The Villain’s Beloved by Bella J.

Sneak Peek

THE RISE OF SAINT

Chapter 1

* * *

Saint

The second that elevator door opened and I looked into her striking green eyes, I knew this night would end with bloodshed. His blood—the man standing next to her clutching her hand like he owned her. But he didn’t. I knew that. He knew that. Unfortunately, she didn’t.

I watched her step into the foyer, her dark curls a wet mess from the rain. If I hadn’t already known the balance of her bank account, I would have been able to guess it by merely looking at her clothes. The tight jeans she wore were torn at the knees, and her white sneakers were stained and soaked. With her every step, I kept my gaze pinned on her. Watching her. Scrutinizing every feature, her every move. The way she glanced around the penthouse suite, her eyes wide and curious, her blush pink lips parted as she took in the luxuries and elegance of what my wealth could afford, was proof she wasn’t from a world where money and power determined alliances, demanded respect, and ruled every pawn.

Myworld.

Her innocence cloaked her like a shroud of virtue, yet her squared shoulders showcased an inner confidence which the black Lakers shirt did not reflect. Her wardrobe gave away her youth, and her curiosity proved just how naïve she was.

The man beside her spotted me immediately, rushing in my direction, far too damn eager to extend his hand. “Mr. Saint. It’s good to finally meet you.”

I dismissed his attempt at a handshake with a mere nod, and he stepped back, wiping his hand down the side of his jeans before placing a hand on his top jacket pocket. “My name is Brad. Mr. Reed sent me to deliver the package.”

“I know who you are. And I know exactly why you’re here.” I signaled for James, my right-hand man, to refill my glass with bourbon before turning my attention back to Brad. “You made sure no one followed you here?”

He nodded. “I made sure of it.”

My gaze drifted back to the raven-haired woman next to him. There was nothing extraordinary about her features. Nothing that would make her stand out from the crowd—except those forest green irises that came alive under the dim lights.

“Introduce me to your friend, Mr. Walters.”

Brad cleared his throat and placed his hand on her elbow. “This is Mila.”

I slanted a brow when she took a step forward, extending her hand, her smile polite and warm. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Saint.”

This time I decided to play nice by reaching out and taking her hand. It was our first touch, and I smiled because I knew it sure as hell wouldn’t be the last.

“Mila. Is that short for another name?” I let go of her hand and sat back. “Milana, perhaps?”

“Um, no. It’s just Mila.” Her cheeks flushed a faint rose tint, and it made me wonder what her skin would look like colored with a deeper shade of red left by my hand.

I reached for my tumbler of bourbon and righted in my seat. “No one knows you’re here?” My question was directed at Brad, which he answered immediately.

“No, Mr. Saint.”

“I trust you’ve been discreet about the nature of the item you’re delivering?”

“Of course.”

From the corner of my eye, I noticed Mila frown. It was easy to spot her discomfort slowly setting in. A half-smile tugged at the corners of my mouth as she started to squirm, our little conversation making her uncomfortable.

I turned my attention back to the dirty-blond waste of space. “And now I suppose you’re expecting payment for your delivery.”

Brad grinned. “Anything will be appreciated, Mr. Saint.”

I tapped my finger on the chair armrest, knowing he was already thinking of all the cocaine and whores he could buy from our little business transaction. He was nothing but a pathetic excuse for a man who had zero ambition apart from getting high and fucking his way through life. But the rules had been explained to him in a way even he could understand. Do not touch what is mine. And lucky for him, he didn’t.

I nodded, placed my glass down on the side table, and stood, straightening my Armani suit before reaching inside my pocket for his payment. “It’s a pleasure doing business with you, Brad.”

* * *

Mila

Fifteen Minutes earlier

“Wow.” I craned my neck, looking up at the ceiling of one of New York’s most expensive luxury hotels. “I wish you told me we’d be coming here.”

“Why? Would you have put extra effort in your wardrobe if I did?”

“Funny, but no.” I sneered and pulled out my phone to take some pictures. “I would have brought a better camera.”

“Oh, my God.” Brad pulled the phone from my hand. “Could you at least act like you’re from around here?”

“I am from around here.” I smirked. “I’m just not from around here, here.”

Brad rolled his eyes. “You’re a dork, you know that?”

“This ceiling alone is probably worth more than a thousand times my current bank balance.”

“Try a million times more.” Brad winked and pressed the elevator button.

I glanced around in awe. “You know, staring through the window really doesn’t do this place justice.” I turned when the elevator door opened and stepped in after Brad. “What are we doing here, again?”

He pulled a hand through his blond hair, which was in desperate need of a cut. “It’s just a quick stop to drop off a package for some rich Italian fucker.”

I grabbed my phone back from him and shoved it in my jeans pocket. “What kind of package?”

He shrugged then glanced at his wristwatch. “I dunno. I’m just doing a friend a favor. I didn’t ask any questions.”

“Where is it?”

Brad looked at me with a frown. “Where’s what?”

“The package? I don’t see it in your hands.”

