Page 13 of Bad Saint

But this is exactly what I need, God save my soul. One of them expressed interest in me when he tied me…if I can play on that, then maybe I have a fighting chance at getting off this boat. The longer he stares, the more certain I am that he is the one.

I need a distinguishing mark, something to tell them apart, and when he turns his head to whisper something to the other Russian, I see it—a small birthmark under his left eye. He returns his attention my way, and that’s when I put my plan into motion.

As he’s spooning canned sardines into his mouth, I wink—it’s subtle, and I’m playing with fire, but this ship is only as strong as its weakest link, and I just found a hole in the design. His mouth hinges open.

Jackpot.

I don’t have time to gloat because Saint moves me down the stairs, but I go willingly. When down in my dungeon, I’m surprised to see a change of clothes on the leather seat. It seems they have this all planned.

Not bothering to ask if they’re for me, I walk toward the shorts and tank top. I really want to change my underwear, but they don’t seem to be that prepared. As I reach for the jean shorts, I only then realize that Saint is still here, watching me.

I’m about to spit a sarcastic comment, but the look in his eyes steals the air from my lungs. He watches me closely, just how he always does, but something is different, something dangerously…predatory.

My heart begins a deafening rhythm, and my legs begin to tremble.

I quickly slip into the shorts and throw the tank over my head, thankful to be dressed even though I didn’t dry off. My bravado soon dies, and I await his next move. His heavy breathing fills the small space while I toe over a flaw in the wooden floor design.

Finally, he breaks this tangible electricity and walks over to a small bar fridge to grab a bottle of water. I practically salivate at the sight because I am so thirsty, but I won’t ask this asshole to do me any favors.

“Sit,” he commands, gesturing to the bench seat, and I do.

If I could see his face, I imagine he would be arching a brow, surprised by my submission. But he doesn’t know a lot about me. He thinks he can break me, but he can’t. I will get off this hell on earth one way or another, and when I do, I will make him pay for all the horrible things he’s done.

There is something different about him, the way he seems to be careful not to touch me for too long as if he can’t stand to make contact. He removes the cuffs from his pocket and snaps one around my wrist, refusing to look at me. He then attaches it to the silver railing of the seat.

I’m expecting him to drop to his knees and tie my ankles, but he doesn’t.

He simply places the bottle of water near me and exits up the stairs. When the hatch closes, leaving me alone, I exhale, releasing the breath I was holding. Frantically reaching for the bottle of water, I place it in my cuffed hand and uncap it with my other. Once it’s opened, I gulp it down in one long swig.

The coolness has me gasping, but my body relishes in being replenished. The water dribbles down my chin, but I savor the feeling as I don’t know when I’ll experience it again. Once I’ve drained the bottle, I slouch back, but then sigh as I have a little room to move.

Tugging at the cuffs, I’m surprised Saint has bound me this way. My eyes grow heavy as the cushy leather beneath me and the sway of the ocean lulls me into a sleepy state. I rearrange myself to lie down, a comfort I will never take for granted again.

My arm is raised above my head, but I use it as a makeshift pillow, and here finally, I lose myself to the calm.

I wake to voices…a lot of them.

Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I see the full moon slipping in from the window, revealing I finally succumbed to my exhaustion and slept for hours.

Shuffling up, I come to sit, my arm throbbing from the odd angle it was bent in. But at least I was able to lie down.It’s dark as there is no light on, but the moon is my beacon, allowing me to see that on the table lies a black, long-sleeved shirt and a shiny key—the key to my cuffs. My heart begins to pound.

Saint must have taken off the necklace, intent on changing, but the fact it’s still down here has me guessing that whoever is upstairs was unexpected and Saint greeted them half dressed.

Is this stranger a friend or foe?

Steadying my breathing, I listen for any clue as to who they may be, butI can’t make out anything specific, just a clutter of voices. It’s now or never.

The table is a few feet away. Looking back and forth between it and the hatch, and ensuring the voices are still present, I tongue the corner of my mouth and slide my body off the seat, extending as far as I can go. My arm is jerked from its socket as I stretch out, willing my body to grow just a few more inches.

“Come on,” I growl, craning my neck to see how far away I am. I kick my foot out, hoping I’ll be able to loop it around the leg of the table, but I’m still too far away.Sweat gathers along my brow as I extend my leg, but it’s not enough. “Shit.”

I try to maneuver my arm to give me some more slack, but it’s no use.Sighing, I study my escape, and the few measly feet separating me from it. I know what I have to do.Chewing the inside of my cheek, I rotate my arm backward, muting my whimpers as I reach out. Tears sting my eyes as I continue pushing my body until I hear a pop. My shoulder gives way, and I stretch those few extra inches to be able to loop my foot around the leg of the table and drag it toward me slowly, ensuring I don’t make a sound.

My shoulder throbs, and I’ve chewed the inside of my cheek until I’ve drawn blood, but when that table is within reach, I slide the shirt toward me and grab the necklace with the tips of my fingers. Whimpering in relief, I don’t waste a moment as I unlock myself.

The moment I do, I gnaw at my lip to stifle my pained breaths as I cup my elbow to support my shoulder.Inhaling slowly, I calm myself because I need to focus on popping my dislocated shoulder back into place.

I drop my injured arm by my side, flinching when it flops lifelessly. I then begin to rotate my shoulder backward as far as it can go before slowly bringing it forward. The pressure in the joint is unbearable, and I bite my fist to mute my screams. Closing my eyes and mentally counting to three, I jar it forward quickly, and it pops back into the socket with a snap.

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