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This moment is suffocating me, and what I see next has me yelping and raising my hands in surrender.
It happens so quickly.
One second, I’m facing a gun-toting Zoey, and the next, Saint is shielding me, holding a gun of his own, the gun he had hidden in his shorts in the small of his back. “Zoey!” he shouts, protecting me with his back as he shoves me behind him. “Put the gun down.”
Aleksei turns to look at Zoey, clearly surprised she had the balls to pull a gun on me. His attention then rivets on Saint. This world of madness is one he has created. And when he smirks, it appears he wouldn’t have it any other way.
“Move, Saint. I don’t want to hurt you,” Zoey snarls.
“What is the matter with you? I did what you asked.” Saint beseeches her to tell him what’s going on.
I risk a glance around his body, and what I see, terrifies me. Zoey cackles, waving the gun like it’s a toy. “Yes, I asked you to do this so I could fucking kill this bitch. Alek is mine. And any whore who thinks they can replace me will suffer the same fate as this bitch.”
Aleksei couldn’t look happier. His project has turned rouge. Saint was right—Popov is the most potent drug of all.
“So you never wanted to go home?” he asks, his voice filled with utter defeat.
She snickers, utterly amused at his gullibility. “No, brother. I lied.”
And that’s it.
No excuses to pardon her behavior. She is a desperate woman, and it appears no one, not even her brother, will stand in her way as she cocks her gun. “Now move. I’m done playing nice.”
I huddle behind Saint, petrified because there is no way Zoey is of sound mind. Saint was right. She is broken, but I don’t think she cared being carved into this twisted person. I can’t believe I felt sorry for her. I can’t even imagine how betrayed Saint feels because all of this was for nothing.
Saint steadies his arm, training his gun on his sister. “You’re sick, Zoey. Let me help you.”
“I don’t want your help!” she screams. “I told you to go home, that I was happy with Alek, but you always have to be the good guy, don’t you? But it’s too late…you had your chance to help me, and you blew it. Alek saved me. Not you.”
She has played on Saint’s insecurities, ones which were the reason he chose this life in the first place. He did all of this for her…
“You ungrateful bitch.” It’s out before I can stop myself, but how dare she. This isn’t Saint’s fault, and I’ll be damned if I allow her to make him think otherwise.
Aleksei turns to look at me, lips parted. He likes what he sees. Goose bumps, not of the good kind, coat my skin as I suddenly feel like prey.
“Enough,” he says, appearing bored by the melodramatics. “Give me the gun, Zoey.”
I can’t hide my surprise, which seems to please Aleksei.
“What?” Zoey whines. “No, I want that whore dead!”
The air falls silent because Zoey has just done something which she shouldn’t have—she disobeyed her master.
“Give me the gun,” he repeats slowly. There is warning lacing every word.
When I don’t hear her argue, I risk a glance around Saint, who stands rigid, transfixed by the sight of Zoey walking submissively toward Aleksei. Her eyes seem glazed over like someone in a trance, but I suppose she is—she’s spellbound by this asshole.
She passes him the gun, then drops to her knees beside him.
The sight sickens me. He begins to pat her hair like a beloved dog. She nuzzles into his leg, moaning. “Now, as entertaining as this all is, we have a deadline. So get on the yacht.” He points the gun at Saint, who stands, unmoving, his own gun still raised.
Something is about to explode, and I’m afraid to see what the outcome is.
“You disappoint me, ????.”
“I amnotyour brother,” Saint spits, his aim directed on Popov.
“You’re right…” The noise hits me before I realize that a shot has been fired. When a pained grunt leaves Saint, and his gun drops into the sand, I know he’s the one who’s been shot.
