No Saint (Wild Men, #6)

by Jo Raven

  Table of Contents

  No Saint (Wild Men, #6)

  Chapter One | Luna

  Chapter Two | Ross

  Chapter Three | Luna

  Chapter Four | Ross

  Chapter Five | Luna

  Chapter Six | Ross

  Chapter Seven | Luna

  Chapter Eight | Ross

  Chapter Nine | Luna

  Chapter Ten | Ross

  Chapter Eleven | Luna

  Chapter Twelve | Ross

  Chapter Thirteen | Luna

  Chapter Fourteen | Ross

  Chapter Fifteen | Luna

  Chapter Sixteen | Ross

  Chapter Seventeen | Luna

  Chapter Eighteen | Ross

  Chapter Nineteen | Luna

  Chapter Twenty | Ross

  Chapter Twenty-One | Luna

  Chapter Twenty-Two | Ross

  Chapter Twenty-Three | Luna

  Chapter Twenty-Four | Ross

  Chapter Twenty-Five | Luna

  Chapter Twenty-Six | Ross

  Chapter Twenty-Seven | Luna

  Chapter Twenty-Eight | Ross

  Chapter Twenty-Nine | Luna

  Chapter Thirty | Ross

  Chapter Thirty-One | Luna

  Chapter Thirty-Two | Ross

  Chapter Thirty-Three | Luna

  Chapter Thirty-Four | Ross

  Chapter Thirty-Five | Luna

  Chapter Thirty-Six | Ross

  Chapter Thirty-Seven | Luna

  Chapter Thirty-Eight | Ross

  EPILOGUE | Three months later | Luna

  POSTSCRIPT | Luna

  JO SAYS...

  About the title:

  About Finn:

  Have you read the short prequel, King of Bullies?

  What next?

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  AUTHOR BIO

  NO SAINT

  (The downfall and redemption of Ross Jones)

  by Jo Raven

  Wild Men #6

  Meet the infamous Ross, black sheep of the family and bully extraordinaire...

  I drink too much, smoke too much, screw around. I’ve hurt people, been in and out of prison. I’m a bastard, a beast. I’m a bundle of joy.

  I mean, my own dad tried to kill me, what does that tell you?

  Then again, my dad did kill my mom, so maybe it isn’t just me. Who the hell knows. The world sucks and I’m giving it the finger in every damn way, except...

  Except there’s a girl. Pretty. Hot. Clever. She didn’t get the memo—that she should hate me, shun me, kick me when I’m down. That the world screwed us all over. She believes in the future—and sometimes she seems to even believe in me.

  Big mistake. I’m bad news. I made her suffer in the past, and nothing has changed. I’m not an angel, not a saint. I’m just no good.

  But for some reason I don’t get, I can’t let her go down with me. I find myself trying to be better for her, pretending to be someone I’m not.

  And if that doesn’t ring some damn big alarm bells regarding my sanity, well... then I’m done already.

  JO RAVEN

  Copyright © Jo Raven 2019

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author. The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, events, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Chapter One

  Luna

  “Sweetheart,” Dad says, pulling me into his arms. “Welcome back home.”

  I hug him back tightly, swallowing a lump in my throat. “Hi, Dad.”

  He strokes my hair and I pull back, taking him in, taking in the house with its old, cozy furniture and landscapes hanging on the walls, painted by my grandmother.

  “Nothing has changed,” I lied.

  “It’s all the same as when you left,” Dad mutters, glancing around, thinking I’m talking about the house.

  Maybe I am talking about the house. I’m not sure.

  Maybe I’m just voicing a fear lurking in the back of my mind, that coming back after three years, I’d find that nothing had improved. Not about the house.

  About myself.

  I left to escape the bullying at my school, and went away to live with Aunt Emily, finish school there. Now I’m back and not sure how I feel about it, what I have to show for my absence.

  If you hadn’t noticed.

  Josh, my little brother, rushes up to me, breaking my train of thought, the swell of dark thoughts and memories. He wraps his arms around my waist and looks up at me.

  “Looney!” he says with a big grin.

  I roll my eyes. “Stop butchering my name, little skunk.”

  Josh chortles. “Come see my new bike!” He tugs on my hand, and I follow him, shooting Dad a wry look.

  He shrugs helplessly and perches on a stool at the kitchen island, reaching for his favorite black mug of coffee.

  God, it’s so weird to be back. It makes me feel younger, unsure of myself, it brings back so many memories, both good and bad. Dad looks older, though, more white at his temples and in his beard, darker freckles on the back of his hands.

  As Josh drags me to his room upstairs, I can’t get those freckles out of my head. The hands of an old man, I think, and shiver. How did time pass by so fast?

  “Dad gave it to me for my birthday,” he says. “Here.”

  His small hands are strong, hinting at the man he’ll grow up to be.

  Men are strong, bigger, and cruel. Not all of them, I’ll give you that, and I’ve seen girls way crueler than guys, but even so...

  Enough now, Luna.

  “You weren’t here for my birthday,” Josh says, and guilt rips through me.

  “I know. I had school exams.”

  He nods jerkily. “Look. It’s sleek.”

