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I’m hoping, by some miracle, my words appeal to him, and he’ll see the error of his ways. And when he reaches into his pocket and produces a crisp white handkerchief to wipe away the blood from my face, thanks to the fact one of his men punched me in the nose, I think I’ve maybe done it.
But then he levels me with those steel blue eyes, and I know I’ve wasted my breath. “You are mine. And I will do with you what I please.” He continues to clean my face, but his touch isn’t gentle. It’s possessive and filled with warning.
“The sooner you understand that, the easier this will become. There,” he says, leaning back to get a better look at me. “Much better.”
Is this what staring into the eyes of a monster feels like?
His eyes hold no compassion, no remorse for what he’s done. He’s ruined countless lives all because he can. And it seems mine is the next in line.
A guttural groan slices through the air, and although I wish it were any other sound, I’m thankful he’s stirring. When those chartreuse-colored eyes flicker open, a trapped breath escapes me. For a split second, I forget I’m sitting beside a maniac because all that matters is that Saint is awake.
He takes his time, gauging where he is. When he gradually focuses on Aleksei sitting beside me, holding the bloodied handkerchief in his hand, Saint’s jaw clenches, and he moves to spring up, intent on murder. But Aleksei knows Saint and ensures he stays down by placing his Italian loafer over Saint’s throat.
Saint claws at Aleksei’s foot, attempting to break free, but he doesn’t stand a chance. Wounded and turning a bright crimson, Saint looks seconds away from passing out once again.
“No!” I scream, thrashing about to get free, but it’s useless. My cries and Saint’s struggles only fuel this narcissistic asshole.
“Calm down.” Aleksei tsks Saint. In response, Saint flips him off, still attempting to pry Aleksei’s foot off his throat.
Aleksei laughs, appearing to enjoy the banter as though they’re two friends arguing over a football match. Eventually, he releases the pressure, allowing Saint to take in mouthfuls of air.
I watch with wide eyes because I can’t believe this farfetched scene playing out before me is my life.
When he’s finally able to breathe, Saint sluggishly props up into a half sitting position. He cups his shoulder, flinching. He doesn’t speak, but his poignant eyes communicate. They’re asking if I’m all right.
I give an imperceptible nod, wanting more than anything to console him. But I can’t.
“Untie her,” Saint demands, his breathing uneven, yet his gaze never wavering from mine. Aleksei raises an eyebrow, clearly surprised by Saint’s orders, but Saint won’t be intimidated. “I said untie her.”
Aleksei leans back in the seat, casually crossing his ankles as he twirls the gold ring on his pinkie. “And why would I do that?” His English has just a slight accent, so you can barely ascertain where he’s from. Like all chameleons, he’s learned how to fit in to survive.
“Because you fucking shot me, you asshole, so someone has to help me take out the bullet. Unless you fancy getting your Italian silk dirty?”
I dare not breathe—surely, Aleksei will see through Saint’s lies—but Saint must convince him. Aleksei shuffles close to me, inhaling deeply, and I remain perfectly still. A tic beneath Saint’s eye reveals he’s barely holding back, but when Aleksei produces a switchblade and reaches behind me to cut the rope, Saint nods subtly, hinting it’ll be okay.
Aleksei cuts the rope at my wrists carefully, his shallow breaths coating my neck. When I’m free, he runs his fingers over the rope burn, humming in satisfaction. It seems torture is his thing. “You’re worth a lot of money. Go get cleaned up. I want to see my prize,” he whispers into my ear, loud enough for Saint to hear.
My stomach turns, and I shrug from his hold, instantly bringing my hands out in front me to rub my raw wrists. However, when he tosses the knife onto the floor in front of Saint, I freeze.
Saint peers down at the knife, then back up at me. We both know what this is. A test.
Saint could take that knife and end this bastard’s miserable existence by slicing open his jugular. But he wouldn’t get closer than two feet before one of Aleksei’s men shot us both dead.
Aleksei is whipping out his dick to prove who’s in control. But we never forgot. How could we? I’m bound. Saint has a bleeding gunshot wound. And that’s all thanks to him and his obsession for power.
Saint reaches for the knife, and with shaky fingers, he cuts the rope at my ankles. He takes deep breaths through his nose to work through his pain, but he continues to saw at it until I’m free. The moment I am, I exhale. It’s one step closer to getting off this boat.
He extends the knife to Aleksei, just how I once did to him.
Aleksei keeps his cool as he reaches for the blade. This is all a power play. I wonder what’ll happen when one of us breaks even though that time is not now.
Saint climbs to his feet unsteadily. “Come on.” He grips my bicep and yanks me up roughly.
The harsh pressure causes me to flinch, but I allow him to manhandle me because I don’t want to stay up here with Aleksei. When he sees Zoey, however, he pauses.
She’s still on her knees, awaiting further instruction from Aleksei. I can’t imagine what this does to Saint. She’s the reason he’s here—why we’re both here—but she tricked him. She never wanted to be saved.
Expecting him to say something to her, I’m surprised when he drags me around her and down the stairs to the galley. A gasp leaves me when I see this place. It looks like a resort on water. The fully functional stainless-steel kitchen rivals any master chef’s with a large fridge, stove top and oven, and white marble counters.
