Page 4 of The Villain's Beloved (The Villain's Duet 2)

“Your father? You two getting along now, after everything?”

Saint took a sip of his whiskey before placing the glass down next to him. “I wouldn’t say getting along. More like…trying to tolerate.”

I smiled. “That’s better than trying to kill each other.”

“Maybe. I don’t think our relationship will ever be what’s considered normal between father and son.”

“Well,” I raised my glass, “he might be a son of bitch to you, but to me, he’s the one who gave me a second chance in life.”

Saint rolled his eyes. “If I have to hear how thankful you are for what he did, I swear to God I will hurl on my three-thousand-dollar leather shoes.”

“Can’t help it. I owe him everything. If he didn’t,” I sucked in a breath, “if he didn’t intervene, God knows where I’d be. I’d probably be rotting in a ditch somewhere, Roland’s handprints engraved around my throat.”

He took a seat next to me, and there we were, both staring out in front of us, sitting together like, well…brothers. “At least he was a good influence in one of our lives.”

It pained me to witness how fragile his relationship was with his father. Of course, from Saint’s point of view, I understood why. But it didn’t lessen the appreciation I had for what his father had done for me. If it weren’t for him, I never would have been saved that fateful night, taken to a better place with someone who showed me more love than my own fucking mother.

Saint glanced at me from the side. “If I have to be serious for a minute, my father is not a man with a lot of regrets. But not intervening and saving you sooner is one of his biggest failures and regrets.”

“Rather late than never.” I took a large gulp of whiskey, no longer feeling the sting of alcohol. “It wasn’t always bad. Before my father died in that car crash, we were happy.”

“My father doesn’t feel affection easily, but I know he cared for your father. As cousins, they were close growing up.” Saint scoffed. “When I was little, my father would bore me with all his childhood stories of him and his cousin Edgard.”

“Edgard,” I muttered while staring at my glass with the amber liquid. “I haven’t heard someone say my father’s name in quite some time.”

“Okay,” Saint stood, “let’s not continue with this conversation since your past combined with mine is any psychologist’s fucking wet dream.”

I laughed. “Can’t argue with that.”

“So, tell me about the girl.”

“You can’t know everything, Saint.”

“Of course I can. It’s easy. Just open your mouth and tell me. Why is she here?”

I got up and straightened. “She needs protection.”

“Well,” he rubbed his jaw with his thumb and forefinger, “I vaguely remember your stay here on my yacht is becauseyouneed protection. And now here you are, offering that which you don’t currently have to a girl I can’t quite place in this equation.”

“It’s quite a conundrum, isn’t it?”

“Don’t fuck with me, Elijah.”

“I’m not.” I swirled the whiskey in my glass, contemplating how much Saint needed to know about how Charlotte fit into my current circumstances. There was no doubt that he already knew everything about her. It wouldn’t surprise me if he knew her motherfucking blood type. But what he didn’t realize was my reasoning behind having her here.

“Who is she to you?” Saint pushed for more information, making his presence heavier by squaring his shoulders.

I emptied my glass and placed it on the side table. “She’s a debt.”

“What kind of debt?”

“A debt I swore I’d repay.”

“By protecting her?”

I nodded.

“From who?”

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