Page 59 of Bad Saint

“It would have been a lot easier,” he counters, running his fingers through his snarled hair.

“Easier for you maybe, but I told you I don’t give up. I would rather die than be someone’s plaything.” I deadpan him.

He returns the glower. “If you had just listened, none of this would have happened.”

He has some nerve. “Well, if you hadn’t kidnapped me, we wouldn’t be here, shipwrecked, god knows where!” I refuse to shoulder the blame. “But now, we’re both stuck with one another!”

He rushes forward, gripping my bicep and dragging me inches from his face. I fight to break free, but his anger is toxic and potent. “That may be true,” he snarls, his eyes pinning me to the spot I stand, “but make no mistake, you will do what I tell you. Nothing has changed.”

“Everything has changed,” I bark, ripping free from his hold. “You can’t stand not being in control, can you?” The truth slaps me in the face because that’s what this is about. Saint needs control. And he’s never had that over me. I infuriate him because I won’t buckle. But more importantly, he doesn’t scare me. And he hates it.

“I refuse to die on this fucking island with you! So stop being such a stubborn jackass and let’s work together so we can figure out a way to get off it. You can go back to whatever life you led and forget the day we met. And I plan on doing the same.”

I hope he sees reason. But that’s just wishful thinking.

“If you really believe that, then you’re more naïve than I thought.”

“Fuck you,” I spit, shoving him in the chest. “You know nothing about me.”

He stumbles backward as I’ve caught him off guard but soon recovers. “I know that no matter what you say, you believe me.”

“You’re hardly credible,” I reply, but my wavering tone hints at my nerves. He’s referring to Drew. But I refuse to show weakness. “So you can say whatever you want, but I plan on returning to my life, to my husband. And you can go back to kidnapping and murdering for fun.”

That comment was supposed to hurt him, but when he laughs, it seems to have had the opposite effect. “Your life of what? Changing the world, parading around in ridiculous clothes as you shake your ass on the catwalk? That sounds very fulfilling.”

I blink once. “Are you seriously judging me? At least I don’t kill people for a living!”

Saint inhales sharply. “You have no idea what you’re talking about. Things aren’t always black and white, but I don’t expect someone like you to understand that.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I place my hands on my hips, furious. How dare he judge me.

“It means you have no idea what’s really going on here. It means yourhusband,” he snarls, and a phrase has never sounded dirtier, “is the reason you’re here. With me. You wish to return to your perfect life. Go ahead.” He spreads his arms out wide. “But know that the man you lie beside is the man who…”

He pauses as if regretting his words.

“Go on then! Who what?” I scream, calling his bluff. I wish I hadn’t. And I wish I’d used a different phrase.

“Who sold you in a game of poker!” he exclaims. I’m unable to digest what he just said without wanting to be sick. “That’s right. Your precious husband lost a game of poker to Popov, and when he couldn’t pay his dues because he lost his fortune to hookers, gambling, and bad investments, he had to pay up in another way.”

“You lie.” I stumble backward, shaking my head firmly. Drew never flaunted his money, and that was one of the many things I liked about him. Could it be because he never had any money to flaunt?

But it seems now that Saint has started, he can’t stop. “I was there. I saw it all. I am Popov’s right-hand man, remember?” he spits, eyes narrowed as he knows I’ve judged him based on that fact. I now know why watching Saint beat Drew felt personal—it was. “Your husband promised Popov an American girl in exchange for his debt to be cleared. He owed a quarter of a million dollars. It was the only way he could leave Russia with his life intact.”

“Stop it,” I whimper, covering my ears. But Saint storms over, refusing me mercy as he rips my hands free. I wrestle with him, trying to break free, but he holds my wrists tight.

“Popov wanted a docile, pretty girl. Someone obedient. Someone he could dominate. Your husband clearly didn’t do his homework. But I suppose he got one thing right.” I dare not ask what that thing is.

“He was the one who organized the hit. Think about it,” he says, tightening his hold as I writhe like a caged animal. I want to murder him with my bare hands. “How did we know where to find you? At that precise time? Standing on that terrace?”

“Why don’t you go downstairs and wait for me on the terrace? The view is something else.”

Drew’s words play on repeat because that’s why I was standing out there when I was kidnapped. He told me to wait for him there.

Nausea rises, and tears sting my eyes.

“Don’t you think your fairy-tale meeting was a little too convenient?” he poses, but no, I refuse to allow him to taint my love.

“Nice story,” I say, feigning courage. “But why did he marry me? He could have just organized for you to kidnap me anywhere. Why go through the effort of marrying me?” I am confident Saint’s lies will unravel, but I should know by now that Saint is always two steps ahead.

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