Bad Saint (All The Pretty Things Trilogy Volume 1)

By Monica James

I was kidnapped on my honeymoon by three masked men.

Blindfolded.
Bound.
Destination unknown.

I was told to stay silent and abide by their rules. But they didn’t realize I wasn’t a victim...not anymore.

The open sea was my backdrop for nine torturous days. During that time, glimmers of my fate were revealed by a man with the mysterious chartreuse-colored eyes. He should have scared me, but he didn’t.

He intrigued me. And I intrigued him.

He punished me when I didn’t listen, which was every single day. But beneath his cruelty, I sensed he was guarding a grave secret.

I was sold.
And in a game of poker, no less.

My buyer? A Russian mobster who likes to collect pretty things. Now that I know the truth, I only have one choice.

Sink or swim.

And when one fateful night presents me the opportunity, I take it. I just never anticipated my actions would leave me shipwrecked with my kidnapper.

He needs me alive. I want him dead.

But as days turn into weeks, one thing becomes clear—I should hate him...but I don’t.

My name is Willow.
His name is Saint.

Ironic, isn’t it? He bears a name that denotes nothing but holiness yet delivers nothing but hell. However, if this is hell on earth...God, save my soul.

**BAD SAINT is a DARK ROMANCE containing mature themes that might make some readers uncomfortable. It includes: kidnapping, captivity, strong violence, mild language, and some dark and disturbing scenes.
This twisted tale is not intended for the fainthearted. So, if you’re game...welcome to the madness.

"Sinful and compelling, Bad Saint takes you on a darkly romantic, emotionally tense ride that will leave you aching for more” - New York Times bestselling author Elle Kennedy

"Shipwrecked on a deserted island with a beautiful, tortured villain? Sign me up!" - K.A. Tucker, USA Today Bestselling Author of Ten Tiny Breaths

“Bad Saint is a dark and emotional romance that you are sure to love." NYT & USA Bestselling Author - Kylie Scott

• Language: English
• Publisher: Monica James
• Release date: May 6, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463329047

Monica James

Monica James spent her youth devouring the works of Anne Rice, William Shakespeare, and Emily Dickinson. When she is not writing, Monica is busy running her own business, but she always finds a balance between the two. She enjoys writing honest, heartfelt, and turbulent stories, hoping to leave an imprint on her readers. She draws her inspiration from life. She is a bestselling author in the U.S., Australia, Canada, and the U.K. Monica James resides in Melbourne, Australia, with her wonderful family, and menagerie of animals. She is slightly obsessed with cats, chucks, and lip gloss, and secretly wishes she was a ninja on the weekends.

Book preview

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyrighted Material

Other Books By Monica James

Author’s Note

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Acknowledgements

About the Author

Connect with Monica James

Copyrighted Material

BAD SAINT

(All The Pretty Things Trilogy, Volume One)

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons living or dead, is coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners and are used only for reference.

Copyright © 2019 by Monica James

All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any printed or electronic form without the express, written consent of the author.

Cover Design: Perfect Pear Creative Covers

Editing: Editing 4 Indies

Interior designed and formatted by:

www.emtippettsbookdesigns.com

Follow me on:

monicajamesbooks.blogspot.com.au

THE I SURRENDER SERIES

I Surrender

Surrender to Me

Surrendered

White

SOMETHING LIKE NORMAL SERIES

Something like Normal

Something like Redemption

Something like Love

A HARD LOVE ROMANCE

Dirty Dix

Wicked Dix

The Hunt

MEMORIES FROM YESTERDAY

Forgetting You, Forgetting Me

Forgetting You, Remembering Me

SINS OF THE HEART

Absinthe of the Heart

Defiance of the Heart

ALL THE PRETTY THINGS TRILOGY

Bad Saint

STANDALONE

Mr. Write

CONTENT WARNING: BAD SAINT is Volume One in a Trilogy. The following book in the series will release shortly after the first. This is a continuing story, therefore, not all questions will be answered in Volume One.

BAD SAINT is a DARK ROMANCE containing mature themes that might make some readers uncomfortable. It includes: kidnapping, captivity, strong violence, mild language, and some dark and disturbing scenes.

This twisted tale is not intended for the fainthearted. So, if you’re game…welcome to the madness.

