Cruel Saint: Cruel Desires, #2

Chapter One

Saint

Goddamn, I need my cock in her mouth.

Black hair long enough to wrap around my fist, pale skin that’ll turn a nice shade of red when I own it, and full lips that’ll look sensational sliding up and down my dick.

Yeah, she’ll take the edge off. Back in a bit.

My brother, Sin, and his woman, Temple, don’t hear me over the club music.

Fucking A.

Sin would want to beat the shit out of me if he knew where I was headed. Temple too, since she’s a violent little thing. And I’d dodge their hits every day of the week if it meant I got a taste of the hotter-than-hell woman on the balcony.

Fuck Dad and his bullshit power trip. Fuck the Irish mob and the leash they’re strangling us with. Fuck all of it.

I want her.

I’ll have her.

Then, and only fucking then, will I take those assholes down.

With my eyes glued to her curves, the white dress she’s almost wearing doing sweet fuck all to hide them, I walk up the stairs.

Christ, she’s even more beautiful up close.

My cock twitches. What’s your name?

She turns and scans my body.

That’s right. You want me. Well?

Slowly, she puts her cocktail glass down. That depends on who’s asking.

Jesus.

Her voice is a sucker punch to the gut. Soft, clear, almost gentle. But there’s an edge to it I like. She’s going to sound gorgeous screaming my name.

I get up all in her business. There’s no time for bullshit games. Either she wants my cock or doesn’t. A name, gorgeous.

She inhales. Eden.

Green light. Grabbing her chin and brushing my mouth against hers, I murmur, Say yes, Eden.

What am I saying yes to?

Me. This moment. This moment only. I’ll make you feel better than you’ve ever felt before.

You’re very full of yourself.

I shrug. I’ll make you come hard. Fact.

She tries to hide her shocked smile by looking past me. You mean, here? Now?

Make a decision, gorgeous. I don’t have all night.

Eden bites her bottom lip, and fuck if I don’t want to do it for her.

Releasing it, she murmurs, Okay. But—

Cupping her nape, I angle her head how I like it and kiss the fuck out of her.

Holy. Motherfucking. Fuck.

Eden tastes like candied apples and hot sex.

Wrapping her arms around my neck, she presses her tits into my chest and kisses me back. It’s cute she thinks she can control the pace.

Shoving her against the balcony, I devour her mouth.

She moans.

That’s right, gorgeous. Make some noise for me. I want to claim every inch of her. Skimming one hand down the back of her thigh, I lift her dress and wrap her leg around my waist.

Goddamn.

She fits perfectly.

Whimpering with pleasure, she scores the back of my neck with her nails.

Fuck, yes. Eden can make me bleed for all I care. Hell, I’ll do the same to her. My teeth, hands, and cum will paint her body, showing every sorry fuck who looks her way that I. Was. Here.

For weeks, she’ll remember how I owned her cunt.

Curves.

Mouth.

Her goddamn everything.

I lift the lace of her panties and slide my fingers beneath.

Christ.

Pulling back slightly, I stare at her parted lips. You’re wet for me.

Eden grabs my junk and squeezes. You’re hard for me.

I nearly pass the fuck out.

Thrusting my fingers inside her pussy, I groan as her juices coat me.

She throws her head back on a moan. Yes. Give me more.

Happy to fucking oblige.

I set a ruthless pace, my fingers owning her soaked cunt like my mouth owns her lips. I tease her clit and she shudders, moans, scratches the hell out of me. Since I’m an asshole, I bring her to the brink again and again, never letting her come.

Eden writhes, her tits rubbing against my chest. I need to—

Say my fucking name. That’s what you need to do.

But—

It’s Saint, gorgeous. The name’s Saint.

"Saint."

Her breathy moan crucifies me. Like a savage animal, I own her cunt until she comes so hard, she holds on to me to stay upright.

I’m going to fuck you now.

Face flushed and eyes dazed, Eden blinks. Okay, but not here.

Here, there, don’t give a shit. So long as I’m inside you, it’s all good. I lick her taste off my fingers. Goddamn.

She watches me, glazed as fuck. Straightening her dress, she brushes past, glancing over one shoulder and smiling.

Jesus. My cock’s almost punching through my jeans. Adjusting myself, I follow her down a set of stairs, my eyes glued to her hot ass.

It’s too dark. Too quiet. The whole fucking situation feels wrong.

A hit comes from nowhere.

My head whips back, the sharp pain exploding from my jaw, making my ears ring. My vision is shot to shit as stars appear. I shake it off. The fuck?

Sorry, Saint. Eden’s voice is cold. It was good while it lasted.

Nice one, some dick says. Boss is going to love what we’ve got planned for this worthless piece of shit.

And then it all goes to hell.

Chapter Two

Saint

An uppercut almost knocks me flat on my ass.

Motherfucker.

Righting myself, I blink at the moving shadow, pissed that I can’t see shit. The fuck is your problem, asshole?

The prick laughs. He comes at me again, but this time I’m ready for him. My right hook connects, sending him off-balance. That’s right, jerkoff. There’s plenty more where that came from.

He spits out blood, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Angus, he barks.

On it, a voice behind me says.

