Page 41 of Forever My Saint
An exasperated sigh leaves him. “Fine. Where are they?”
I lick my dry lips. “I-I don’t know.”
Alek shakes his head, his cheeks billowing as he exhales.
We continue hauling ass, and when we reach the staircase leading to Oscar’s bedroom, my adrenaline kicks into overdrive. I shrug out of Alek’s arms and take the stairs two at a time. I’m still unsteady and in severe pain, but when I see the door that leads to Oscar’s bedroom, I focus on it and nothing else.
Alek is behind me as I burst through the door, crying in relief when I see Pavel because he is holding up a limp Saint. He’s wearing a pair of black sweats, and that’s all.
“He’s out cold,” he says in a rushed breath, trying not to do further damage to his injured wrist. “Help me, Alek.”
Without hesitation, Alek runs over and loops his arm around Saint’s waist, bearing his weight against him. Saint sways backward, mumbling incoherently. The sight breaks my heart, but I don’t have time to mourn his battered and bruised body because we need to get him the fuck out of here.
“Let’s go!” Pavel yells, turning toward the curtain—our out. He and Alek work in unison, supporting Saint as they drag him through the room.
They are both strong men, but Saint is dead weight, and his bare feet trail along the carpet. I wish I could help, but I would just get in the way.
“What about Ingrid?” We’re running out of time, but I have to at least try.
Pavel shakes his head, indicating this is not an option. But when Alek groans, I know that maybe, just maybe there is hope. “Come here, Willow. Help Pavel. I’ll go to her room, but if she’s not there, we’re leaving. Understood?”
Happiness swarms me, and I nod frantically. “Yes.”
A newfound strength soars through me, and my injuries are forgotten as I run to take Alek’s place at Saint’s side. When the stench of coconuts assaults my sense of smell, I dry retch at first, but then I pull it together.
“Thank you.”
Alek nods, cupping my cheek quickly. The gesture is filled with nothing but affection. “I will meet you at the van. Whatever happens, don’t stop.”
The unspoken lingers as this is dangerous for Alek, but he’s doing it…because I asked him to. My demons roar to the surface, but I will deal with them later.
Lifting Saint’s arm, I loop it around my shoulder and support his waist; it’s not like I haven’t done this before. Pavel and I then begin a slow stagger toward the curtain, each step taking us closer to freedom.
Saint mumbles under his breath, and everything about this tears me into two, but I inhale deeply, demanding my breakdown hit the road—for now. Saint leans into me, soft words in Russian tumbling from his lips.
Pavel suddenly hisses before his composure returns. “It’s okay, brother. We are getting you out of here.” He has understood the muted whispers.
We split the curtain in half and are presented with a winding dark hallway. Pavel has studied the blueprint, so he’s able to navigate through the corridor with ease. Our breaths are heavy as we continue staggering, but when Saint leans into me, I sway to the left, bracing the wall to keep from falling.
“It’s not much farther,” Pavel says, gesturing with his head down the hallway, which is essentially a tunnel.
“It’s fine. Let’s go.” The fact I am dripping with sweat, am splattered in dry blood, and breathing like I have a punctured lung exposes my lie, but we continue, nonetheless.
It feels like forever, but we finally turn a corner and a few feet away are five steps leading up toward a trapdoor. Pavel mentioned this secret passage led into the greenhouse, which is why they were able to get in. By using the ruse of being gardeners, the guards let them in, none the wiser they were being duped.
That doesn’t explain how they were able to pull this off without some detection, but when we stumble up the stairs, maneuvering the best way we can with an unconscious Saint in tow, and the trap door opens, things begin to become clear—too clear however. I haven’t seen the daylight in so many days, I instantly recoil, hissing like a vampire exposed to the sun.
“Hurry up!” Zoey whispers, frantically peering from left to right. “Sara has the van ready.”
My vision is spotted, thanks to the exposure to the natural light, but once it’s clear—and I don’t mean to sound judgy—I can’t help but think she looks like a hooker. Her dress is short, red, and screams honeytrap. I can thank her later.
Pavel mentioned the garage is close by, which gives me hope that maybe, just maybe we will get out of here alive. When we drag Saint up the last step, Zoey’s hardness instantly diminishes, and she covers her mouth.
Out here in the daylight, the full extent of Saint’s injuries shine. He is covered in purple bruises and inflamed red bite marks. There are fresh wounds which seem to have been inflicted with something sharp all over his chest.
Tears prick her eyes. As they do mine. “Oh, Saint.” She soon recovers, though, wiping a stray tear away with the back of her hand.
Turning over my shoulder, I strain my eyes, hoping to see Alek. I know he told me to keep going, but I can’t. “Zoey, take him.”