Page 70 of Bad Saint

He brushes past me, anger rolling off his broad shoulders, while I gather my pride from the ground, get dressed, and turn back to return to the hut. The entire walk back, I weep, never feeling cheaper than I do right now. Saint has just proven me to be a fool. I thought he felt something for me, no matter how small, but I was right all along—he’s a monster.

The pocketknife sits heavily in my pocket, hinting what I need to do.

I pace the hut like a caged animal. Harriet Pot Pie sits in the corner, leaving me to my madness.

I am furious. Actually, now, I am fucking murderous.

The entire day, I’ve kept my distance from Saint because I don’t trust myself in his presence. Once I got over the fact I was nearly eaten alive by a shark, I returned to the hut, but my fear was soon replaced by this blistering rage.

His hot and cold behavior leaves me beyond confused. I would prefer he be the cruel bastard he is because that would make hating him a lot easier. The small snippets of kindness, like today when I felt protected in his arms, mess with my head, and I can’t take it anymore.

It’s dark out, and even though I don’t know what time it is, I know it’s late. I haven’t bothered to go down for dinner because I cannot sit around the fire and break bread like nothing happened. Saint made his feelings for me very clear, and I would be an even bigger idiot if I just forgot everything he said.

He hurt me today, and a small part of me reasons that he was able to do this because I care. If I didn’t, his words wouldn’t have affected me the way they have.

Groaning, I lace my hands behind my neck and continue to pace.

I need a plan. All options are bleak, but I need to get off this island, and I will have to divulge to my rescuers what Saint did to save myself. He isn’t my safety net. He never was. The thought of ratting him out turns my stomach, but I quash down this nonsense because I need to remember what he is.

The wind howls around me, hinting a storm may be headed our way. The tense and restless atmosphere forewarns of something life changing lingering around the corner. And when I see the rope swinging wildly, like someone is climbing it, I know I’m moments away from uncovering what that is.

Instantly, I back up, feeling adrenaline course through me. My knife is burning a hole straight through my pocket, but Saint appears before I have a chance to reach for it. When our eyes lock, I know things are about to explode.

He swings his leg over the wooden ledge and steps into the hut. His chest heaves, but that has nothing to do with the climb. The air is thick with static. My skin prickles with goose bumps.

How dare he come here. This is my sanctuary, my haven, and him being here has just shit all over that safety. “Get out,” I spit, folding my arms, but Saint does the total opposite when he steps forward. He comes to a stop a few feet away, his winded exhalations brushing the hair from my face.

I don’t waver.

With his fists bunched by his sides, he looks to be barely holding on. I have no idea whyhe’sangry as I was the one he insulted. “Can I help you?” I sarcastically quip when he remains mute. “For someone who had a hell of a lot to say, you sure are quiet.”

His jaw clenches, which just spurs me on.

“You need to leave. Now. I may be stranded with you, but that doesn’t mean I have to look at you. And besides, you made your feelings perfectly clear. I mean, I’m just a pretty face to jerk off to, right? Are you here for some bedtime material?” I jab, eyes narrowed.

Saint still doesn’t speak, which pisses me off further. This morning was just a starter.

Closing the distance between us, I storm forward, craning my neck to peer up at him. “I hate you. I would rather die on this island than be a slave. Soyouget used to that idea,” I snarl in reference to his comment about my fate of being Popov’s plaything set in stone. “I belong to no one.”

He shows no emotion, but the twitch beneath his eye is my victory dance. My bravado soars, and I run with it. “You are a gutless bastard, and whoever Zoey is”—his nostrils flare—“I feel sorry for her.”

I am baiting him because I know Zoey is his weakness. She is the only collateral I have against him.

“She’s probably sick of you. I know I am. You think you’re protecting her?” I challenge, standing on tippy toes to deadpan him. “Odds are, she needs protecting from you.”

His eyes are alight, and he’s barely holding it together, revealing I’m onto something.

Drawing my face to his, I smirk, sinisterly. “Looks like Zoey and I have a lot in common.”

Saint’s resolve finally snaps as he latches onto my bicep, pressing over the bruises he left earlier. I attempt to jerk from his hold, but he only tightens his grip. “Kneel,” he commands in a low, menacing voice.

My heart begins to pound as in a sick, twisted way, it’s exactly the response I was hoping to provoke from him. But I’ll be damned if I allow him to see that.

“Fuck you.” I rip free from his hold and make a run for the rope, but he lunges forward and wraps an arm around my waist, drawing me backward.

He presses my back to his chest, trapping me, his panting shooting a current straight through my center. He is shaking in rage. “Get off me!” I wriggle madly, kicking and flailing, but I’m not going anywhere.

“I said kneel…ah???.”

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