No saint a dark romance, p.1
No Saint: A Dark Romance, page 1
NO SAINT
PIPER STONE
CONTENTS
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Epilogue
Afterword
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About Piper Stone
Copyright © 2026 by Stormy Night Publications and Piper Stone
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Published by Stormy Night Publications and Design, LLC.
www.StormyNightPublications.com
Stone, Piper
No Saint
Cover Design by Korey Mae Johnson
This book is intended for adults only. Spanking and other sexual activities represented in this book are fantasies only, intended for adults.
PROLOGUE
Blinding anguish tore through my arm the moment I smashed my palm through the brittle wood. After stifling a gasp, I hunkered against the wall, listening for any sound of him.
Where the howling wind had been a comfort, allowing me to know I was still alive, now the eerie silence was even more horrifying. The only constant was the drips of water pinging against the metal roof.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
Terror prickled across my skin creating goosebumps even in the oppressive heat. Weak from lack of food, my mouth and throat parched, I knew I wouldn’t survive another day. Not that he would allow me to live.
The monster was coming. I could feel it in my aching muscles and shredded skin, all compliments of my tormenter. He was making good on his promise.
Another wave of anguish and I cried out pathetically. My throat was too dry, preventing any sound except a strangled hiss.
Please, help me. Please…
Only there was no one coming to save me.
Just like no one had come for the others.
They were all dead.
Bloodied.
Beaten.
Discarded and left to be eaten by predatory creatures, demons lurking in the shadows.
Which beast was worse? The walking, talking deviant or the ones slithering in the mud?
Laughter tickled my chapped lips and as soon as I darted my tongue across the surface, the taste of blood assaulted my senses. I closed my eyes, fisting my forehead as I counted to ten. Numbers had kept me sane. Now they would be my guide as I tried to escape. I’d only have one shot at freedom.
Every move cautious, I broke away pieces of the boards, slowly at first, ignoring the pain as skin was ripped from my fingers. With every inch gained, my heartrate increased until I was tearing at the wood, gasping every few seconds.
A scream bubbled to the surface and I slapped my hand over my mouth. When the morbid silence returned, my urgency increased. Less than a minute later, I shoved my way through the ragged hole, dropping face first into muck.
Something had called him away. He’d been angry, furious with something. So different. So… terrifying.
This was the only chance I had.
Another wave of agony ripped at my lungs, but I pushed myself free of the mud, taking gasping breaths of the stale, putrid air. The stench was horrific, mold and moss, decay so overpowering I dry heaved.
But I was out of the prison.
Get up. Get moving.
The little voice had been my only friend. At least after the last girl had been taken. Although the echo of her horrifying screams would never leave.
Every muscle ached to the point the moment I tried to stand, I fell hard on my hands and knees. Despair clouded my mind as the tears forming in my eyes did with my vision.
There was no reprieve from the terror, but I willed myself to push forward. Inch by inch, I crawled before I was able to struggle to my feet, leaning against a gnarled tree. The first light of dawn had crested over the horizon, the darkness drifting into shadows.
More monsters.
One. Two. Three. Four.
He’s trudging through the swamp, hungry for more.
No. No!
One step led to three. Then four more. Hope crowded out everything else. I could do this. Another five steps and when I dared to look over my shoulder, the shed seemed far away, as if the nightmare had never occurred.
A sudden separate noise and I was down again, sobs racking my system. I fought with everything I had left to move. To stand. To breathe.
To live.
God, I wanted to live.
Someone was coming, the crackle of leaves and twigs floating through the thick foliage.
No. No. I hung my head, willing myself to move. To fight to the death. I wouldn’t allow him to take me willingly.
An exasperated rush of breath pushed up from my chest. I ran. Hard. Fast.
Stumbling.
Getting back up.
Clinging to a tree. Another hiss. A snap of jaws. I twisted my head from side to side, unable to see anything but ominous shadows. My heart was in my chest.
Run. Run. Run!
Woof.
What?
The sound was nothing that I expected. Had I been hearing things? I stood silently, scanning the forest. I had to be losing my mind. Wait. What was that?
Movement in the shadows.
Coming closer.
Footsteps.
I recoiled, holding my arm over my head, biting my lip to keep from whimpering.
A howl disrupted the silence, stopped short as if commanded to do so. A wild dog? Here?
Fight or flight kicked in and I pushed myself to my feet, fighting to take steps in the opposite direction, only to go down hard once again.