God save your soul.

I don’t want to do this, but what choice do I have? She is relying on me to save her…and I won’t fail her again. I can’t.

Day 1

DON’T DROP ME.

I wouldn’t dream of it…wife.

Say it again.

Wife…wife…wife. Squealing like a love-struck teenager, I kick my legs high in the air as my husband of two days carries me over the threshold.

This ritual holds much significance, and to most, it’s probably absurd, but to me, it’s absolutely perfect because I just married the most wonderful man. Never in my wildest dreams did I ever think little ole me, Willow Shaw, would marry millionaire Drew Gibbs.

But the thing about Drew is that he doesn’t flash his wealth. He doesn’t drive an expensive car, nor does he deck himself out in designer threads and flashy gold. He is humble and kind, and when we first locked eyes across that runway, I knew I was done for.

Welcome home, babe, he says with his boyish, playful charm. Well, our home away from home for the next two weeks.

Still reeling from the fact I’m on my honeymoon, I gape around in awe at our secluded villa in one of the less populated areas of the Greek Islands. Our wedding at Los Angeles’s City Hall was a quick affair, which seems to be the theme for my entire relationship with Drew.

Call me crazy because it’s not like I haven’t heard it before, but Drew and I met six weeks ago while I was modeling for a local designer in LA. When I stepped out onto that runway and saw Drew sitting in the front row, I just knew our paths had crossed for a reason.

After the show, all the girls were gossiping about a tall, dark, and handsome millionaire, but when that stranger came my way, they could see he only had eyes for me. He asked me out for a drink, and the rest is history.

We spent every waking minute together getting to know one another, and by week two, I was in love. I know what you’re thinking, but with a past like mine, you come to learn that time is precious, and when the heavens present you with a gift, you take it.

I was born and bred in a small town in Texas. My father was the local Baptist pastor, and our family was well respected in our community. My parents were high school sweethearts, and together, they shined. But when fate intervened and took my dad away when I was twelve, my mother’s light faded.

Dad died of a heart attack. There was nothing the hospital could do. But my mom saw my father’s death as a betrayal from the big guy upstairs. She had put her faith in God her whole life, and in return, He took away the love of her life.

My mother changed, turning her back on the church and her friends. Liquor became her new salvation and so did seeking solace in the random men she would bring home late at night from whatever bar she frequented.

I had no one to talk to. I was an only child, and my grandparents lived out of state. The woman passed out on the recliner with a bottle of whiskey dangling from her limp fingers as she mumbled my father’s name was someone I no longer recognized.

When I turned thirteen, I began to develop in ways I didn’t understand, and things just got worse. As I came from a strict, religious family, my parents never explained what happened when your body changed. I grew tall, lost the baby fat, and my breasts doubled in size.

I hated it because I was no longer daddy’s little girl.

Girls at school picked on me, calling me a slut, while the boys suddenly showed interest, wondering if my nickname of Satan’s Whore was, in fact, true. All in all, I was miserable. And the only person I could talk to seemed to hate the sight of me.

I was the spitting image of my father, a fact my mom once loved, but now, it was a reminder of everything she had lost.

I kept to myself, hoping things would change, and they did when I was fifteen—when my mom moved her new boyfriend, Kenny, into our home. I didn’t know what miserable was until I met Kenny Smith.

My mom and I barely spoke as she was too strung out to even notice I was there half the time, but when Kenny arrived, it was like she wanted to have the perfect family once again. But what she didn’t know was that Kenny was a predator, a monster lurking in the dark.

At first, he was nice and attentive, showing a real interest in me. But my mother’s nightly ritual of going to bed early drugged up on sleeping pills and liquor made his true colors shine. It started out as innocent touching— an accidental bump of my breasts or passing by me too close—but when he came into my bedroom late one night and sat at the foot of my bed, I now know those accidents weren’t accidents at all. He was grooming me.

When he questioned if I’d ever kissed a boy before, I told him no. He then asked if I would like to kiss him. Kenny was forty-two. I was fifteen and a half. I didn’t understand what he meant, so I leaned over and kissed his cheek. But when he turned his head, and I felt his thick, rubbery lips under mine, I soon realized he wanted more.