Before I can turn around, a bag is thrown over my head. I’m shoved to the ground, winded and disorientated as fuck.

The fuckers go to town on me.

Their punches and kicks are methodical. Kidneys, liver, spine, face. They don’t miss a thing. Assholes know what they’re doing, and they cash in on it with fucking interest.

Every hit rings true.

Every kick hurts like a bitch.

But I’d cut off my own dick before admitting it.

Curled on the floor and knowing there’s no fucking way I can do jack shit, I take everything they throw at me.

I’ll get my own back.

The Family taught me that. It’s one lesson I won’t shove down Dad’s motherfucking throat.

Eventually, they slow and, with a final kick, stop. The bag is wrenched from my head, the faint light from who-the-fuck-knows-where making my skull want to explode.

Someone crouches in front of me. Long time no see, cuz.

With one eye swelled shut and the other cut and bleeding, it’s hard to make him out. But eventually, I do. Storm? The word might as well be gouged from my throat, it’s that fucking painful to speak. It’s why I don’t say, the fuck you doing, man? I’ve never had any beef with you.

He must see my confusion.

Didn’t you hear? The asshole grins. Since you and your gutless twin turned your back on the Family, I’m underboss now. You never should have left, cuz. It was a dick move. He stands so I can’t see shit except his feet. Boss wants me to give you a message.

Dad can go fuck himself.

Storm smashes his boot into the side of my head.

Sharp pain explodes from my temple, and I black the hell out.

Chapter Three

Eden

Kneeling before Saint, I take in his broken and bruised face. His powerful jawline is marred with blood. His full mouth is swollen and bleeding. His high cheekbones are a deep shade of purple.

It’s a pity.

He was so beautiful.

You shouldn’t have come here, I murmur, disappointed by his predictability. By the predictability of all men. You shouldn’t have followed me. Now look at you.

Think Boss will like our handiwork? Angus grins.

As if on cue, the trapdoor leading to the office above us—Aaiden’s invention—opens.

Storm doesn’t move. He continues staring at his cousin, his expression impossible to read.

Not wanting to keep The Collector waiting, I stand and smooth my dress. We’ll soon find out.

After almost a year, I should be used to his summons. Since being sold to the mob, my every move is controlled. But the toxic combination of anger mixed with fear, of being at the mercy of a vicious Irish mob boss, hasn’t faded.

I doubt it ever will.

Ascending the stairs, I enter The Collector’s office, ignoring Sin and the girl he’s with. They’re as stupid as Saint for coming here and getting themselves caught. They had their freedom but threw it away. Rather than going off grid and living a life free from constraint, they chose to reenter the lion’s den. All in the name of power.

Recklessness.

Idiocy.

He’s coming, I tell The Collector, keeping my expression neutral. Moving to the window, I lean against it, wishing I could smash the glass, jump out, and run as fast as my legs could carry me. I’d never stop until an entire continent, no, two, stood between me and the Irish mob.

The Collector watches me, his cold eyes demanding my darkest secrets.

Looking away, I inspect my nails, refusing to give them to him.

Saint, someone gasps.

I glance up.

Sin’s girl steps forward. It’s like she thinks she can stop the inevitable.

She can’t.

I’ve tried.

It. Doesn’t. Work.

Storm and Angus drag Saint, half-conscious, up the final step. They drop him, uncaring of his injuries.

I want to wince but don’t, knowing weakness has no place in this world. Instead, I think back to Saint’s strong hands on my body, his tongue claiming mine, his taste on my lips. If he wasn’t the son of a mob boss and I wasn’t a debt to be repaid, we could have had fun together.

Angus and Storm stand beside Saint, their arms crossed. It’s like they’re taking a photo with a hunted lion.

You sick fuck. You think you can put your hands on my brother and get away with it? Sin growls.

I own this town and everyone in it. The Collector strolls toward Saint. Grabbing him by the hair, he yanks Saint’s head back, peering at his son’s face. My men have been busy. I like what they’ve done.

Angus gives a sick grin, but Storm is stoic. He meets my stare, and gestures to the exit, mouthing, Leave.

Knowing there’s going to be bloodshed and not wanting to see more than I have to, I do as he says. The guards holding sentinel on the other side of the door don’t acknowledge me, knowing that if they do, they’ll have their tongues cut out and mailed to their families.

I pass by quickly and make my way through the myriad of hallways until I reach the rear exit.

Pushing the door open, I step into the night, grateful for the cool, fresh air hitting my skin. Tipping my head back, I take a deep breath, wondering if the air would taste even sweeter if I was free.

One day, I’ll know for sure.

One day, I’ll get revenge.

One day.

The wail of police sirens cuts through the silence, growing louder and more insistent the closer they get to the club. I glance around me, wondering if it’s because of what’s happening upstairs or if something is happening elsewhere.

The back alley doesn’t offer any answers.

The door flings open, and Storm bursts from it, Saint hanging limp over his shoulder. Angus sprints behind as both beeline for Storm’s car.

Eden, let’s go, Storm yells. He opens the trunk and dumps Saint inside. Slamming it shut, he runs to the driver seat and jumps in.

The temptation to stay and beg the