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“You will never see Russia, so don’t you worry. I’ll do you a favor. Boss will destroy you, just as he did Saint’s…”
But Kazimir never gets to finish his sentence as Saint’s sharp voice cracks through the air. “Kazimir, enough talking!”
I dare not turn over my shoulder. Saint’s furious tone scares me. Kazimir grumbles under his breath, clearly annoyed with constantly being told what to do. He and Saint are fighting for top dog position, which means if plan B is in motion, Saint is in danger. And I am certain this time, Kazimir will ensure he doesn’t fail.
Better the devil you know is the saying that seems fitting in my circumstances. Although Saint intends to deliver me to Popov, I know in some sense what’s headed my way. But the men who worked with Kazimir, they were inhuman, and if they are an indication of what my future entails, I would rather die right now.
Saint and Kazimir exchange harsh words in Russian before I hear Kazimir slowly rise. I’m waiting for a war of words, but Kazimir knows his time will come and soon. The fruit I just ate threatens to come back up, so I quickly bend forward, poised to throw up over the edge of the boat.
My raw stomach refuses to give up the small meal I consumed, however, and eventually, the sickness subsides.
“Boss will destroy you, just as he did Saint’s…”Just as he did Saint’s what?
“Go back downstairs.” Saint’s command jolts me. Just as I’m about to protest, he reveals this isn’t up for discussion. “There’s a storm coming.”
I’m about to scoff, but as I shield my eyes from the sun with my hand, I see that on the horizon, the sky looks punishing. I don’t fancy being up here when that happens, so I stand and turn around. Saint is a few feet away, and when we lock eyes, the yearning I felt last night hits.
The sunlight draws out the lighter blond strands of his hair, contrasting the darker shade. It’s kicked to the high heavens, and the reason that it is, is revealed when he runs his fingers through it. The bright sun highlights the golden swirls in his eyes and somehow seems to emphasize the pinkness to his supple lips.
I’m quick to snap myself from staring for too long and hurriedly push past him, muting my whimpers when I accidentally brush too close to him. What has me almost tripping over my own feet, however, is that I could swear a similar sound slips past his lips.
I don’t allow it to come to fruition because that’s just ridiculous.
The moment I’m in the galley, I inhale deeply as my heart races wildly. I instantly slump onto the mattress, drawing my knees to my chest as I bow my head and cradle my brow. Ironic that a storm is coming because I can’t help but feel a tempest is brewing within.
A thunderclap pierces the punishing sky, the sharp flash of lightning illuminating my small haven below. We sailed into rough waters about two hours ago. I thought it would get better, but it hasn’t. As the boat rocks from side to side, I press my back to the wall and take three deep breaths.
The howl from the punishing wind wails loudly, adding to the already unsettled vibe. Saint wasn’t kidding when he said a storm was coming. But this kind of feels like a monster storm as the mammoth waves can be heard smashing against our small boat. I yelp and curl myself into a smaller ball when the crack of a thunderbolt sounds like the whip of God.
The door suddenly heaves opens, and a gust of wind yowls down the stairs. Turning my cheek, I see a sopping wet Saint fighting with the door to close it. He’s wrestling with the wind and the rain, but he finally wins.
He bounces down the stairs, shaking the raindrops from his snarled hair. It’s futile, however, because he is drenched. When he sees me huddled on the mattress, he stops in his tracks. It seems like he wants to ask me if I’m okay, but that would be a ridiculous and pointless question to ask.
I watch as he crosses the room in three large steps and heads into the bathroom. A small brown towel hangs from a hook, and he reaches for it, running it over his hair, face, and back of his neck. His long-sleeved shirt is soaked and clings to him like a second skin. It’s difficult not to notice his rippling muscles and well-defined physique.
However, when he grips the edge of his shirt and tears it over his head, it’s impossible not to admire that hard body in the flesh. His skin is slick and bronzed, and when he rubs the towel over his chest and abs, I’m transfixed by the way his hypnotic six-pack undulates. His obliques are firm and toned, adding to the muscled ecstasy.
I instantly turn my cheek, though, as I hate this response I have to him.
There is no mistaking him stepping out of his soggy boots, and when I hear his belt buckle and pants hit the floor, a shiver passes over me. Curiosity wins out in the end, and I sneak a peek, gasping when I see him standing in nothing but black boxer briefs.
He is drying himself off, and a simple chore shouldn’t be able to elicit this response from me, but it does. I suddenly get hot. His legs are lean, muscled, but it’s the impressive bulge which has me biting my lip to stifle my approval.
Once he’s dry, he enters the room, and I quickly turn away, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing me look at him without disgust. I almost breathe a sigh of relief when I hear him unfasten a bag and the rustle of clothes alerts me to him hunting for something to wear.
When I hear a zipper being pulled up, my heart begins to slow down.
When I think it’s safe, I gingerly look his way, only to see he’s still topless. He has no shoes on either. Just pants. They sit low on his narrow hips which just seems to accentuate his hardened V muscle. His wet hair hangs around his face and appears longer, and I really wish he’d put on a shirt because his tattoo and nipple piercing and entire nakedness are distracting.
I welcome a deafening thunderclap because it jolts me from my gawking.
“It’ll pass,” Saint comforts me, which is strange as his assurance feels foreign.
I nod in response, hugging my knees to my chest. “Are we safe in this thing?”
He cocks his head to the side, a grin shaping those sinful lips. “I didn’t think you’d care if we capsized.” He’s right, I wouldn’t, especially after what Kazimir revealed today. But regardless, it feels strange seeing him smile. I don’t see it often, but it suits him.
There is a sudden silence. The air is heavy with unspoken, forbidden words. I know why that is a moment later. “I spoke to Popov earlier.” My hunch was right, but it doesn’t feel good to be right. “We will be in Russia in about seven days. There are a few stops along the way, but we will be there in a week or so.”
