Page 60 of Bad Saint

“He took out a life insurance policy on you,” he states without pause. “With you kidnapped and presumed dead, he would get a lot of money. You cleared his debt with Popov, but you’ve also made him a rich man again. He used you…and you fell for it.” He seems disgusted with me. That makes two of us.

The fight in me dies, and I doubt it will return ever again.

“So don’tyoudare judge me because at least I can admit what I am,” he says, releasing me. I instantly sag forward, afraid my legs won’t hold me up. “As for you, you can live in your fantasy world, but sooner or later, reality will catch up to you. It always does.” Regret swarms him, but I disregard it because this man is incapable of such a human emotion.

A tear rolls down my cheek as I am broken. My heart, spirit, everything I thought I was is now shattered forever. I watch as he marches away from me and rips open the first-aid kit. Shrinking back, I automatically assume he’s going to shoot me dead. But he doesn’t.

He pockets the knife and goes to turn. “I’m going to find us some food,” he explains, exhausted, while I hold back my ugly tears. “There’s a pond filled with rainwater just past the hut if you want to bathe.”

I watch as he ventures the way he came, leaving me alone with a secret so heavy, I don’t know how to deal with it by myself. He just destroyed me in one breath, and in another, he offered me kindness. This man is my tormentor, but by the same token, he’s also the only person who can give me the answers I so desperately seek.

But I have them now. The truth to why I was kidnapped. To why I’m here. The truth should set you free. But it hasn’t. All it’s done is leave me wishing Saint had left me to drown.

She now knows the truth, the truth I was trying so hard to keep from her because the look in her eyes will haunt me forever. I can only offer her pain, but I’m a sick bastard who gets off on her tears because they mean I’m one step closer to breaking her, to getting Zoey back…

Day 11

ICAN’T SLEEP, and that’s not because I’m not tired. I’m utterly exhausted, but I’m way past being able to slip into a comatose state and forget the past eleven days.

Yesterday, after Saint revealed the truth, I staggered to the hut, needing time to process everything he revealed. Even though it seems so farfetched, I can’t deny the logic. I hate that it makes sense because it means I married a lying asshole who never loved me at all. All I was to him was a pawn, his get out of jail for free card.

I was thankful Saint didn’t come find me because I needed time alone. So I laid on the rough, wooden floor and stared up at the leafy ceiling, wondering what to do now. When the sun set and gave way to the full moon, I was thankful for the darkness as it seemed easier to accept the deceit.

My stomach growled, and my throat was parched, but the thought of consuming anything made my belly turn.

Well into the early hours of the morning, the bugs and mosquitos buzz around me, having a field day biting me any chance they get. Slapping my arm, I sit upright, brushing back my hair with a sigh.

I’m restless, hungry, tired, and nothing I do alleviates my agitation. I feel like hitting something because each time I think about what Saint said, my temper seems to surge. He showed no remorse and even made me feel like some pathetic airhead for not seeing through Drew’s lies.

The knife against my breast burns as if it’s a sign of what I can do to claim back a small piece of my soul. If it wasn’t for Saint, I wouldn’t be here. Yes, Drew may have orchestrated this entire thing, but Saint didn’t have to agree to it. He could have told Popov what a lowlife psychopath he was and gotten a new job.

But he has no qualms about being a hitman. Kidnapping and murdering come naturally to him, it seems. Drew isn’t here, but Saint is. And I have every intention of making him pay for what he did.

I spring up before I chicken out, adrenaline coursing through me as I leap over the edge of the hut and reach for the rope. The fact I can’t see makes my descent a little easier, but I don’t take as long this time because I am amped on revenge.

Strips of my dress catch in the light breeze, signaling the direction of the shore. I have no idea if Saint is here, but I work on pure instinct. Reaching for the Swiss blade in my bra, I charge through the foliage, ignoring the excruciating pain in my feet because that can’t compare to the agony within.

I know he will probably disarm me before I get within five feet of him, but being in control drives me forward. Just as I storm out from between the trees, ready to tackle Saint where he hopefully sleeps, a sight I was not expecting to see flashes before me.

I freeze because seeing Saint waist deep in water, the full moon illuminating his stature, simmers my fury. Standing still with his face tipped toward the heavens, he skims the water with the tips of his fingers. Something about him appears so pensive.

His angel wings come alive under the moonlight, reminding me of the first time I saw them. I was as mesmerized then as I am now. Someone who delivers such punishment to people bearing something so angelic seems so wrong.

But it adds to the mystery of who Saint is. I may know why Drew did what he did, but I’m still no closer to figuring out what’s in it for Saint. He’s not doing it for the money. But I think it’s safe to say he’s doing it for Zoey.

So my next question is, who is Zoey?

Sneaking up on him while he’s unarmed suddenly feels so wrong, so I decide to bench my vengeance for the moment and try to get some sleep. However, what I see next is confirmation I may not move from this spot ever again.

Even though what I’m witnessing is crystal clear, it’s still hard to believe. But there is no mistaking the sight of Saint’s left hand dipping into the water as he strokes himself. It’s slow at first, like he’s testing the waters, so to speak, but his tempo soon increases.

Through the still night, I can hear his husky inhalations and the sloshing of water as he pleasures himself. I am transfixed, hooked on the utterly intoxicating and completely taboo sight. I should turn around because that’s what any respectable woman would do.

But my morality was questioned the first moment Saint laid his hands on me, and I liked it…a lot.

I’m shrouded by the shadow of the trees, so I remain hidden, unable to look away as Saint continues to stroke his shaft, his muscles rippling as his rhythm builds. Not being able to see is a potent wickedness as my curious mind begins to conjure up images of what Saint would look like.

The thought of his cock has a wetness gathering between my legs, and I instantly squeeze my thighs together, ashamed, but the friction only makes it worse. Watching with bated breath, I’m hypnotized by the sway of his back as he rocks with the rhythm of his hand.

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