Page 17 of Fallen Saint

“Good?” Aleksei asks, peering down at her with a wicked grin.

She hums her approval while I’m about to be sick.

“You can make the men their breakfast now,” he instructs me while I stare at Zoey, tears filling my eyes.

This is the most degrading thing I have ever seen, and I can’t do a damn thing about it. “Move.” Saint’s sharp voice has me snapping to attention.

Looking up at him, I beg for him to stop this. But what can he do? He acts out, and his entire life will crumble around him. We have to be smart and devise a plan, I know that. But seeing this…I don’t know how long I can last.

Coming to a slow stand, I walk around Zoey and into the kitchen. When my back is turned, I allow one tear to trickle down my cheek, but I wipe it away just as quickly with the back of my hand. I work on autopilot, preparing a mountain of food. Subconsciously, I’m hoping to fill the void in my chest, but nothing will.

The moment Aleksei finishes his meal, the men dig into their breakfast. Zoey has finished hers but remains on her knees by Aleksei’s side. Saint stands rigid like a trained solider. If not for the heavy rise and fall of his chest, I wouldn’t even know he’s breathing.

“You may eat,” Aleksei says to Saint, as if doing him a favor by giving him permission to eat, but he shakes his head.

“I’m not hungry.” Waves of anger roll off him.

Aleksei reaches for a toothpick from the table and goes about picking the food from his teeth. “Very well then. Take ????? into the en suite to shower. I have a few calls to make, but I’ll meet you in the bedroom soon.”

A foreboding panic overcomes me because what exactly will happen when he meets us in the bedroom?

Saint doesn’t need to be told twice and practically rips my arm off as he drags me in the direction of the bedroom. When he opens the door and shoves me inside the en suite, I grab onto the towel rack to stop myself from falling.

He slams and locks the bathroom door, placing his splayed hands against it. Lowering his head between his spread arms, he inhales deeply through his nose. He is visibly shaking.

“Saint?” I whisper, afraid.

When he hears his name, his hands curl into fists. “We have to leave. Tonight.”

“Tonight?” I question, a hitch to my breath. “How?”

As he spins around, his anger hits me, and I instantly back away. I know he won’t hurt me, but he looks intent on murder. “We are three days away from reaching Russia,” he reveals, unsnapping a black band from around his wrist and tying his hair back. “By eleven seventeen tonight, we will be fifty kilometres away from a port in Romania. It’s the only opportunity we’ll have to escape.”

My mouth opens and closes, but I can’t speak. He’s clearly been studying our route.

“We have five minutes.”

I gulp, wringing my hands in front of me. “Five minutes to do what?”

I know what, but I need him to say it. I need for him to make it real.

“Kill that son of a bitch and get the fuck off this yacht,” he says without pause.

My legs feel heavy so I slump onto the toilet seat, needing a moment to process what I always knew to be true.

Saint storms over, dropping to his knees before me. He looks up at me, gripping my thighs, pleading for me to speak. And when I do, I barely recognize my own voice. “How do we do that?”

He exhales in what seems to be relief. “We throw a party.”

I scrunch up my nose. Has he lost his mind? “A party?” Clearly, I’ve misunderstood.

I haven’t.

“Yes. Zoey has enough sleeping tablets to take down a dozen horses, and there is an abundance of vodka on board. It’ll be easy. We just have to convince Aleksei.”

“How do we do that?”

Saint’s grip on my thighs tightens, which means I’m not going to like his proposal. “We have to give him cause to celebrate. We have to make him think it’s his idea to throw the party.”

---