Page 24 of Fallen Saint
“I’m not thirsty,” Saint replies as beads of sweat collect along his brow.
“Come, drink with me. It’s because of you that this is possible. If you hadn’t been the loyal friend you are”—his tone drips with innuendo as he offers Saint his cup—“then my beautiful???????????? wouldn’t have come into my life.”
Aleksei isn’t offering; he’s challenging Saint. He still doesn’t trust him. And this, just like everything else, is a test.
This is really it this time. Aleksei will kill us both. Saint steps forward, knowing he doesn’t have a choice. If he doesn’t drink the vodka, then we’re as good as dead.
But I can’t allow all this to have been for nothing. I refuse to accept this is how my story ends. So without thought, I drop to my knees by Aleksei’s side. My eyes are cast downward, but I know I have his attention.
“Is there something you want?” he asks sweetly while I nod slowly, playing his game. “What is it then?”
“May I have a drink?” I try my hardest to sound submissive and innocent because if this doesn’t work, we’re screwed.
“A????!” Saint scolds, his horror clear. But he soon recovers. “I’ve taught you better than to ask for anything. Donotforget your place.”
This exchange to onlookers would appear he’s reprimanding me for talking out of line, but I know what he’s doing. He’s demanding I don’t do this. But this isn’t his decision. It’s time I saved myself.
“It’s all right, Saint,” Aleksei states. When I feel him pat my head, a piece of my soul is lost forever. “She can have a drink. Here. I offer you my cup.”
Again, he seems like a good Samaritan, offering his very own drink to his slave, but we both know what this is. If I drink from his cup, then his suspicions are wrong. If I don’t, well…There really isn’t any other option.
“Thank you,?????p.” Aleksei hums his approval as I slowly peer up at him from under my lashes and timidly accept the cup from his hands.
I know what this means, but what other choice do I have?
Without reservation, I draw the cup to my lips, and I…drink. The urge to throw it all up overwhelms me, but I swallow it down, as I do with my tears. Aleksei places his fingers under the rim, forcing me to down it all.
I do.
When the cup is empty, I wipe my lips with the back of my hand and wonder how long I have before the drugs hit. Before that happens, however, I whisper, “I don’t like drinking alone,” and pass the cup back to Aleksei. Please, let this work.
It does.
He accepts, and all suspicion vanishes as he reaches for the bottle of vodka off the table. My stomach gurgles as it feels like I’ve just downed acid. Aleksei pours himself a glass and raises the cup in my honor. “You will never drink alone again.”
His words are filled with promise, and when he throws back the vodka, savoring every last drop, I see that he means it. Aleksei has a way of making it seem like I’m here because I want to be. He hasn’t been cruel, as such, but I know this is his way of manipulating people into becoming his pawns.
I risk a glance around the table and notice a few of the men’s eyes slipping to half-mast. Their chins droop to their chests because they can no longer hold up their heads.
Thy drugs are quick.
Thankfully, Aleksei is too preoccupied with patting his new pet to notice.
“Fuck it,” Saint says, cutting through the silence. “Let’s drink. Your success is mine.” I risk a glance at him and see he holds the bottle of vodka with the red label—the non-drugged one.
Aleksei nods, and when his head wobbles slightly, I know the drugs, mixed with the copious amount of alcohol he’s consumed, are kicking in. He raises his bottle to salute Saint, and they both gulp down the vodka. Saint guzzles his, baiting Aleksei to beat him, and he does.
Aleksei consumes the entire bottle, then attempts to slam it onto the table. However, it seems his hand-eye coordination is failing him because he misses the table and the bottle shatters into tiny slivers when it hits the floor. He tries to pinpoint the noise but blinks quickly as though he can’t focus.
“Wh-what d-did you doooo?” he asks in a slur, sagging low into his seat as he tries to grab me. But all he clings on to is air.
The effects of the drugs hit me too as I grip the edge of the table to maintain my balance. I blink once as the world flickers into blurred lines. The world moves in slow motion around me as I peer around the room, noticing the comatose men.
Some are slumped onto the table while most are sound asleep in their chairs or mumbling incoherently as the drugs seep into their system.
I know the drugs have hit them quicker because of all the vodka they’ve had, but I am half their body weight and don’t drink nearly as much as they do, so I know I only have minutes until my fate matches theirs.
“Y-you wi-will pay.” And those are the last words I hope to ever hear from my kidnapper because his head hits the table with a harsh thud. He’s out cold.