Page 69 of Taint My Soul

“Are you with me?” Saint’s voice breaks through my thoughts.

“Yes.” Another tear slides down my cheek.

“We’ll get out of here.” He says, and I nod with a hopeless smile.

Getting out of here means that I have to face the consequences of sending those pictures to Vincent. If they weren’t useful enough, he’d take out his wrath on me. Maybe this is my end. Maybe I don’t deserve to leave this cell. Maybe Cyrus should take out his twenty-year need for vengeance on me.

It’s better than handing me over to that monster again.

It’s better than ending up with a bullet in my skull.

After all, he bought me at the auction. He’s working with Vincent Bishop. And according to Saint’s words, he was the Gravedigger, so perhaps he should dig my grave.

If it was time for my death, hell, I’ll give him a hand, I’ll cut my wrist just to make it easy for him.

“Do you really hate the way you feel about me?” The words slips out of me. For some reason, I wanted to know the truth. If I die here, I wanted to know if this man truly felt something for a man like me.

Saint doesn’t answer me, though.

I cock my head, gaze landing on him. He’s not even looking at me. He’s staring at the lifeless bulb hanging from the ceiling. As if he’s the only person that exists in this moment.

“I can’t face what I feel for you. It’s wrong. It will get you killed.” Pain shatters through his wretched voice. Every heartbreaking bit.

God, even though I have never met his father, I fucking hate him. For doing this to him. For teaching him that emotions were wrong. For making him believe that the only way to be strong is to be emotionless.

Emotion saved me that night.

Fear. Anger. The will to live.

It saved me. If I wasn’t terrified of my uncle, I wouldn’t have wanted to escape. If I weren’t as angry as I was that night, I wouldn’t have found the strength to fight back.

Memories surface uninvited. I remember every single moment like it was yesterday. I remember how terrified I was when I ran into that clinic with a knife in my stomach. Crippled by fear. Not because I was dying, but because I thought I may have killed him. Because the rage I felt blinded me, and my actions could have put me behind bars for the rest of my life.

Worse, I had become a monster like him.

That rage shattered every single bone in my body and made me a fucking weapon for its violent flames.

And I hated it.

I hated that anger.

I hated that monster.

I still do.

The click of the lock sends a jolt through my entire body. My heart stumbles as I take in the three hefty men stalking into the dim space. It feels like the night I was walking home all over again. I brace myself for another round of torture, but it’s not me they’re after.

One of them looms over Saint, lifting his booth and slamming it into his face. As blood splatters out of Saint’s lips, something in me curls with a sudden protectiveness I have never felt for another person my whole life. My fingers clench and unclench as I watch the horrifying choke of blood breaking from his lips. The look of hopelessness in his eyes when he looks at me. “I’ll be fine, little devil. I’ve been through worse.” He chuckles just as the same man slams his boot on his face again. His eyes go black, and my breathing triples as I stretch my hand to him, touching him one more time.

If he doesn’t make it back, then this is it for me. If Cyrus ends up killing him, then I’m a goner.

I’m terrified.

A part of me also welcomes the idea of death with open arms. Excited for it even. But what falls over my skin like pinpricks of tiny steel needles is the sight of the three unknown men dragging Saint’s limp body away.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

SAINT