I begged him to leave, that I would tell my mom, but he simply laughed. I would never forget that haunting laughter. He said she’d never believe a cock tease like me. And deep down, I knew he was right. So I didn’t say anything. I stayed as quiet as a mouse.

After that night when Kenny kissed me, I decided to get a job, working the graveyard shift at a local diner. The pay was good, and it also meant I didn’t have to worry about Kenny coming into my room at night.

Working at Lea’s Diner was one of the fondest memories I had as a kid. That, and of course my father, but he soon became a distant memory, slowly disappearing as I watched my mother deteriorate before my eyes.

Life was good, well, as good as life could be for a misfit like me. My mom seemed happy I was out of her hair as she had Kenny all to herself, but late one night, everything changed forever.

It was just after two a.m., and I’d finished work a little early. Lea, who I knew from church, usually let me crash for a few hours at her house, which was just behind the diner, until I went to school. But that night, she had to close up late, so I rode my bike home.

I remembered the feeling of tiptoeing through the back door and holding my breath just like it was yesterday, but it was in vain because sitting in my daddy’s chair was Kenny. His round belly was poking out of his white tank, sporting a stain down the front from where the whiskey missed his mouth.

When we locked eyes, I knew it. I knew what he wanted. What I’d been avoiding since the night he came into my room. I ran, but he was faster, trapping me under him as he pinned me to the living room floor. His whiskey-soaked breath promised to make me feel real good.

I was so scared I couldn’t move. My chest was pressed into the carpet with Kenny’s heavy weight on top of me, and I couldn’t breathe. And when I felt his disgusting erection dig into my back, I knew my nickname would soon come true.

One hand was down my pants, reaching around the front. The other hand was over my mouth so I wouldn’t scream. He bit me on the side of the neck just how a predator would with its prey. He forced my cheek to the carpet, the rough fibers rubbing my skin raw. I squeezed my eyes shut.

I thought of Daddy. Of how he told me to pray when I was scared…so I did.

I prayed that this wasn’t happening. That Kenny wasn’t unzipping his pants and telling me to be a good little girl. I prayed that my mom would come back to me as the loving mother she once was. I prayed for a miracle and prayed that this vile man wasn’t seconds away from raping me, but when I heard a guttural scream and my mother telling me what a dirty slut I was for seducing my stepfather, I knew I would never pray again.

My mom kicked me out—I was a harlot, a whore—and with nowhere else to go, I went to Lea’s. My only friend. She never married and didn’t have any kids, so she treated me like her own. When I told her what had happened, she insisted we go to the police, but I didn’t want to. I just wanted to leave. The day my father died was the day this place did too.

Lea lent me some money, and I hopped on a flight to LA where my grandparents lived. They missed my father terribly and had tried to reach out, but my mother had forbidden them to contact me. I just thought they didn’t care.

So I finished school and got a job waiting tables at a local restaurant, which was where I met Raffaella Mercino. She owned Models Inc., the hottest modeling agency in all of LA, and when she asked if I had ever modeled, I laughed in response.

Mom told me I used my looks for evil, but Raffaella showed me I could now use my looks for good.

I don’t think I’m anything special, but to this day, Raffaella tells me I’m one of the prettiest girls she has working for her. She said that’s because I have an innocent look about me, and all men want to break a good girl. Her analogy is disgusting and sexist, but hey, she seemed to be right because, in six short months, I was one of the most sought-after models.

I’m now twenty-five, but I suppose my looks haven’t changed all that much. My long, golden brown hair is naturally wavy. The California sun has brought out the blonde tones, which complement the deep blue of my almond-shaped eyes.

My upturned nose gives my look an air of arrogance, and my lips are full and pouty. Many of the girls I work with are certain I’ve had a surgical date with Dr. Hollywood, but they’re mistaken.

My boobs are bigger than most standard models, and so are my curves. I have an ass and muscular thighs and am proud of it. The yoga exercises I do religiously and the fact I run five miles a day keep my stomach toned. At five foot six, I’m short for a model, but I make up for that with the personality I bring to the runway. I suppose I’m not your typical model. I eat whatever I want, and I’m not afraid to speak my mind. I know that’s awfully judgmental, but I’ve been ostracized for being different by my peers. They’re the ones who told me I was weird for eating carbs without any regrets.

