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“It’s true,” I press, refusing to back down. “You know, most people thank someone for saving their life, but not you. Your pride won’t let you do that, will it?”
“You should have let me die,” he professes, his jaw fixed. He isn’t fishing for compliments. He truly stands by his admission.
“How do you do it?”
“Do what?” he asks, standing tall.
“How do you turn your emotions on and off like that?” I reply, suddenly feeling sorry for him.
But Saint reminds me just who he is as he advances forward and grips my biceps, dragging me toward him. “You forget…I don’t have any.”
Although every part of me trembles, I challenge, “Bullshit. You want to believe that, but it’s not true.”
But when I think about our kiss, and how he can treat me this way without feeling, I wonder if maybe I want to see something that isn’t there.
He lets me go, and I sag forward, wrapping my arms around my middle. “I can feel it…every time you touch me. When you…kissed me.”
He hisses, turning his cheek. “Do you know how many men I’ve killed?” he cries, startling me because I’ve never heard him so…emotional before.
“I-I don’t care,” I reply, surprising myself because I mean every word.
It appears I’ve surprised him as well when his lips part, but he soon recovers. “Well, you should,” he spits with venom.
“What have I done to make you hate me so much?” My lower lip quivers, but I try my best not to cry.
“I don’t hate you.” He interlaces his hands behind his neck, inhaling deeply.
“Then why would you kiss me and then just disregard it like it didn’t matter? It may not have mattered to you, but it did to me.” I need to stop talking, but I can’t. I’m done playing this cruel game. “I couldn’t let you die,” I confess, locking eyes with him, “because I didn’t want you to. I should hate you, but you’re right. I don’t. You scare me”—he frowns—“but not because I’m afraid of you. I’m afraid of what you make me feel. I don’t understand it, any of it, especially when I know you’ve lied to me. You heard the plane, didn’t you?”
His silence is all the response I need.
“I just don’t understand why you wouldn’t want to be saved. Why did you destroy the SOS? Why did you touch me the way you have? Was it to humiliate me? And why would you kiss me the way you did and not mean it?” A sob escapes me because my questions are the ones that weigh heavily.
I know I sound desperate, but I am. I’m desperate to understand what any of this means.
The air suddenly whips around us and leaves me winded as Saint rushes forward and cups my cheeks between his palms. He frantically searches my face while I hold my breath. “It’s because of that kiss”—he avidly pants, his touch wavering with emotion—“that I’m doing this. All of this.”
A gasp leaves me. “Wh-what do you mean?”
“You’re right; I did see the plane.” His confession confirms what I already knew to be the truth. But I need to know why he didn’t react.
“Why wouldn’t you be happy about that? I thought you wanted to get off this island as much as I do.”
“You don’t get it,” he spits, squeezing my cheeks gently. “That plane, it was most likely Popov’s men.”
My eyes widen.
“Which means he knows where we are. I destroyed the SOS because, by some miracle, I’m hoping I’m wrong. I should have destroyed it days ago. I just didn’t think he’d come for us. I thought he’d grow bored by now, but I should have known better.”
“Maybe it wasn’t them?” I try to reason. Saint’s hollow expression reveals that’s just wishful thinking.
“Maybe it wasn’t, but if it was, that means he’s found you and…he is coming,” he pushes out in a rushed breath. “And that means I will have no other choice but to give you to him…no matter how badly I don’t want to.” Tears sting my eyes. “I don’t have a choice, ah???. But if we escaped, I wouldn’t be forced to do the worst thing in my entire life.”
“You’d let me go?” I whisper, not believing his admission.
A single word changes my life forever.
“Yes.”
