you asshole! I lived through it. I cried through it. I wanted to fucking die whenever he touched my sheets thinking I was asleep, slowly pulling it off my body then slipping my nightgown over my ass so he could fucking look at me with his vile motherfucking intentions. I wanted to chew my own fucking wrists off while I laid there with my back to him, hearing his disgusting grunts while he jerked his dick. I tasted my own blood every goddamn time, biting my tongue just thinking about what kind of repulsive fantasies went through his head.” She shoved me again, her fury violent and bitter. “I was there, Saint. Me. Not you. Not James. Not Aunt Elena. Me. So don’t stand there admitting to killing all these men as if you have some moral claim to it.”

I saw the pain in her eyes, the hurt in every line on her beautiful face. The memories were tearing her apart, the mutilated faces of these men opening old wounds. But it had to be done. I had to make her see past the dead bodies, past the gruesome killings of men who didn’t deserve to fucking breathe. For her to accept their deaths as justice, I had to remind her how deeply they scarred her. I had to make her see that they deserved nothing short of death.

I inched closer and tried to cup her cheeks in my palms, but she pulled back, and I merely grabbed her shoulders and forced her to look at me. “I wish this was something I could keep secret from you. I wish there was another way for me to make you see that what we did here might be against the law, but it was the only way to stop him.”

“What are you—”

“He raped three girls, Mila. After you, he had three victims,” I shook my head, “and the fucker didn’t spend a single day in prison for it.”

Mila gasped, a tear rolling across her lip and into her mouth. Her legs grew weak, and I slipped an arm around her waist. “It had to be done, Mila.”

She sobbed. She wailed. And she cried as if she was once again that little girl who endured all the tortures and abuse these men had cursed her with. All I could do was stand there and console her with my arms wrapped around her trembling body. It haunted me to think about the horrors she had to live through. Alone. Without anyone to lean on or confide in. Without anyone to protect her. At least I had Aunt Elena after my mother died and the war between my father and me started. But Mila? She had no one. Absolutely fucking no one.

I cupped her cheeks and forced her to look up at me. “Never again, Mila. Never will anyone ever hurt you the way they did. Whether you are here, or decide to leave, I will always be two steps behind you, making sure no harm comes to you or our child. Ever. No matter the choice you make,” I dragged my thumb down her lips, “I’ll always take care of you.”

“I don’t know why,” she leaned her head against my chin, “but I believe you. After everything…I believe you.”

I closed my eyes and tightened my hold around her, squeezing her against my chest. If I could build a wall around this woman to keep her safe, I would. But from now on, until the day the devil dragged me to hell, I would be her wall. I would be the fortress that protected her...even if that meant being a monster and living with a thousand men’s blood on my hands.

“Ti amo, segreto.”

She sniffed, and her tears stained my white dress shirt. I weaved my fingers through the soft curls at the back of her neck and forced her to look up at me. “To others, I will never be a good and kind man, Mila. But to you…for you, I will be a good man. A good husband.” I slipped my other hand between us and felt her belly against my palm. “And a good father to our child.Te lo prometto.” I eased my lips against hers. “I promise.”

The taste of her pain lingered with our kiss. A silent reminder that I needed to do everything in my power to never cause her any pain again. She proved her love for me. She didn’t leave even though she wanted to. Her heart made it impossible for her to set foot out the door and leave me behind. And no matter how hard I tried to convince myself that her leaving would be best, I knew deep down it would only have been a matter of hours before I forced James to tell me where he took her, hunt her down, and drag her ass back here. Because the truth was, there was no chance in hell I’d be able to let her go. I was fooling myself, and now while I tasted her lips against mine, I was more convinced than ever that fighting us, fighting what we felt for each other, was a futile attempt at wrestling with fate.

11

Mila

When wouldI stop fighting it?

When would I accept that my fate had been determined, sealed, and bolted shut so nothing could change it? Time and time again, it was proved that no matter how hard I tried, how much I didn’t want it to be true, Saint owned me. And not in the way he owned me in the beginning, when he kidnapped me and showed me how cruel he could be. Owned, as in…my heart. My soul. My body. My fucking mind. Even after seeing the pictures of my past tormentors, murdered on his demand—even now I still loved him. In fact, I thought I loved him more. No matter how much it scared me to know how brutal and callous he could be, a part of me liked it. A part of me relished the kind of power my husband had—power to right some of the wrongs which had been done to me. Did that make me bad person? Knowing what he had done and appreciating it for what it had intended to be—an act of justice?

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