My childhood taught me you can be a victim or a fighter, and after what Kenny did to me, I refuse to be a victim again. I worked hard, made a name for myself, and focused solely on my career. So when I met Drew, you can imagine my surprise because now, it wasn’t only me.

Because of what happened in my childhood, I am still a virgin, though I’ve kissed a couple of guys and fooled around. I no longer consider myself religious, but I wanted to abide by that one rule of no sex before marriage. It was one my father firmly believed in, so it’s one thing from my childhood I’m happy to embrace in adulthood.

But tonight, everything changes because now, I’m a married woman.

Drew kisses the tip of my nose, carrying me through the villa. When we reach the master bedroom, he arches a golden brow. Like it? he whispers while I nod eagerly.

I love it, I correct, my gaze drifting to the king-size bed draped in crisp white linens.

Drew knows I’m a virgin, but he’s a gentleman, and he hasn’t pushed me. He respects my beliefs to wait until marriage. I would even go so far as to say he embraces it. However, I’m not stupid, and I know he’s not a saint. With his baby blues and golden hair, he doesn’t lack female attention.

With money and good looks, he could have any woman he wanted, but he chose me. So it seems fitting I start this new chapter of my life with a man who chooses me—flaws and all. On the outside, people see me as beautiful, successful, and fierce, but on the inside, I’m still looking for my place to belong. Which is why I said yes when Drew proposed—I finally found my place.

My friends told me I was crazy because I barely knew anything about him, but when you know, you know, and life is short. I don’t intend to waste a second of it.

You can put me down. I giggle, not sure why he’s still carrying me.

We left Los Angeles right after the wedding and flew to Greece. Drew was very secretive about where we were going, and now, I can see why. There is no way to describe this place.

It’s isolated, away from prying eyes. When we rode our boat in, I didn’t see a soul for miles. The beachfront is our private beach and isn’t used by anyone. No one can hear me scream.

When Drew’s bowed lips tip into a mischievous grin, it’s evident that’s exactly what he intended. Okay. He feigns a sigh, placing my bare feet on the plush carpet. But only because I’m going to take a shower. Can I get you anything?

I shake my head, still reeling that this is my life.

Okay, babe, love you. I won’t be long. Why don’t you go downstairs and wait for me on the terrace? The view is something else.

That sounds amazing. I love you…husband.

Drew draws in a victorious breath. And I love you, wife. I will never tire of that title.

We kiss gently, a promise of what’s to come.

Drew grabs a few things and makes his way into the bathroom. When he shuts the door, I exhale because this is really happening. I can’t believe I am here, on my honeymoon, with the man of my dreams.

Deciding to follow Drew’s suggestion, I make my way downstairs, marveling at the high glass windows, which provide breathtaking 360-degree views of the full moon illuminating the rippling ocean. I’ve been lucky enough to go to Milan and Paris for fashion shows, but this is something else.

It’s so quiet.

The carpet feels like heaven beneath my bare feet, and when I see my reflection in the double terrace doors, I stop and take a moment to absorb it all. My hair is down and windswept from the boat ride we took to get here. My cheeks are flushed, and that’s not because I’m wearing makeup as I’m hardly wearing any at all.

I’m happy.

My eyes sparkle, and a permanent smile is affixed to my lips. I look giddy, but I suppose I am. My simple white cotton summer dress may not be glitz and glamour, but it’s me. When I’m not modeling clothes, I’m usually in jeans or a casual dress. My face and body may be plastered on billboards and magazines, but at heart, I’m still the innocent Texas girl who likes to wear her cowboy boots and prefers the country to the city.

My beautiful diamond puts any star-kissed night to shame and shines brightly as I place my hand in front of me, wiggling my finger. This cements my commitment, and I don’t ever intend to take it off.

Walking out onto the terrace, I inhale deeply and sigh. I tilt my head back and peer into the star-filled heavens. I like to think my father is looking down on me and is proud of everything I’ve accomplished. Instinctively, I reach for the small silver cross around my neck. My father gave it to me as a gift many years ago, and I haven’t removed it since.

I have no idea what happened to my mother or Kenny. I lost all contact when I moved.