Another crackle and a tiny whimper finally escaped. With my eyes cinched closed, I pulled my knees to my chest, burying my head and wrapping my arms around my legs.
A twisted need to protect myself as reality settled in.
There was no escaping a madman.
A single crack of wood, closer this time. So close I could feel hot breath cascading across my skin. Only instead of being ripped apart limb by limb, a strange sensation crawled through me that took my senses a few seconds to comprehend.
A lick.
What?
“Max, heel.”
The deep voice was rough around the edges yet soft in tone. Movement. Sounds. Someone standing over me.
“We’ve got her. Good boy, Max.”
Very slowly I lifted my head, wincing from the glare of light. Whimpering, I struggled to back away. Every muscle was stiff, aching. Excruciating pain.
“Get the light out of her eyes, for fuck’s sake,” the man barked and with a gentle touch, brushed hair from my eyes. Where his voice had been commanding before, the sound was now exactly what I needed to hear to know I would survive. “Maria.”
“Yes,” I managed.
His voice. So soft. So compelling. Blinking, I locked eyes with his. So kind.
He nodded, touching my face with utter care and kindness.
“You’re safe now. Nothing is going to happen to you ever again.”
CHAPTER 1
Thirteen years later…
Alexia
“Keys. Keys!” Where the fuck did I put my goddamn keys?
They’d disappeared. Again. They were always found in the last place I looked. A quick roll of my eyes reminded me of my mother’s singsong voice every time I used the phrase when still living at home.
Of course they were in the last place I looked. Duh.
I was running late, something that rarely happened. I jerked on my second high heel, almost falling over the couch when I yanked one of two sexy decorative pillows from the cushion.
No keys.
As I hopped around, finally the heel fell into position just as I glanced at my watch. Thank God, I didn’t have court this m orning. Worse than losing my keys were Tuesdays, which I’d affectionately started calling the new Monday since it seemed I always had an arduous court day on every single Monday. Not only had court run long the day before, but my sweet client had cried on my shoulder for almost two hours after.
There was no way I could be an indecent human being and send her packing after the ridiculously light fine the two-time loser of a human being had received.
Maybe my mood was partially based on the fact I wasn’t used to losing, competition running through my veins. Unfortunately, over the last few months, judges had been prickly bastards, refusing to charge the bastards even with the clear and present volume of evidence I’d provided.
A seriously evil growl replaced my groan.
Tuesdays were especially horrible dark, gloomy days. No matter the severity of the storm, they were almost malevolent in my mind.
At least I no longer needed to curl up under thick blankets, hiding from the rest of the world until the ominous weather event passed. Maybe I was making headway.
But I’d lose all my momentum if I couldn’t find my goddamn keys.
Groaning, I had a mini tantrum, tossing both decorative pillows over the back of the sofa then attacking the cushions themselves. As I held up a wrinkled twenty-dollar bill into the shadowed light, I wondered just how long the chunk of change had been hiding from me. It could have come in very handy the night before when I decided to purchase the five-dollar bottle of wine.
That’s why I was in this predicament with a dull ache surrounding my eyes, fracturing my last nerve. The cheap red wine hangover was a living and breathing entity threatening to ruin my day. So was losing my goddamn keys.
A hard thump hit the floor at the same time a rumble of thunder was followed by a loud crack. I jumped two feet, immediately placing my hand over my heart. “Jesus fucking Christ.” I was jumpier than usual and not only because of the storm.
Sighing, I glared down at the book I’d read well into the late night. Or I should say very early morning. I’d been hooked, so much so I’d almost skipped going to bed altogether. No wine haze had befuddled me either.
With a slight toss of my head, I bent over, grabbing the thick hardback into my fingers. When I pulled it in front of my face, another flash of lightning provided a perfect and very colorful backdrop for the gloriously graphic cover.
I guessed thriller authors didn’t heed the discreet cover cry that had blanketed the romance industry.
Gone Before Dawn.
The perfect title for a terrifying serial killer book. Gory. Bloody. Violent.
Everything I adored in my late-night reads.
The keys momentarily forgotten, I turned the book over, staring at the photograph of the author on the back. As had happened the first, the second, hell, the tenth time I’d glanced at it, a trickle of desire shot warmth between my legs.
Maverick Callahan.
The name alluded to rough nights of passion and wild kisses in the moonlight. Standing against a palm tree with his arms crossed, the light breeze tousling his shoulder-length whiskey-colored hair, he was the epitome of male perfection.
