Scandalous (Sinners of Saint 3)

The week had dragged. Trent hadn’t said a word to me—not even good morning when he passed me in the hallway. He ignored me completely, making it a point to act like I wasn’t there.

Mom hadn’t left her bed more than twice, including over the weekend. I had to cook and bring her meals to her upstairs. We hadn’t had a cook for years because Mom had once accused one of trying to poison her. And from there onward, we’d decided there was no point. Jordan ate out, Mom was usually in bed all day—and barely ate—and I wasn’t a picky eater. I tried to get her to see Dr. Knaus, but she rejected the idea again and again, until I had to call my father and beg him to reason with her. He barked at me that he didn’t have time for her dramatics and that he was on his way to LAX, catching another flight, this time to London.

My car was still in the shop. The mechanic said I needed to replace the cylinder, and when I asked him for the price, I almost fainted. I couldn’t pay it, not that month, so I just asked if he could keep the car until I got my paycheck. All the money Trent had given me had gone to where it was supposed to, after all. And I never took anything from my parents—not their money, not their cars, not their love, mostly because those things were never offered.

On the flip side, my father wasn’t around, so I could come to work at nine a.m. like a sane person, which gave me surfing time again.

I was lying flat with my back on my surfboard, still water around me, watching the sky growing brighter with every passing second. The orange and pink gave way to the white and blue. I was floating, staring, dreaming, the taste of the ocean on my lips. From the day I was born, I knew I had a salty soul. I knew I loved differently. More violently. Everything I’d ever loved. That’s what got me into so much trouble in the first place. The sheer obsession I had with everything I cared about.

“Are you coming out, Gidget? I’ve got beer,” Bane said beside me.

Close, but not close enough to break my spell with nature. I blinked once at the rising sun.

“I’m good,” I said.

The sound of water moving filled my ears before he appeared next to me on his black surfboard. He was straddling it, both feet slung in the water.

“So. You and Rexroth.” There was no particular tone to his voice. He didn’t sound mad or annoyed or even surprised. I refused to look at him, still enjoying the intimate moment with the rising sun.

“How do you know his name?” I murmured.

“How do I know Trent Rexroth’s name? Did you go to your own high school in the last four years before graduating? He was quarterback legend douchebag schmuck, blah blah fucking football captain blah. As soon as I saw his face that Saturday I knew who he was. Do you know what he is?”

I had a feeling Bane wasn’t waiting for my permission to spit it out.

“Old. Fucking ancient, more like. Are you guys bumping uglies?”

A little smile found my lips. “No.”

The half-truth came naturally to me. Like swimming. The thought of telling Bane the full-truth never even occurred to me. We were done, with me having little time for surfing and for him, and with him getting a boat and living the single life, no doubt. We had never been in love. We were barely even in like. We were just…bored. And sexually compatible, I think.

He sighed. “Look, it’s your life, and not only are you old enough to make your choices, you’re also one hell of a strong girl. So let me just leave it at this, and you’ll never hear me saying shit about it ever again—Trent Rexroth is trouble. He will chew you up and spit you out if he needs to. Make sure he doesn’t need to, because the whole town knows him and his friends and there’s a reason why they keep to themselves. No one else is willing to get close enough to burn.”

Bane left shortly after that. I stayed longer, smiling when my mother’s words echoed in my skull. Stop staying outside so much. Your freckles are coming out. Your skin will get old. What man would want to marry a twenty-five-year-old with a forty-five-year-old complexion?

I didn’t want to get married.

I didn’t want to stay away from the sun.

I simply wanted to…be.

When I got out of the water, my surfboard tucked under my armpit, I walked straight to my backpack. Not bothering to change or dry off, my feet still bare and coated with sand, I walked up to the promenade where I was going to take Bane’s car back home for a quick shower and then work. Bane liked to park his 2008 Ford Ranger on a little dune uphill where no one could slap him with a parking ticket for not feeding the meter. I rummaged in my bag for the spare keys he’d given me when a heavy hand found my shoulder. I spun around, wet and frightened, to see who it was, but the person slammed my stomach into Bane’s car and glued their body to mine. Strong, tall, muscular, terrifying. Then his scent crawled into my nostrils, making my thighs quiver.