Vicious (Sinners of Saint 1)

“His will. He hasn’t told either of us what’s in it. Jo thinks she can give me trouble and claim some of the Spencer fortune. Whatever the will says means shit. Jo’s in for a rude awakening.”

“What does she want?” I asked.

He shrugged. “As much as she can get, I assume. The house here. A few more properties in New York and the beach house in Cabo. Some investment accounts my dad played with over the years.”

He said it casually, as if it was nothing. For me, it was a lot. More than I’d ever know.

“Don’t you have enough money to go around? Does it really matter if you have thirty million or fifty million in your bank account?” It was a genuine question, which I didn’t know the answer to.

He shot me a condescending look before blinking once, seemingly trying to control his annoyance over my presence. “It’s a lot more than fifty million, but even if it were fifty cents, she doesn’t deserve a thing. Which brings me to the reason why you’re here.”

Just as he said it, the limo stopped in front of a house that was all too familiar.

Like most of Todos Santos, Dean’s childhood home was more like a mansion, but it was less vast and glitzy than the Spencer palace, and it actually had character. You know, the things that make a house look like a home. Full of color and art and light. Light everywhere. Outside and inside the house. And Christmas decorations. A cone tree, reindeer and snowflakes, all LED-lit and mesmerizing in their beauty.

Neither of us spoke nor moved for the first few seconds.

Dean. I rarely thought about him anymore, but when I did, it was fondly. He was a good guy. A goofball, with something more lurking behind that big smile. The jester, the joker, the clown. I never knew whether he was sad or happy. Smart or foolish. Ambitious or a slacker. He kept his cards close to his chest. Even after almost an entire school year together, I hadn’t been able to even begin to figure out who he was.

Luckily, Vicious had mentioned that Dean was in LA, so I was in the clear. I wouldn’t be running into my old boyfriend tonight.

Still, there was something urgent in Vicious’s eyes as he stared at me, and I found myself knotting my legs and clenching my inner thighs, his scrutiny painfully gratifying.

“If it comes to it, I need you to tell Josephine that you’re willing to testify in court that I told you about how she polluted my relationship with my father. That she sent me to boarding school in Virginia to get rid of me and paid one of my teachers to report I was violent. Uncontrollable. That she sent her brother, Daryl, by to beat me when I complained. That after I got expelled, her brother moved here and continued those beatings. That Jo claimed I was hurting myself. That it went on for years.”

I felt my blood draining from my face and neck, my eyes snapping to him.

“Is all that true?” I gulped.

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”

Over the years, I’d thought a lot about the conversation I overheard outside the library. About the man he was with. Daryl. I’d replayed the scene over and over in my head a thousand times, but before now, I’d always come to the same conclusion. Vicious sounded like the one in charge. Strong, secure.

It was almost impossible to consider the idea that a guy like him could be the victim of abuse. Had it actually happened? Was any of it true?

“No one would believe you told me anything,” I said. “We were never close.”

“Pink and Black were.” He shot me a hard look. “Principal Followhill holds the records of every fart released in the hallways while she reigned at All Saints High. She has proof to confirm it.”

Pink and Black. It was the first time in years he’d acknowledged them, us, and bitterness hit the back of my throat. I’d always imagined that if we came clean to each other, it wouldn’t be like that. Wouldn’t be…so dirty.

“You said this wasn’t going to be illegal. Perjury is illegal, Vicious. Very much so.”

“What do you know about perjury?”

“Rosie and I are addicted to Law and Order. I know enough,” I said under my breath.

That made him heave a sigh. “Well, for the money you’re being paid, you can take a bullet or two,” he muttered.

But for the first time since we’d bumped into each other at McCoy’s, I didn’t like his eyes on me anymore. Not because he scared me, but because he looked sad. I couldn’t bear it. It was physically painful to see those dark-blue marbles shining with something that looked like pain.

“Besides,” he continued, “I don’t plan to let things ever advance to court. You wouldn’t be under oath unless you have to testify. You just need to convince Jo that you’re willing to testify. She’ll never contest the will after you tell her what you know. Trust me.”