49. Saint #2
“Okay…” she responds, with a lot less coherence than she had seconds ago. “I don’t need to hear anything else.”
“I love the fucking shit out of you, baby. I need you to know that…in case I don’t walk out of here with you.”
“Walking…where?” is all Hendrix responds before her head gives out again.
“Jimi!” I work my wrists even harder. “Jimi! Wake the fuck up!”
Nothing.
A roar bursts from my chest so loud the big shirtless motherfucker Boris swings open the door.
He glares at me, then at Hendrix, but when he takes in her unconscious body, his expression turns into a deadly shade of black.
One that I happen to know all too well.
I’m thrashing like a beast again in the seat as he strides over to her, picking up a hammer and pliers.
“I must say…your princess girlfriend has some really beautiful breasts.” He stops in front of Hendrix, rubbing one of her nipples with the tip of the pliers.
“Touch her, motherfucker, and you’ll be signing your death warrant.”
Boris laughs, then squeezes one of Hendrix’s nipples between the jaws of the pliers, making her cry out in agony.
A raging storm crashes through me in waves so violent, I manage to crack one of the legs on the wooden chair mid thrash.
“I’m gonna fucking kill you!” I seethe. “I’m gonna rip out your heart and feed it to your master raw.”
Boris pays me no mind as he releases Hendrix’s nipple, leaving her crying and panting as he circles around to her back. “Such a beautiful ass too. Imagine all the fun I can have with it.” He spins the hammer around his fingers. “So…much…fun.”
As discreetly as my punching heart will allow, I continue loosening rope behind me, feeling relief from the first signs of my wrist sliding through.
That is, until Boris spreads Hendrix’s ass cheeks wide.
“Oh, boy.” He tsks. “Seems somebody already got to her little asshole.”
Blood sloshes violently in my ears as I remember what I did to Hendrix less than twenty-four hours ago. How swollen and uncomfortable she’s been since.
Self-hatred rears its ugly head, but I swallow that shit down fast, needing to focus on getting this motherfucker’s attention on me before he does the worst of the worst to Hendrix.
And from the looks of where the hammer is pressing he isn’t far off.
“Saint…” Hendrix winces and jerks her body. “Look away. Now.”
Yeah, right.
I’d let this motherfucker kill me before I let her suffer alone.
“Stay with me, baby, okay? Pretend we’re in our own little world.”
Hendrix nods, squeezing her eyes shut, and I shoot a glance at Boris, who thank fuck is back to examining Hendrix’s ass with the back of the hammer.
Along with loosening the bindings, I use this time to siphon through what I remember reading about him through the Ivanov files, knowing the only way to make guys like him and me tick is through something personal.
Or better yet, someone.
Just like that, a memory hits. Specifically of a quiet blonde who attended Riverside for less than a year.
“Oh, shit!” I cackle, throwing my head back. “Now I remember why you look familiar.”
Boris’ hand freezes. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Anna, right? That’s your daughter’s name?”
“What do you know about my daughter?” he asks, eyes narrowed to slits.
“She went to Riverside last year, duh.”
“Not for a long time.”
“Not a short enough time either.” I tilt my head suggestively. “In fact, I remember her really well. Five foot nothing, blonde, quiet. Such a cute, innocent face.”
“You shut your filthy mouth.”
“Should’ve told her the same, Boris my man, since it didn’t take long after I fucked your precious Anna’s virgin cunt for her to start swallowing my cock like a pro.”
He launches the hammer, I’m sure intended for my head, but because his aim sucks it hits me in the chest instead.
Hurts like a bitch, though, I’ll give him that.
“She bled a lot too.” I blow out a tense breath. “Poor thing should’ve chosen a smaller dick to open her up.”
Just as expected, my plan works, and Boris is storming over to me with fire dancing in his eyes, allowing me to breathe deeper the farther he gets from Hendrix.
With a grin plastered to my face, I make sure to inspect the state of my wrists before he reaches me. Which are loosened even more thanks to whoever did a shitty job tying the knot.
Let’s. Fucking. Go. You piece of shit.
Boris wastes no time punching me in the face, making blood, along with a tooth, fly from my mouth, and my chest heaves with the thrill of pain.
I smile red at him. “Do you know how rough your little girl liked taking my cock? Fuck…I remember it like yesterday.”
Another swing to my face, and it’s like electricity shooting through me.
“Stop!” Hendrix screams, but Boris and I are too busy.
“I mean…you should really be thanking me, Boris. Your little girl’s pussy was so torn up by the time I was done with her, I wouldn’t be surprised if it no longer works.”
He grips my chin, and slams his forehead into mine, causing shit to rattle inside my brain. Unfortunately for Boris, all it does is fuel the electric storm brewing inside it.
“Guess that’s a no on gratitude.”
“I heard stuff about you too, Saint Lavell, something about being a quarterback?”
“Not just a quarterback, Boris. The best one The Royals have seen in over twenty five years.”
“Is that so?”
“Saint, shut the fuck up!” Hendrix yells, no doubt assuming what’s going through Boris’ mind as much as mine.
Sorry, baby, but I’m on a mission.
“ Super so . In fact, I had the coach from Vanguard show up to my championship game to congratulate me back in December.”
He picks up the hammer at my feet. “Then it would be such a shame for me to break your throwing arm.”
“Such a shame.” I frown, then smile bloody at him again. “But at least I didn’t tell you it’s my right one.”
“Saint! Please! Stop!” Hendrix tries once more, but it’ll be a cold day in Hell before I risk this sick fuck returning his fury on her.
Boris shifts to my right side, lifting the hammer, and I don’t even bother preparing for the blow I know is coming. I keep my eyes deadlocked on his, welcoming the pain, the broken bones, the blood, the anything as long as it buys me time to get my little Jimi Hendrix out of this basement.
The hammer crashes into my shoulder, and I hear the crunch of bone before I feel it. But when I do feel it, stars blind my vision, and hot pain radiates through me like a blast of fire.
I swallow that shit down, along with the scream clawing its way up my throat when he does it again—and boy, oh boy, does my lack of response piss off Mr. Boris over here.
So much he gets sloppy and forgets to make sure my hands are still tied when he leans into my face.
Breathing a rancid stench of fish and cigarettes, Boris grinds out, “I’m going to have a good time killing you, Saint Lavell. Slowly, limb by limb until you cry out for your little princess here to save you. But she won’t be able to save you…you want to know why?”
“I’m on the edge of my seat waiting.”
“Because before I kill you, I’m going to make sure you watch me fuck, stab, and shoot every inch of her body until she’s strung up like a lifeless piece of meat in a freezer.
” He grins ear to filthy ear. “And then, only after she’s bled out completely in front of you, will I offer you a slow death. ”
I grin right back as the corridors of my mind appear before me, finding them no longer a pristine white, instead, a mix of blue and black. They contract, expand, crack, but instead of them closing in, I’m being drawn to the darkness where I can feel him waiting.
It’s been a while since I’ve felt his presence, allowed him to take over, but right now there’s nothing I want more than to let Vicious, whether real or fake, consume me whole. Use me to unleash havoc and destruction on this motherfucker who dared to breathe near, let alone hurt the woman I love.
Or better yet, to work together side by side.
“Damn, Boris. That’s an impressive monster you got in there.” I gesture for him to come closer, and when he does, I grit out, “Ready to see mine?”