Ruckus (Sinners of Saint 2)

Sitting back down, Mama flung an arm over my shoulder and squeezed me into her chest in half-a-hug I was quick to return. I was melting back into my former, happy self before she whispered into my ear, “Thank you for not ruining this, sweetheart. Daddy and I were worried.”

Pale, I sank into the silky chair, my throat paper-dry. My phone flashed with a text, and I grabbed it like it was my lifeline.

Dean

I need to kiss you again.

Rosie

You can’t kiss me again.

Dean

It’s all I fucking think about.

It’s all I think about too, I wanted to scream.

Rosie

Tell me something interesting. Something about stars.

Dean

Mars is covered with rust, and your tits will soon be covered with my cum. Tell me something about music.

Rosie

Slash once auditioned for the band Poison but didn’t want to join them because they wanted him to wear makeup.

Dean

This game sucks. I still want to kiss you.

Dammit, my heart. I don’t think it was equipped to deal with a guy like him.

I looked up and watched him. His phone was by his side, but he was engaged in a casual conversation with a beautiful brunette. My chest tightened. At the same time, I reminded myself that Dean could do whatever the hell he wanted.

I looked away, even though my eyes kept begging for me to steal another glance. The rehearsal went smoothly until this point, and I wanted to get it over with and go back home, preferably to a corner in the mansion where my parents couldn’t find me.

It was Trent’s turn to make a toast. At that point, it seemed like every living member in SoCal was required to wish something to the happy couple. I wondered if it was because Vicious didn’t have any parents to toast for him. His father died a little over a year ago, and his stepmother wasn’t in the picture. At least I had an excuse to let my eyes roam toward Dean and the mystery brunette. They were no longer talking, and my phone vibrated next to my plate.

Dean

If looks could stab, this chick would be dead now. This is happening. We are happening. We can take the long, frustrating route—but you will be punished for that. In bed. Or we can make it pain-free. Your call.

I didn’t answer his text. Again. My eyes rose to Trent Rexroth, who flashed a shallow smile and started talking. He was mid-sentence when his phone chimed and he looked down to read a text message, frowning.

The champagne glass slipped between his fingers before he caught it midair—killer reflexes, but I wasn’t surprised—and placed it down on the table. He then picked up the phone, turned around, and rushed to the entrance door.

Dean immediately followed him, and before I knew it, Jaime and Vicious were gone, too.

Murmurs bubbled from every corner of the table, and Daddy tried to calm the storm by yelling louder than necessary for everyone to stay cool.

Interesting approach.

I looked down and texted Dean.

Rosie

What happened?

He didn’t answer.

Panic ran marathons in my veins, and my thoughts wandered to the worst place possible. Did something happen to Luna, Trent’s daughter?

“Go see what’s going on.” Mama read my mind, elbowing my ribs. “Your sister is worried. I don’t want her upset.”

I rose to my feet and light-jogged to the entrance. I didn’t particularly feel like snooping around, but I felt like arguing with Mama even less. Besides, someone had to check on them. It was just unfortunate that I was the nosy one.

The outside area was vast, with a white, soft aisle that was ready for the weekend, a wild garden, two vineyards from each side, and artificial waterfalls enveloping the picturesque scenery.

And there, on a stairway leading to the ballroom, sat Trent Rexroth. He looked pale and shaky and nothing like his strong, poised self. An empty shell of the football hero turned self-made millionaire hottie. His eyes glittered with unshed tears, and he kept repeating himself, his face buried in his hands.

“She can’t fucking do this to me. What the fuck!”

“What are you doing here?” Vicious asked when he saw me, his hand on Trent’s back, squatting down next to Dean and Jaime. “Get back inside.”

“Don’t fucking talk to her like that.” Dean bared his teeth, lashing at Vicious more aggressively than necessary.

Rooted in place, I said, “Millie’s worried. I came to check that everything is okay.”

“Nothing is okay.” Jaime paced, his body radiating rage, but refrained from adding any more information. Dean stood up to his full height and sauntered toward me, clasping my arm in his warm hand and ushering me back to the empty hall leading to the ballroom.

“Mama and Daddy sent me to investigate.” A blush crawled up my cheeks, and who the hell was this girl and what had she done to my old self? I wanted the latter back. She wouldn’t take any of Vicious’s crap, either.