Page 53 of Taint My Soul

When I get to the door, it’s slightly open, and I peek in and see Saint standing under the running shower.

My eyes remain on his broad shoulders and solid back muscles. The water runs down his dark skin in slow rivulets, but what catches my attention is the white-ink snake tattoo on his back.

A Black Viper.

It starts at the base of his spine and stops near the trapezius. As he turns around, he runs his fingers through his hair and over his body. His gaze lifts toward the door, but I move out quickly. Leaning against the wall, I hide behind the entrance and tiptoe back to my room, shutting the door behind me.

After a while, a car appears from the garage and zooms down the driveway, the hum of the engine becoming distant only in a few minutes.

I leave my room and head downstairs, and I meet Bernard walking past the living room in a white top and black trousers. His face wrinkles with surprise when he sees me standing in shorts at the foot of the stairs.

“You didn’t leave with the boss?” He asks.

“No. I didn’t.” I mutter. “I thought maybe you were driving him.”

“Oh, no. He has a three-car collection here, and he always loves to drive himself anytime we come to Genesis.”

“Really.”

“Yeah, he bought this place five years ago. We come a few times a year.”

“Do you have any idea where he went?”

“Probably to see his business associate, Prince.” He hums.

“Alright. I need to shower.”

“Yeah, see you later.”

“Hmm.” He grunts and heads back to his room.

I return upstairs, stalking down the hall when I come across Saint’s room. He’s owned this place for five years. Maybe he has something related to his family business here. Something illegal. Something I can use to buy my freedom from Vincent.

I hadn’t found anything during my stay at his penthouse. I had left the following morning because there was nothing else there except legal office documents.

I grip the knob, gently pushing the door as I step into the warm room. The air still holds his rich scent. It’s intoxicating. And every time it floods my senses, I pretend it doesn’t have any effect on me because I can’t fall for an asshole like Saint.

The room’s still neatly arranged, even though he was here only minutes ago. He has a built-in closet with his suits hanging from racks and his shoes arranged right underneath. I get down into a push-up position and look under the bed, but I find nothing. I look through the suits. Still fucking nothing.

Damn, has this guy ever mishandled anything in his life?

There’s literally nothing here.

I squat down, run my hands along the shelf’s bottom, and find a hidden floor compartment. I gently lift off the wooden lid. I take out three more until my hands can pass through. I slide my hand into the dimly lit space, and my fingers brush over a box.

I grip it and pull it out of the dark space, setting it beside me.

When I open it, all I find is a wristwatch, a necklace, a single bullet, and a journal.

Must not belong to him. The journal, I mean. Because there’s no way Saint, whatever his middle name is, King keeps a fucking journal.

I grip the small journal in my palm and open the first page. It has Saint’s name written on it in cursive. His full name. Saint Demetrius King. His middle name is Demetrius? There’s a heart drawn just below his name in a different handwriting.

The journal was a birthday gift from his mother. And his birthday date was also scribbled beside the heart.

It’s only a few weeks away.

I’m not supposed to be reading this. But maybe there’s something in here that can help my cause.