Drew knows everything. The first thing I wanted to do was tell him about my not so perfect past. He wrapped me in his arms and told me he was my family now. The fact my childhood was so shitty seemed to encourage Drew to speed up the marriage. He knows he’s the only family I have as my grandparents passed years ago.

I suppose you could say I’m a loner. I don’t really have any close friends, merely acquaintances. If I were to disappear…the only person who would truly miss me is Drew—my husband and the man I trust with my life.

An electric charge suddenly fills the air. I don’t hear it until I feel it, which, in most cases, is too late. Don’t move and you won’t get hurt.

Those words out here in paradise sound so wrong, as nothing but tranquility surrounds us, but when I feel something cold and hard shoved into the small of my back, that serenity soon shatters.

Wha—

"I said don’t move," says someone with a thick, cruel Russian accent. My fingers dig into the railing, afraid if I don’t hold onto something, my knees will give out from under me.

Another voice sounds behind me. I can’t understand what they’re saying, but they’re definitely speaking Russian. They seem to be arguing.

My eyes dart from left to right as my fight or flight kicks into full swing. I can jump from this terrace and land on the sand. It’s not high. Worst-case scenario—I’ll end up with a sprained ankle. Better than the alternative of ending up dead.

I dare not look behind me as my hearing is all I need. Whoever is behind me is still arguing, which will give me the opportunity to jump from the terrace and call for help. Adrenaline soars through my veins, and I can taste it at the back of my throat. Just as I boost myself up, about to spring for safety, a warm hand grips my bicep, dragging me back.

Now where do you think you’re going? His hoarse, honeyed breath bathes the back of my neck, and I know he’s close. When his chest presses against my back, I’m hit with a combination of smells—spicy, sweet, and floral.

Please let me go, I whimper, attempting to feign innocence. I hope he falls for it because then I’m going to fight with all my might.

He doesn’t.

You’re coming with us. Move. He’s American.

My hu-husband is upstairs, I plead. Shrugging from his hold, I keep my gaze forward because if I don’t see him, he won’t have to kill me.

That’s nice for your husband, he quips while I feel the walls beginning to close in on me. Now move. He tugs at my right arm without any real force, but another hand rips at my left, almost tearing my shoulder from my socket.

Tears of pain sting my eyes as I feel like I’m being torn apart by a savage dog. Put this on! Russian number one shouts. Bitch, I said put it on!

My fight gives way to flight because I am suddenly scared.

No, please, no, I beg, but when I’m spun around and forced to face all three of them, I know this isn’t optional.

My brain can’t seem to process what’s going on because standing before me in paradise are three men in ski masks. This place is not meant for such a sight, but they don’t seem to appreciate the beauty. One steps forward and slaps me so hard across the cheek, I taste blood. This can’t be happening.

Won’t ask again, he snarls as he attempts to shove a gag into my mouth, and I know the thick black pillowcase hanging from his hand will be next.

Memories of Kenny shoving me into the carpet and my air being siphoned off by his large hand smash into me, and I sway, instantly gripping the first solid thing I can find, which just happens to be the hulking bicep of one of my captors.

The warmth through his long-sleeved T-shirt burns me. Slowly peering up, I lock eyes with him and am confronted with an unusual shade of green with swirls of warm amber. The color of his eyes are akin to a bottle of chartreuse. Out here in the pitch black, they glow…like a predator.

The thought has me quickly severing our connection.

The Russians are losing patience with me because when I don’t bend to their demands, another attempt is made to shove a white cloth into my mouth.

Please, don’t gag me, I say. Holding my hands up in surrender, I hope they see reason. They don’t.

Just as Russian number two rears back to pistol-whip me, the American’s arm shoots out in lightning-quick speed and grips his wrist in warning. I have no idea why he just saved me, but that doesn’t matter because Drew suddenly appears.

What the fuck? he curses as he frantically attempts to make sense of what he’s seeing. Who are you?

Drew, run! I scream, lunging forward, but the move is my last as I’m slapped once again. I stagger backward, gasping for air and cradling my cheek, but I still manage to slur, Run.

Drew rushes forward, but he doesn’t stand a chance when the American advances and slams his fist into Drew’s jaw. Drew stumbles backward, dazed and confused. The American doesn’t show him any mercy as he pushes him onto the floor and commences to beat the hell out of him.

