Ruckus (Sinners of Saint 2)

Like who, asshole, like you?

“What in the fuck is this?” My teeth crushed every word that left my mouth. My voice startled her and she jumped, placing her palm over her heart. “Get your hands off of her before I break them.” I felt the darkness in the pit of my stomach spreading like ink, taking over.

Vicious twisted his head to look at me, one of his hands still in Rosie’s hair. He smirked.

“Make me.”

It was an invitation I was only too happy to accept. I grabbed him by the collar and backed him away from her, slamming him against a case of mini-champagnes. I was bigger, stronger, and fucking scarier. His head smashed against the heavy box. He pushed me away. I pushed harder.

“Dean!” Rosie yelped. I recognized, rationally, that she wasn’t mine. Recognized, yes. But I didn’t understand. There were other guys. I saw them talking to her at school and at parties. They never got too far with her. Rose LeBlanc got her name for a reason. She was full of fucking thorns. She was so beautiful—so ridiculously, unbelievably alluring—that just like real roses, she grew little spikes to protect herself. Because everyone wanted to have her.

Everyone including you, asshole.

“What do you think you’re doing?” I hissed into Vicious’s face. Ten minutes ago, it was him who almost kicked my ass. We were constantly changing roles. It wasn’t hard to see why. No one said it out loud, but now, it finally made sense.

Each of us was with the wrong fucking sister.

“I’m doing what you want to do.” His eyes narrowed, and he licked his bottom lip, still swollen from that kiss. “Shoving my tongue into Rosie LeBlanc’s mouth. She tastes good.” He chuckled, slapping my back good-naturedly. “Like a fruity gum and 7UP and the girl you’ll never have.”

I threw him across the pantry, and he landed on a twenty-pound bag of rice. I wanted to kill him, and—I had no doubt—was going to if Rosie hadn’t tackled me, pushing me to the opposite side of the small room using her non-existent strength.

“Jesus. Stop it. You’re such a mess. Go away.”

“This is bullshit,” I yelled in her face, tugging at my hair. “You don’t even like him!”

“Irrelevant. I can do whatever I want.”

“And what you want is to rip my fucking heart out?”

Shit. I said that out loud, didn’t I? I was the one hurting her. My head hung down, and I felt all the blood rushing to my eyes. A part of me was glad I was going to move away for college soon. This town was boiling with hot gossip and out-of-control drama. I didn’t want to be there when the puss and shit overflowed.

“Yes,” she whispered, a mixture of elation and guilt marred on her face. She also looked just as drunk as I was. “Maybe it’s exactly what I want.”

“I don’t think you want to hurt me.” I lifted my head up, holding her gaze. “I think Vicious does, and you’re playing along because you’re shitfaced. Let me take you home.”

“No, thank you.” She looked the other way.

“Funny you say that, I think it’s time you grab your shit and get the hell off of my property, Cole.” I heard Vicious behind my back, tucking a joint into his mouth. A joint I gave him. Prick.

“If you ever touch her again, I’ll make sure you have no lips to kiss anyone with. Just for future reference.” I shrugged, turning off the lights to the pantry they were still in, just to be a dick.

Step. Another step. Then another. Making my way out of Vicious’s house was the longest journey I’d ever made. There was an urgency inside me to do something, but fuck if I had any idea what it was. I wanted to break up with Millie, but I doubted it would make any difference. Rosie still wouldn’t date me—she may even hate me more for bailing on her sister’s ass. And Vicious was definitely going to corner Millie and make her life a living hell.

Back then, I didn’t even know how fucking bad things were, because after that party, Vicious bragged about Rosie chasing him around all month, making Trent and Jaime believe that she wanted him, when really, she was begging for him not to tell her sister. She didn’t know he already did. But I knew, because Emilia had told me—through tears, by the way, what a fucking joke this relationship was—claiming she was fearful her sister would get hurt.

Rosie didn’t know, but her little drunken mistake at the pantry pushed me deeper into a bottomless rabbit hole and right into the arms of my vices.

That night, I was too drunk to drive, so I called a taxi back home.

Then crawled up to my room.

Locked the door.

Took out a bottle of Jack Daniels from my nightstand drawer.