Vicious (Sinners of Saint 1)

Leave him alone? No. I’d had enough.

Vicious wasn’t only in my life without my permission. He was in my veins. Always close by, like a shadow, haunting me without really touching me every time he was close enough to grab me by the throat.

“Happy to. I don’t want anything to do with the guy, anyway.”

Throwing a look of indifference in Trent’s direction, I swiveled and stalked downstairs, through the kitchen and out the servants’ entrance. I needed to find Rosie and tell her what had happened. She would make sense of it all.

I was a little mad at Dean for making that crude joke.

I was a lot mad at Vicious, Jaime, and Trent for acting like I was a North Korean dictator. They were obviously allergic to me, and though it was never my intention to become the modern-day Yoko Ono, I was starting to believe breaking up with Dean was inevitable.

The HotHoles were such a huge part of his life. They fought together, played football together, and partied together. If they didn’t like Dean’s girlfriend—me—that was a serious issue. I was tired of feeling like an STD they were trying not to catch every time I was near them.

I deserved more.

More respect.

More patience.

More acceptance.

Just more.

I headed for our apartment and flung the door open. The small living room, like my mood, was dark and cold. Mama and Daddy were already asleep, and when I opened Rosie’s door, her room was depressingly empty. She was probably hanging out by the pool with some of her friends. Unlike me, she’d made a few of those at All Saints High. Mostly people from neighboring, less affluent towns.

I entered my room and slammed the door. Pulling my blanket over my head, I closed my eyes, wishing for sleep. I didn’t even bother to crawl into my pj’s, just kicked off my boots. I wanted the night to end and for tomorrow to swallow the memory of it whole.

I tossed and turned, knowing full well I couldn’t go to bed with all the music and shouting coming from outside. Lord only knew how my parents slept so peacefully through these parties. I stared at the ceiling, and it stared right back at me. I started thinking about Dean, but my thoughts quickly moved to Vicious.

Vicious. Always ruining everything. Pinning me down, kicking me out, throwing me into an emotional twilight zone. My eyes fluttered in the dark, and I sighed.

The door creaked. My heart stopped. I knew who it was. Rosie would’ve asked if she could come in, so would Dean. No. The only person who’d never bother knocking, even though he wasn’t welcome anywhere near me. He’d walked into my parents’ house like he owned it, because he did. In his mind—I had no doubt—he owned me too.

“This shit stops now.” His voice echoed in my small room, dripping with ire.

Rolling over in bed so my body faced the door, I felt my pulse beat against my throat. I took him in silently, my eyes roaming every part of his body. He leaned against the wall, glaring while I lay in my bed. My heart did something crazy in my chest. Cartwheels or somersaults—I wasn’t really sure.

Because he had never been so close.

Never been in my territory.

This was the first time he’d deliberately sought me out, and it didn’t feel nice and safe.

It felt divine but dangerous.

Even though I liked the notion of him looking at me while I was in bed, I rubbed my thighs, pushing myself to a sitting position, my back against the headboard. Sonic Youth’s version of “Superstar” seeped through my window, and I got drunk on this one perfect moment.

It felt like I’d won something, and I hated that I was flattered. Vicious always seemed so unaffected when it came to the opposite sex. I rarely saw him with the same girl and he never visited any of his flings at their houses. It was just one of those facts of life every girl at school knew. Girls came to him, and not vice versa.

Yet here he was, in my house, in my room, near my bed. Even if he’d come here just to threaten me some more, he’d still made the trip. I got to him.

He was in my veins.

But I’d managed to crawl under his skin.

“To what do I owe this pleasure, Vicious?” I mocked. The words felt bitter on my tongue. I wasn’t a meanie. Before we moved here, I was friendly. Kind. Now, less so, but still incapable of deliberately hurting someone.

The room was dark, but light poured in from the party outside, invading every inch of space that belonged to me.

Except it actually belonged to him, and Vicious never let me forget that.

He didn’t even look at me. Just stared at a mural I’d painted on my wall—his wall—of a cherry blossom tree. His eyes were blank. Turned off. I wanted to grab his shoulders and shake him, turn on the light inside him, make sure someone was home.