Vicious (Sinners of Saint 1)

He remembered me.

What he did to me.

He remembered everything.

His eyes met mine, and my stomach knotted. My heart fluttered in my chest, and an urgent need to fill the awkward silence slammed into me.

“Have you come here for forgiveness?” The words left my mouth before I had the chance to swallow them.

Vicious chuckled darkly, like the concept in itself was preposterous. He hadn’t made a single move, yet I felt his touch everywhere.

“You’re a mess,” he said matter-of-factly, eyeing my hair. My lavender locks were all over my face, and a nasty bruise had bloomed on my forehead.

“Nice to see you too.” I pressed my back against the wall, my hands against the cold tiles below the mural, seeking relief from the fire he’d lit in me the moment he walked in. “I see you successfully graduated from a bully to a tyrant in the span of a decade.”

He laughed, a deep laugh that vibrated against my bones. I closed my eyes then opened them, drinking him in. A year of him being hateful toward me had trained me well. I stopped caring a long time ago that the joke was on me.

His smile disappeared, replaced with a frown. “What are you doing here, Help?”

He took a step forward but stilled when I held my hand up, stopping him. I wasn’t sure why I did it. Maybe because it hurt so much that he was seeing me like this. Helpless. Half naked. Poor and lost and small in this big city that chewed you up and spit out the remains once your hopes and dreams died. Filling the small meaningless shoes he’d created for me all those years ago. Becoming the help.

“I work here,” I said, finally. Wasn’t it obvious?

He moved my way again, his posture casual and relaxed. This time I straightened. I tilted my chin up. A waft of his scent—spicy, earthy, clean, and masculine—filled my nose. I inhaled and shivered. He’d always had this impact on me. And I always loathed myself for it.

“Last I heard, you were working on a Fine Arts degree.” He arched a thick, devilish eyebrow, as if to ask, What went wrong?

Everything, I thought bitterly. Everything went wrong.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but I did get a degree.” I pushed off from the wall and moved past him to wash my hands. He followed me with his eyes. “A thing called life butted into my plans, and I didn’t have the luxury of working my way up on an art-intern salary, so I work as a PA. That’s what I did until about three hours ago when I was let go. I thought I was having a bad enough day when I walked in here, but”—my eyes swiped his body—“clearly, the universe decided to make it an all-out disaster.”

I didn’t know why I was telling him all this. I didn’t know why I was speaking to him at all. I should’ve yelled or stormed out of the bathroom after what he’d done to me years ago. Called our bouncer and kicked him out of McCoy’s. But as much as I didn’t like to admit it, I didn’t hate him as much as I probably should have. A tiny sad part of me knew he wasn’t to blame for my current state. My choices were mine.

I’d made my bed. Now I had to lie in it, even if it was full of fleas.

He tucked one hand in his pocket, using his free one to tousle his unruly hair—even more perfect now that he was all man. I looked away, wondering how he’d spent the last decade. What he did for a living. Whether he had a girlfriend or a wife or maybe even some kids. I’d always made it a point not to ask or listen, but now that he was in front of me, curiosity poked me, begging my mouth to ask these questions.

But I didn’t.

“Have a nice life, Vicious.” I turned off the faucet, sashaying to the door.

He grabbed my elbow and jerked me in his direction. A jolt of panic and excitement ripped through me. There was no point in shaking him away—he was twice my size.

“Do you need help, Help?” he whispered in my face. I hated him for calling me that.

And I hated me for responding to his gruff tone the way I did, even after all this time. Goose bumps prickled my skin, and a hot wave crashed inside my chest.

I was breathing heavily, but so was he.

“Whatever it is I need,” I said, my voice a hiss, “I don’t want it from you.”

He pinned me with a wolfish grin. “That’s for me to decide,” he said, releasing my arm like it was dirty and nudging me to the door. “And I still haven’t made up my mind.”