Merciless Saints (St. Monarch's Academy 1)

Chapter 1

WINTER

The Past - 13 Years Old.

“Winter,” Mom calls from the other side of the store, “what do you think of this one?”

Dropping the beanie I was looking at, I walk closer to Mom and stare at the jacket she’s holding up. “It’s pink.”

Her lips curve into a warm smile. “You love pink.”

“Not anymore.” I move past her to the rack of jackets and glance over the selection until I find a black one. “I like this one more.”

Mom’s eyes widen slightly. “Please tell me you’re not going to start wearing only black now that you’re a teenager.”

I shrug as I remove the jacket from the rack. “Pink is too girlie. Black will tell the other kids not to mess with me.”

Mom lets out a chuckle while shaking her head lightly. “Black it is then.”

We spend the next hour shopping for my winter wardrobe. I only choose blacks, grays, and whites, avoiding any other color, which Mom’s not too happy about.

Tomorrow I’ll leave for private school, and I want everything to be perfect. I might only be thirteen, but even I know first impressions count a lot. Being smaller than most girls my age makes me an easy target for bullies, so I have to do everything I can to show the other girls attending the school I’m not to be messed with.

While one of our guards takes the bags to the car, Mom wraps an arm around my shoulders. “Do you want to stop for lunch or head home?”

Thinking of my father and brother, I reply, “We can get pizza to take home so Daddy and Sean can have some as well.”

“Good idea,” Mom agrees, steering me toward a Pizza Hut.

Mom chooses a vegetable supreme, while I select a Hawaiian for myself and a mega meaty for Dad and Sean.

Once our order is ready, one of the guards, Patrick, carries the boxes. As we leave the mall, I think about all the packing I have to do. Pushing my luck, I glance up at Mom and ask, “Will you help me pack?”

Mom grins down at me. “Of course.”

Walking toward the car, our guards fan out around us. It’s something I’ve gotten so used to. I hardly notice them.

“Down!” I hear Cillian shout, but before we’re able to move, gunfire erupts around us.

Patrick drops the pizza to the ground and yanks his gun out. He reaches for Mom’s arm, and as he begins to move in front of her, bullets spray over us. Three hit Patrick, and my eyes widen as my mouth drops open in a scream.

A piercing pain slices through my neck, and I hear Mom wail as she throws her body toward mine. Mom grabs hold of me and yanks me down to the ground.

My eyes dart in the direction the gunfire is coming from, and I watch as Cillian takes down the men shooting at us until they're all dead. The sight should horrify me, but I’m too shocked to react.

Cillian runs toward me, and dropping down to his knees, he breathes, “Winter… Rose?”

Only then do I glance down to where Mom’s head is resting on my chest. Blood spirals across her forehead from a hole just beneath her hairline.

“Mom,” I groan. A merciless ache blossoms in my chest, and it threatens to strip me of my sanity. Even though I know she’s dead, I still struggle out from under her, and grabbing hold of her shoulders, I begin to shake her. “Mommy!” Panicked breaths explode over my lips as my body jerks. “Mommy!” I cry, devastating hopelessness seeping into my bones. I begin to scream as hysteria engulfs me.

She can’t be dead. Not my mom.

No.

Gasping for air, I can’t think clearly anymore.

Cillian grabs hold of my arm, trying to pull me away from Mom.

“No!” I scream at him, trying to worm myself free from his hold so I can stay with Mom.

“We have to go, poppet. It’s not safe,” he snaps at me.

“No!” I scream again, refusing to leave Mom. I grip hold of her white shirt, curling my fingers into the fabric as my gaze locks on the blood staining her pale skin.

This isn’t real.

Then it sinks in like a lump of burning coal.

Mom’s dead.

Cries begin to tear through me as I drop my forehead to Mom’s chest. Sobs wrack through me as my tears fall to her shirt.

Minutes ago, I was Rose Hemsleys precious little girl.

Minutes ago, she was smiling at me.

Minutes ago, I had a mom who loved me more than anything.

“Holy mother of saints,” Cillian suddenly hisses, and then he grabs hold of me. I’m yanked into the air as he climbs to his feet, and holding me tightly, he runs toward the car. My cries turn to whimpers as unbearable heartache swamps me.

I watch as the distance between Mom and me keeps growing. A breeze picks up, making some of her ginger hair blow over her face, sticking to the blood.