Page 58 of Taint My Soul

“This is what you do all the time.” I shake my head and turn away from him. He’s not about to ruin my night. I look through the crowd and find the guy heading out through the back exit.

“Where do you think you’re going?” He demands.

“Far away from you.” I snap. I expect him to stop me from walking away, but he lets me. I weave my way through the crowd, leaving through the door and appearing in the dark alley. Looking to my right, the same man from the club leans against the wall with a lit cigar in hand. Smoke billows from his lips as I walk toward him, in slow strides.

“You’re here again.” He takes a drag from the cigar and puffs out smoke. The gesture reminds me of Vincent, and an intense discomfort knots in my stomach.

“Yeah. Start by telling me your name?”

“Come here.”

“Your name first.” I smile, chuckling awkwardly.

He leans off the wall, throws the cigar down on the ashen floor, and stomps it with his boot. He walks closer, erasing the gap between us. His hand rests around my waist, and he pulls me in. “You’re coming home with me tonight?”

“That’s how you ask.” I scoff and roll my eyes.

He exchanges our position and backs me against the wall. My eyes snap to the green dumpster opposite us. I swallow hard, mouth slightly agape, as he redirects my gaze to him. My chest heaves for air, and I clench my throat as I try to focus on what’s happening in the moment. But my mind is all over the place, and my skin burns with a mix of anxiety and discomfort.

“Stop… stop. Stop.” The words stumble out of my mouth, but he holds me against the wall. “Stop. I don’t want to do this anymore.” I try to shove him off me, but he holds me still, eyes going a shade darker. My shoulders tighten, and I blink rapidly at him.

That’s when a large hand grips the other man and shoves him against the wall beside me.

It’s Saint. Of course, it’s him.

“When someone tells you to stop,” his veins strain against his arm; he pulls out a pocketknife and flicks it open. I step aside, watching as he shoves the man’s head into the concrete twice. The collision sends a shiver through me. Saint slips his hand into the man’s mouth and holds his tongue.

Saint cuts off his tongue so precisely, blood leaking over the silver steel of the blade. A tortured, muffled scream rips through the man’s throat. He tosses his tongue aside and shoves the man to the ground.

The man coughs, blood splattering all over the dark concrete floor as he crawls on his knees. “Run along, rat!” He spits on the man. He pulls out a white handkerchief, cleaning the knife carefully.

My heart pounds against my ears, skin crawling with a plethora of emotions. “What… what did you do?” My voice quivers.

“I saved you.”

“I don’t need your saving,” I yell through the quick breath straining through my lungs. “You know, if you hadn’t done whatever it is you did on the dance floor. None of this would have happened.”

“Oh, it would have.” He puts the knife into his pocket and strides toward the back entrance. Anger burns hot in my veins, and I stomp toward him, cutting him off before he gets into the club.

“I am still speaking to you!”

“Do you do this with everyone who helps you out?” He looks at me, expression conveying nothing. I hate when he does that.

“Help me out? How the fuck have you helped me, Saint? What is wrong with you? You won’t let me close to you. You won’t even let someone close to me.” This is supposed to be a job. Not something real. It’s not real, but everything about him makes my blood boil.

He doesn’t answer me.

Instead, he looks at me, jaw hardening, brown eyes darkening with skepticism. “Because he’s bad for you. They all are.”

“And you are good for me?” I point to his chest. Before I can speak, he grabs me and shoves me against the wall beside the entrance.

“Don’t ever put your hands on me.” He growls. My eyes drop to the bloodstain on his collar, and all the memories flood in.

The docks.

The suite.

Here.