“Oh.” He slapped against his jacket pocket. “It’s a small package.”

The numbers on the side panel lit up as we passed each floor. I rested against the back wall. “Let me guess. This rich dude has the penthouse.”

“Yup.” Brad shifted from one leg to the other, and I noticed he was wearing a new pair of designer jeans. “That’s new?”

“Hmm?”

“The jeans.”

“Oh, yeah. I got them last week.”

I crossed my arms. “Since when can you afford designer jeans?”

“Since I’m delivering packages to rich bastards.” Sarcasm dripped from his words, and I scowled at him. I had known Brad for a few months, and we had a great friendship going. We met through a mutual friend, and he just kind of latched on to me, and I liked having him around. No matter where we went, we always had a good time together.

I sighed, staring at the numbers again. We had six more floors to go before we would finally reach the top, so I glanced at my distorted reflection in the shiny wall and combed my fingers through my messy curls. But it was hopeless with this weather. There was no taming the hot mess growing out of my scalp.

Finally, the elevator stopped, and the doors opened. Even if I wanted to, I would not have been able to shut my mouth as I stared at the foyer. Light from an elegant crystal chandelier that hung from the ceiling touched all the subtle tones of beige and gold, the lighting not too sharp or too dull. Dark marbled floors were a stark contrast to ivory colored walls, creating a sense of balance that made you feel right at home.

“Stop gawking,” Brad mumbled next to me.

“I’m sorry. I can’t hear you over the loud screams of the wealth I’m surrounded with.” I turned as we walked farther in. Every inch of the suite was decorated and furnished with rich leather furniture, beautiful landscape paintings, and bouquets of flowers. The fresh scent of lilies brushed my nose, the smell complimenting the pristine surroundings.

“Mr. Saint. It’s good to finally meet you.”

I jerked my head to the side. “Who is Mr. Saint?” I mumbled to myself and quickly followed Brad into the lounge area. The scent of expensive leather and polish clung to the air I breathed.

“My name is Brad. Mr. Reed sent me to—”

“I know who you are. And I know exactly why you’re here.”

The deep, strong voice with a thick Italian accent had every hair on my body raised, and I froze when I caught sight of a man sitting on one of the leather chairs. With his ankle crossed over his other knee, the jacket of his dark navy suit unbuttoned, revealing a crisp white shirt, this man looked as powerful as he was rich. His olive skin was flawless, those pale blue eyes illuminated under the dim lights of the room. Dark hair and a chiseled jawline peppered with a five o’clock shadow had him looking like a man painted in mystery and darkness. The kind of darkness that would devour a woman like me and still not be satiated. His presence alone intimidated the hell out of me.

As I stepped in next to Brad, he introduced me to the mysterious Mr. Saint, who sat on that leather couch like it was his throne, like he owned everything in this entire goddamn world—including me. Whether it was a bold move, or a complete lack in judgement, I extended my hand. A second passed where he merely gazed at me unamused, as if I insulted him by wanting to shake his hand. I was sure he would show me the same disdain he showed Brad by refusing to shake his hand, but to my surprise, he eased forward and took my hand in his. The second his palm pressed against mine, I sealed my lips together, afraid I would gasp out loud, his touch cold as his stare. It was like ice against my skin, a complete contradiction to the warm light and ambience created by the riches that surrounded us.

He sat back, and an amused grin tugged at the corners of his mouth, an enticing cupid’s bow complimented by a thick bottom lip. This man had a textbook perfect mouth, lips that were made to tempt and seduce. But there was something in the way he looked at me, how he stared like he knew me. It was unsettling, to say the least. I was so entranced by the man sitting in front of me I hardly paid any attention to the conversation that followed…until Brad mentioned my name like it was important. Like it had become the subject of their conversation. There was a tingle of warning that slowly swept down my spine, and only then did I notice how odd Brad behaved around Mr. Saint. Like he was trying to be on his best behavior—respectful, even. And I knew Brad. He had the tendency to deny any type of respect whenever it was demanded, yet here he was, acting like he was in the presence of the goddamn president.

I leaned closer, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. “Brad, what’s going on here?”

“Mila,” he snapped, and a sudden chill filled my gut. Something wasn’t right. I could feel the warning knock at the back of my skull. Shifting from one foot to the other, I tried my best to ignore the way my stomach felt heavier with each passing second.

Mr. Saint lifted his chin, his eyes showing nothing but sheer annoyance. “I suppose you’re expecting payment for your delivery.”

Brad nodded. “Anything will be appreciated, Mr. Saint.”

With a nod, he placed his glass down on the side table, and I remained frozen as he straightened from his seat. My heart pounded, and I swallowed hard as I kept my gaze on him. The navy suit he wore clung to him like a second skin, his broad shoulders adding to his already intimidating demeanor.

Adrenaline surged through my veins, my instincts hyperaware of the threat his large frame exuded.

He reached inside his jacket pocket, a wicked grin tugging at his lips. “It’s a pleasure doing business with you, Brad.”