Page 18 of Lethal Saint

Her brow furrowed. She smiled, the tiniest curve at the edges of her lips. “You killed all those people to stop me being hurt. You gave me a gun and pointed it at yourself. You cleaned me, and gave me clothes, and made me food, and—” She swallowed her eyes dropping to the gun. “And I know you’re not a good person, but you’re not like Armand Finch.”

Her whole body seemed to recoil as she spoke his name.

“I’m nothing like him,” I promised gently, equally pleased at her speaking warmly of me and angry that she saw those basic kindnesses as something to be lauded.

“I saw the document they signed. My dad andhim.I know it’s in writing and legal and—and I’m his, by law. Not because he paid for me but because of that document.”

“I’ll find it and burn it,” I seethed, my heart quickening even further. A haze of fury descended. I forced my arms to relax around her, to not squeeze her closer. So they’d been smart about it. It wouldn’t be a transaction, wouldn’t be a business deal—it’d be a betrothal, an arranged marriage.

Not without that document. Getting Ivanov’s copy would be easy enough, but Finch’s? I wasn’t sure even Vincent could make that happen, and there was very little my older brother couldn’t do. But if we burned both, destroyed all copies, Finch would have no claim to her. She’d be legally safe, even if Finch would never accept being beaten like that.

His pride was more legendary than his temper.

“I thought you brought me here to keep me,” she said, looking out the window at the shadows and bright lights of London at night. “And I think I’d be safer if you did.”

I startled. It wasn’t often I was caught by surprise.

“Vasilisa,” I began, but she spoke over me in a rush, like she was desperate to get the words out.

“Marry me first, before he can.”

CHAPTER 7

VASILISA

Isat up in a rush, gasping for air, my hands flying to my throat as I fought to breathe. They were all over me, touching me, fucking me one after another until Armand Finch shoved them out of the way, his clever face and bright eyes deadly as he rose over me. Rough hands bruised my thighs, matching the marks on my wrists, and I screamed when he rammed his cock past the delicate ring of my ass and inside me. Gasping, staring at my surroundings, the ballroom blurred, its—modern, sleek furniture smearing across my vision.

Oh.

I shook my head, trying to cast off the dream sensations. I forced my eyes into focus, trailing over the lacquered dressing table and the mirror in front of my bed, the doors on either side of it that led to a bathroom and dressing room, the floor-length silver curtains across the window and the massive bed I laid in, surrounded by exquisite cotton, not the silk of my room at home or the bare mattress in the ballroom.

I exhaled all in a rush and flopped back down into the bed. I wasn’t in the ballroom. Wasn’t even in Ivanov manor.

“Safe,” I whispered in Russian, the sound of my voice grounding me. “I’m safe, I’m safe.”

But was I? Was I safe anywhere, with anyone? Damien murdered a hundred people yesterday, killed every single one of them.For you,a quiet voice whispered, but it was drowned out by the panic of my dream. Adrenaline pumped through me and my hands shook. I needed to get out of here. I needed to run.

My hands shook as I threw the covers off and jumped out of bed, the cotton sliding over my body like a caress. I hadn’t dared to undress last night, and I still didn’t. I would be too vulnerable, too open. I left the fuzzy onesie on and crept across the room. I didn’t have shoes, but there was nothing I could do about that now. The trip up in the lift yesterday was crystal clear in my memory, but how we got to the apartment was hazy. Was there a corridor with other apartment doors? Did it open up right into the hallway?

“You’ll be fine,” I whispered to myself, pushing off the mattress and grabbing my gun. “You’ll be fine.”

I pressed the door handle slowly, holding my breath until it opened with a soft click. I wasn’t locked in. But I didn’t need to be imprisoned to be hurt. I could feel them again—the hands on my body, squeezing, stroking. Bile burned up my throat, and I hurried into the hallway.

My feet sank into the rich carpet but I walked so quickly I barely felt it, my heart hammering and my skin crawling. I had to get away, had to run so far they couldn’t find me, or they’d keep touching me, they’d push me down onto the bed in the ballroom and—

I rushed around the corner and smacked into someone so hard my whole skeleton rattled, and if the safety hadn’t been on I would have shot him, or me, or both.

I backed up quickly, lifting the gun, trembling from head to toe.

The Saint lifted his hands slowly, nothing cruel or cold in his stubbled, golden face. But beauty could hide evil better than any ugliness. I gasped down air, keeping the gun raised. I didn’t have words to warn him away, to tell him I would shoot him if he didn’t get out of my way. I couldn’t breathe.

“I made breakfast for us, Vasilisa.”

I flinched at the sound of his voice, as loud as any gunshot yesterday when—when he killed everyone in the ballroom.

Iknewthat and yet … in the space of a second, I’d forgotten.

“They’re dead?” I asked, my voice so raw I didn’t recognise it.

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