Plus, an excellent representation for the book’s hero.
Rough and tumble.
Refusing to take shit from anyone.
Savoring acts of violence.
And finalizing the dirty deed by catching the violent criminal red-handed.
With a little blood sprinkled in for good measure.
Exhaling, I gingerly placed the book on the coffee table, brought out of my sweet moment of reverie by another clap of thunder. So much for fantasies.
I continued tearing through the house while the television in my kitchen blared on with the morning news. Why the hell was the man’s deep voice thumping in my brain? Okay, not thumping exactly, but smashing together like two huge cymbals. Oh, my God, my head was killing me.
Why, oh, why did I start my workweek by turning on one of the local stations? There were never any happy stories. No hot firefighters rescuing puppies from a burning house or some swoony cop flying in to save a damsel in distress on the side of a dark, foreboding road the night before. Death and criminal activity. That’s what I was used to hearing.
As I flew into the kitchen, fluffing my curls with my fingers as I did, the next morning news story proved my point.
“The Miami-Dade police have widened their search for Ashley Boudreaux, an attorney from Rogers, Wilkins, and Jacoby, who’s now been missing for almost two weeks.”
“See?” I said out loud, pointing to the small flat screen. I quickly read the corresponding information about the situation scrolling across the bottom. The attorney was a responsible human being, had never simply left without telling anyone where she was going. She didn’t take her phone with her.
Blah. Blah. Blah.
If you asked me, from the way her boyfriend was showing off his crocodile tears, I’d say he should be the number one suspect.
Sighing, I was just about to grab the remote when something shiny caught my eye.
Oh, thank God.
With a hard lunge, I had the keyring in my hand, already mentally chastising myself. Of course they were right by my purse, both tossed onto the counter mere moments after I’d arrived home. All I’d cared about at the time was kicking off my shoes, putting away the few groceries, and cracking open the bottle of wine.
All of which I’d done in record time.
Now I had to get my ass in gear. With my purse slung over my shoulder, I took long strides, snagging the remote. Just before I pressed the ‘off’ button, another story popped on the screen.
An instant lump formed in my throat.
Where the sound of the television had been overwhelmingly and painfully loud before, I smashed my finger on the up button, bringing the sound to just below an explosive level.
“In breaking news, Samuel Wells, known throughout South Florida as the Python Killer has been scheduled for execution two weeks from this Thursday. At this point, without the governor issuing a stay, the act will be carried through on the scheduled date. You might remember the case from over thirteen years ago. Mr. Wells was tried and convicted of kidnapping, torturing, and killing twelve young women all under the age of eighteen.”
One reporter turned to the other morning anchor, nodding as the man finished his statement.
I was forced to grip the edge of the counter, my legs shaking.
“From what I understand, the governor currently has no plans to intervene. This was quite a disturbing case for all Floridians,” the male anchor continued.
The periphery of my vision began to fade.
“I remember the story, John. When the story broke, the killer finally caught, it was my first week here at the station. At the time it seemed everyone breathed a sigh of relief. Those poor girls who were taken and killed. I can’t imagine. I have a daughter that age and it’s crazy to realize how precious life truly is. Thank goodness he was captured.”
“Yes, and by a lone FBI agent and his canine companion. From what I remember, his heroic deed wasn’t well received by his agency.”
“Shame on them,” the female said, laughing.
My God. As the killer’s picture was placed on the screen, I pressed my shaking fingers across my mouth. Maybe to keep from screaming. Or crying hysterically.
He could be anyone. A next-door neighbor. A schoolteacher. A doctor. Anyone. With mousy brown hair and basic features, he was the kind of man who you’d pass on the street and never think twice. I walked closer, studying the killer’s smile.
Of all the images that had faded to black, I’d never forgotten his smile. However, with the television screen only a few inches away, this time his eyes grabbed my attention. A flash slammed into the forefront of my mind.
Another image and one that hadn’t been shown before.
His eyes. They were… wrong. No. That wasn’t possible.
By the time I blinked, his photograph was no longer on the screen. Gasping, I reached out before I realized what I was doing, almost able to hear his laugh echoing in my mind.
I fisted my hand, bringing it to my mouth. It had been a very long time since I’d experienced such a strong reaction.
The female anchor looked directly at the camera. “Let’s hope his execution brings some peace and closure to the families of the victims.”
A swirl of light formed around my head, vivid colors shimmering as the forms danced and changed shapes every few seconds. I managed to turn off the television. Now the quiet was deafening.
