Vicious (Sinners of Saint 1)

“Give me your worst, Rexroth,” I growled, trying to calm myself down. Trying to remind myself that Trent and Jaime were right. Dean and Help were just a fling. They’d be broken up by the end of the month. He was going to dump her—hopefully with her virginity still intact—hurt and angry and looking for a rebound. She’d be fragile, insecure, and vindictive.

And that’s when I was going to strike.

That’s when I was going to show her she was nothing more than my property.

“Come on, T. Move your injured ass to the tennis court. Just try not to bleed all over my fucking grass after we’re done.”

The Present

“WATCH WHERE YOU’RE GOING, SCHMUCK!” I shouted as I waited on the corner outside of the trendy office building on the Upper East Side.

The muddy stain on my bib-waisted sailor dress, the one with the tiny smiley faces, widened, spreading quickly. I held my cell between my ear and my shoulder, swallowing a frustrated scream. I was puddle-soaked, hungry, tired, and desperate for the walk signal to turn green. On top of everything, I was already late for my shift at McCoy’s.

The roar of honking traffic on a Friday night filled my ears. The problem with jaywalking in New York City was that the drivers were New Yorkers too, so they didn’t mind running you over if it came to that.

Or soaking your clothes, for that matter.

“What the hell, Millie?” Rosie coughed into my ear on the other end of the line. She sounded like an asthmatic dog. My sister hadn’t left her bed all day.

I would’ve been jealous had I not known why.

“A taxi driver just splashed me on purpose,” I explained.

“Calm your tits,” she soothed in her own, special way, and I heard her shifting in bed, groaning. “Tell me what they said again.”

The signal turned green. The animal kingdom that was New York’s pedestrians almost ran me over as we all rushed to the other side of the street, ducking our heads under the scaffolding above us. My feet screamed with pain in high heels as I rushed past food vendors and men in pea coats, praying I’d get there before the staff meal in the kitchen was over and I missed my chance to grab something to eat.

“They said that, while they were happy that I was taking an interest in the advertising industry, I was paid to make coffee and file stuff, not to make suggestions in creative meetings and share my ideas with the design teams at lunchtime. They said I was overqualified to be a PA, but that they didn’t have any art-intern positions to fill. They’re also trying to ‘trim the fat’ to stay economically lean. Apparently, I’m just that—fat.” I couldn’t help but let out a bitter laugh, as I’d never been skinnier in my life—and not by choice. “So they fired me.”

I blew out air, forming a white cloud. New York winters were so cold, they made you wish you could show up at work wearing the quilt you’d rolled yourself up in the night before. We should’ve moved back to the South. It still would be far enough from California. Not to mention the rent was way cheaper.

“So you’ve only got your job at McCoy’s left?” It was Rosie’s turn to sigh, and her lungs made a funny noise. Worry colored her voice.

I couldn’t blame her. I was supporting both of us for now. I didn’t make much as a PA, but dang, I’d needed the two jobs. With Rosie’s meds, we weren’t making ends meet as it was.

“Don’t worry,” I said as I sprinted down the busy street. “This is New York. There are job opportunities everywhere. You literally don’t know where the next job will come from. I can easily find something else.” Like hell I will. “Listen, I gotta go if I don’t want to lose my night job, too. I’m already three minutes late. Love you. Bye.”

I hung up and stopped at another crosswalk, fidgeting. There was a thick layer of people ahead of me waiting to cross the street. I couldn’t lose my job at McCoy’s, the Midtown bar I worked at. I couldn’t. I glanced sideways, my gaze halting on the long, dark alley sandwiched between two huge buildings. A shortcut. It’s not worth it, a little voice inside me said.

I was late.

And I just got fired from my day job.

And Rosie was sick again.

And there was rent to pay.

Screw it, I’ll be fast.

I ran, my spine vibrating every time my high heels hit the pavement. The cold wind slapped my cheeks, the sting like a whip lash. I ran so fast it took me a few seconds to absorb the fact that someone had yanked me back by the courier bag slung over my shoulder. I fell flat on my ass. The ground was wet and cold, and I’d landed on my tailbone.