Page 35 of Saint

“You didn’t know your boyfriend like I did.”

“So, you admit it. You did know him.” It feels like a small win. “Who are you?”

Saint drags his hands between my legs, his thumbs pressing over my clit and gliding through me. My mouth parts on an exhale, and my eyes roll back as he works his hands down.

“I already told you last night. I’m your savior.” Saint bends so his face is next to mine, his mouth beside my ear, speaking low and muffled through the mask. “Thereare no gods here, Violet. Only devils. And your boyfriend was one of them. What I did for you was a favor, and that’s why you’ll repay me for it.”

He cups my pussy hard, taking me by surprise.

“Saint.” I grab his wrist, and I’m not sure if I’m begging him to let go or hold on.

He inhales along my neck. “Yes, Violet?”

My pulse thunders as blood floods my brain. I can’t think with the pressure he’s putting between my legs.

“Please tell me the truth.” I bite my lip when he grips me tighter. “Why did Liam have to die? What did he do?”

The softest, most haunting chuckle escapes his chest. “Nothing. He didn’t get the chance because I wouldn’t allow it.”

Saint slides a finger to my entrance but doesn’t push through. Like last night, he holds back. My nails dig into his flesh at the pressure, and even if I hate him for what he’s done, my core is a furnace.

I want his pain.

His punishment.

I want him. And it’s so wrong that I hate myself for it.

But like he reads my mind, he pulls his hand away and denies me. “Not tonight, Violet.”

“Why?”

And how disturbed does a girl have to be to ask a killer that question for a second time?

Saint circles the bed to the side where Nixon’s body is stiff on the ground, leaning to lower his mouth near my ear. Only this time, he doesn’t touch me.

“Because you want it so bad, you’re already begging. It’s too easy.”

My fingers grip the blanket, and I turn to narrow my gaze at him. “Screw you.”

I shove his shoulder and hop off the bed. It’s a risk, given he’s already held a knife to my throat twice since I’ve met him, and the threat that he’ll kill me for pissing him off is real. But if a year of criminal psychology has taught me anything, it’s that he’s not done toying with me yet.

So I’m not going to sit around and let him play with me anymore tonight. I’m exhausted. I’m at my limit. And I already know I’m sick because of the way my body was begging for him without needing him to point out that I’m pathetic.

“You’re upset.” He watches me walk to the door. But it’s not a question—more like he’s trying to understand why I’m human.

Which, I guess, would be challenging, given the fact that I’m not sure he is.

“I’m fine,” I lie. “And I’m going home. We both know I don’t need to stick around. I’m sure you’ll make this disappear like everything else.”

I wave back at Nixon’s body on the ground as I storm to the door, and I’m surprised he lets me. But as I unlock it and step into the hallway to go back up the stairs, he grabs my waist and spins me in the other direction.

“You’re not leaving that way.”

“Why not?”

“People could see you.”

“Why does it matter?” I drop my hands to my sides, defeated—ruined. “And why do you care?”

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