He drops to one knee and pins Drew by his shoulder as he raises his fist over and over again. I scream, begging for mercy for my husband, but there is none. The American towers over Drew, and even though he’s donned in head-to-toe black, it’s evident he’s in good shape.

Drew doesn’t stand a chance.

Although tears cloud my vision, I still attempt to save Drew, but Russian number two is sick of my disobedience. He raises his gun, and this time, he pistol-whips me. The world spins on its axis before I hit the deck.

I’m floating in and out of consciousness, but I’m certain I see Drew’s lips move. I can’t make out what he’s saying, though. The American punches him one last time before spitting on him. This seems personal. But what do I know because I’m suddenly losing consciousness.

My eyes flicker shut, but with what little strength I have left, I extend my arm out to Drew. He’s feet away, wheezing. Dreeww. It comes out slurred, but I need him to know I’m here.

It’s too late.

Although my lack of strength leaves me floppy like a rag doll, one of the Russians jerks me up and shoves the white gag into my mouth. When he attempts to shove the pillowcase onto my head, I kick out, squealing muted screams, but my body is limp.

You’re going to be a good little girl, aren’t you, Willow? Let me fuck that tight virgin pussy. You’re gonna come for Daddy.

Tears leak from my eyes, mixing with the blood gushing from my temple as the horrible memory, one which I haven’t allowed into my world, floods me, and I can’t breathe. I gasp for air, but the harder I try, the more difficult it becomes, and soon, I’m hyperventilating.

I’m preparing myself for another strike, but I don’t get one. Instead, the American brushes the bloody, matted hair from my cheeks. I try to fight, but my depleted body fails me.

Trust me. Just put it on. Trust him? Is he fucking serious? He’s asking me to trust him when I just witnessed him beat my husband into a bloody mess.

But what choice do I have? Clearly, this is happening whether I cooperate or not, so I surrender. Just as I did with Kenny, I grow lax and allow him to win.

"Good, ангел."

I have no idea what he just called me, but it didn’t sound insulting. It sounded almost…thankful.

He nods, indicating he’s putting the pillowcase on, and all I can do is comply. However, when Drew moans, twisting and turning and still very much alert, I see something in his white bathrobe pocket, but I must be hallucinating as there is surely some mistake.

Before I can question myself, the world turns black, and I am engulfed in my own personal hell. The pillowcase and gag are certain to kill me soon, and if not, my racing heart will give out in next to no time. Arms link through mine from behind and help me stand. I know it’s the American. His fragrance gives him away. I stand wearily, but I will stagger to my death before anyone carries me.

Drew is groaning, but when I hear those pained sounds floating farther and farther away, I know we’re going to wherever my captors intend on taking me.

Ten steps, the American whispers from behind me. I flinch at his muffled voice through the pillowcase. He stands at my back, ensuring I don’t fall. I could mistake his actions for him giving half a shit, but it’s clear that wherever I’m going, they need me alive. If not, they would have killed me already.

This isn’t a robbery. It’s a kidnapping.

Once I shakily descend the ten steps, my feet hit the sand, and in any other circumstance, I could appreciate the softness between my toes. But when I’m pushed and shoved as the American no longer seems to be near, all I can appreciate is that I’m not dead—well, not yet anyway.

Through the pillowcase, I can hear the gentle lapping of the ocean against the shore, but it’s none the wiser that three criminals are about to use it to aid in changing my world forever. When my feet tread water, I jolt with the sudden fear that they’re going to drown me. But that doesn’t make any sense.

If I’m going to survive this, I have to keep my head clear.

Boat. In, says someone, maybe Russian

Reviews for Bad Saint (All The Pretty Things Trilogy Volume 1)

[Victoria Moore · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

This book kept me on edge. The plot was good and I liked how Saint was able to show his good side by the end but Willow’s action in the end is so reckless. Some things Willow felt about Saint were strange. But their feelings towards each other felt real. I liked reading about them surviving on the island. The book finishes on a clip hanger and now I need to read 2 more books to find out what happens. I liked the book but I wish it wasn’t about human trafficking because it made me sad. But I will keep reading anyway