I let out a startled cry when I find Saint standing just on the other side of the threshold.
“Thought you were busy.”
He doesn’t react. In fact, he doesn’t say a word. He just stares down at me for long, unnerving moments. At last, he says, “What are you doing here?”
I blink up at him as my frazzled mind scrambles to come up with a reply.
“I came with Loni.”
He suddenly walks forward, herding me back into the bathroom. Slamming the door shut behind him, he takes a moment to lock it before leveling me with a glare.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
I gape at him. “Since when do you tell me where I can and can’t be? And why shouldn’t I be here?” I demand. “Because you don’t want me to see you being a slut with every girl that bats her eyelashes at you?”
I hadn’t really meant to tell him how furious I am, but the words are past my lips before I can stop them, and there’s really no point trying to take them back. So, instead I just glare at him as he chuckles, clearly entertained by my anger.
“Did you just call me a slut?”
I roll my eyes. “The word has never fit someone so well as you.”
“Are you jealous?” The question is almost teasing, which just infuriates me all the more.
“I’m not jealous. I’m just sick of your bullshit emotional games. One minute, you try to be my knight in shining fucking armor, and the next you act as if I don’t exist and completely abandon me to go off and fuck random girls who just trip all over themselves to get to your dick.”
As I’m talking, his face darkens, his smirk disappearing. Anger lights up in his eyes, but it doesn’t stop my rant.
“You think I’m playing emotional games?” he says once I stop talking, his voice low and vibrating. “You’re the queen of them, Mallory.”
“What are you talking about? I haven’t played any games with you.”
I’ve only ever been trying to survive his.
He leans over me, and I’m tempted to step back and away from him, but I hold my ground. I can’t give him an inch, or he’ll walk all over me.
“I told you I love you. And instead of saying it back, you tell me we can’t be together. You get jealous when I talk to other girls, but then you go and flirt with my best friend.”
“I—”
“If you think I’m interested in any other girl at this school, you’re an idiot. If you think I was going to fuck anyone at this party, you’re an even bigger idiot,” he growls, ignoring my denial. “You make everything about you. It’s always about your problems, but have you ever stopped to consider the shit I’ve gone through?”
My anger spikes again at his self-centered dismissal of the bat-shit crazy nonsense that’s happening in my life. Problems? What problems could he possibly have?
“I’m so sorry your life is so damn hard,” I spit out. “It must be so difficult being a billionaire and having everyone do everything you say all the time. I suppose you do have a psychotic killer for a father to worry about, so you’re right, both our lives suck an equal amount.”
“You’ve no idea.”
I pause and frown. His voice has turned hollow, and I’ve never heard him sound so … broken, before. “Saint,” I say in a softer tone, reaching out to him. “What do you mean?”
His nostrils flare and his mouth becomes a hard line. It’s clear he doesn’t want to delve into the topic, which only makes me need to know more.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
He stares down at me, his eyes wide and momentarily panicked. I watch him glance toward the door, and it’s obvious he’s considering bolting on me. With a gentle touch, I grab his hand to keep him there with me. He jolts at the contact, his gaze swinging back to meet mine.
“Mallory…”
“Just trust me, okay?”
It doesn’t look like he wants to trust anyone, but I hold his gaze, refusing to let him get away from me. Not now. Not after he started this.
At length, he seems to realize that, because he lets out a sigh of defeat and shakes his head. “You really want to know just how fucked-up my life has been?”
“Seems only fair,” I reply. “You know how fucked up mine really is.”
“Fine.” Giving me a tight smile, he cocks his head. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Anxiety blooms in my chest, but I shake my head.
“Try me.”
His lips dip into a heavy frown. Taking my hand, he urges me over to the toilet and has me sit on the lid. Leaning against the countertop, he crosses his arms and stares at the wall above my head.
“When I was five, I caught my dad fucking my nanny in my bedroom. He had her hogtied and gagged. I don’t think she wanted it, but he clearly didn’t care. What’s worse is he spotted me watching, too shocked to move … and he just kept going.”
“Holy shit, I—”
“Yeah, you’re sorry. I get it.” He still doesn’t look at me when he continues, “She quit shortly after, but she never pressed charges. I imagine Dad gave her a generous payoff to keep her mouth shut.”
My stomach twists with disgust. Jameson Angelle is a fucking animal, and I’m afraid to hear more, but this is what I asked for.
“What else?” I whisper.
He scrubs a hand over his face. “When I was seven, I had a pet dog named Duke. I loved that fucking dog more than anything in the world. One day, I did something to piss my father off. I don’t even remember what it was, but he got so mad he took Duke away and had him put down. He didn’t need to kill him. He could’ve given him away or handed him to a shelter—anything. But, no, he needed to make a goddamn point and show me that he was the master of the universe and there were consequences to crossing him.”
I want to vomit. That’s so unbelievably cruel, and I can’t begin to fathom how someone could do that to their child. He tells me a few more terrible things. How his father would berate him in front of his friends. How he would never lay a hand on him, but he emotionally and mentally abused him in so many different ways. How his mother never did a thing to stop his father and would even tell him he needed to grow up and stop being a baby.
Just when I think I can’t handle anymore, however, he reveals the worst thing yet.
“On my thirteenth birthday, my dad caught me getting high in my bedroom and decided I needed to lose my virginity. He was convinced I was batting for the other team, and he wanted me to prove myself.”
I stare at him in total horror. “What? Are you serious?”
He nods. He’s still not looking at me, but I carefully read his eyes and the one emotion I never thought I’d see in him is right there, blazing in his expression.
Shame.
“He bought me a prostitute. Said she was my birthday present, and that she’d make me a man.”
I have to reach out and grip the countertop so I don’t go toppling off the toilet.
“No, he didn’t,” I gasp. “That’s…”
“Disgusting?” he mutters. “Degrading? Humiliating? Traumatizing? It was all that and more, believe me. I vomited before and after she fucked me, and then I had to go to my father’s study to report all about it. That’s the only real detail I can remember about that night—puking and the way he looked at me afterward. Like I was weak.”