  The bike is a pretty, vibrant blue. “God, look at all the gears it has,” I gush over it, just to see his eyes shine with joy. “It’s a super bike.”

  “It’s better than the one you had,” he says breathlessly.

  He should know. He used it up to now. Dad makes better money now than before, and the bike I used to have was a piece of crap. Whenever I rode it to school, I was made aware of that fact by everyone.

  “You be careful when you ride it,” I tell him sternly, and he just smiles crookedly at me. “Don’t go too fast. Don’t race with your friends, you hear me?”

  “Yeah, yeah...” His turn to roll his eyes. “You sound like Mom.”

  I doubt he means that. Josh is ten, born right before Mom and Dad got divorced. Dad got custody of us. Mom had never been good with children, apparently. Never really wanted any.

  No offense, she said once.

  Yeah, Mom. Sure. One day I may understand this, but not now, not yet. I mean, I don’t want children right now either, and maybe never, but I didn’t get married, have the kids and then decide it wasn’t what I wanted, right? Me and Josh, we’re not toys to throw away.

  This is the new me talking, by the way. The old Luna did feel like a discarded toy most of her life, but staying with my aunt and cousins went a long way into changing that.

  God, I miss them already, no matter how happy I am to see Dad and Josh again. How will I get through this return, through this summer? What will I do next?

  ***

  “Are you happy to be back?” Dad observes me from the corner of his eye as we sit at the table, eating a dinner of pot roast he made. He’s a great cook. We were lucky we stayed with him, for so many reasons.

  And of course, he can read me like an open book, and chose to
ask the one question I don’t want to answer, that I dreaded to hear.

  “I’m glad to see you and Josh,” I deflect. Chew on a piece of meat to buy time. “Really glad.”

  He nods, shoves the bowl of salad toward Josh who’s frowning down at his food, moving it around his plate. “Greens.”

  Josh makes a face. Just like when he was four. Always hated his greens. This much hasn’t changed.

  The sounds from outside the half-open window are quiet and familiar, from the chirping of birds in the big oak to the shouts of kids playing on the street and the more distant whirring of cars passing on the main road.

  With the taste of the roast on my tongue and the smell of the flowers outside the window, this certainly feels like a homecoming.

  And it scares me. I can’t go back to who I was, what I was.

  I swore not to go back to that.

  Dad is observing me again, while pretending not to, fork poised over his plate. When he catches my eye, he chews on the inside of his cheek and says, “All good in there, honey?”

  I nod, try on a smile. “Yeah. It’s just...”

  Just so frigging weird to be here, and so disconcerting to know I’m back in the same town as the people who bullied me.

  Deep breaths, I order myself. You’ll be fine. Avoid them for the Summer. Just keep away from where they hang out, keep other people around you. Easy-peasy.

  And then you’ll be gone again.

  We finish dinner, and Josh gets up to bring the desert. All specially made for me, the daughter who has returned to the nest.

  I haven’t told Dad that I’m planning on leaving so soon. Surely he’s guessed it? Why would I want to stay? Except for him, of course. And Josh.

  Oh God...

  “You know...” Dad tracks Josh’s progress with the desert. My brother is wrestling with a box which I bet contains my favorite cake from the coffee shop on the main street, trying to open it. He’s destroying it, basically, and it’s a familiar sight that makes me grin. “That guy and his buddies who called you names and pushed you off the bike once?”

  My grin falls. “Sure I remember. Why are you asking me this?”

  “He’s still around.”

  “Dad—”

  “I see him sometimes, too,” Josh says. “Here and there, on the main street sometimes, smoking.”

  Cold fear sloshes through me. “With his friends?”

  “Nah. They don’t seem to hang out together anymore.”

  “Did they bother you? Did they hurt you?”

  “No.” He shakes his head so fast his fine brown hair flies about. “Just seen him. He hasn’t talked to me at all.”

  Him.

  Ross Jones.

  “A lot has happened since you left,” Dad says, watching me carefully.

  “A lot has happened.” As if I’ve been gone for years without a phone or email.

  I huff. “I was here every few weeks, Dad.”

  “But we didn’t talk about this. You were busy with assignments when he was attacked. And I wasn’t sure you’d want to know anyway.”

  “Attacked?” That gets my attention. How did I miss this little bit of news?

  Oh right, because I forbade anyone talking to me about Ross and his friends. How can you make a fresh start when those old taunting ghosts keep haunting you, right? My cousin suggested that I erase them from my life, so I did.

  “His dad attacked him,” Josh says. “With a knife.” He lifts his brows dramatically.

  “Josh,” Dad scolds him mildly. “It’s not funny.”

  I barely notice. “Karma is a bitch,” I murmur, distracted.

  Wait... his dad? That’s screwed up, even for a bully like Ross...

  ***

  Landing a job in a town as small as Destiny isn’t easy. But Dad knows people, or so he said. “I know people.” Makes it sound dangerous. Like he’s Jason Bourne or something.

  But he wasn’t lying: thanks to him, I land a job in one of the town’s diners. Such a glamorous gig. But it will do for Summer.

  Having lived here most of my life, I know everyone, too, which is a blessing and a curse.

  “Look at you.” The girl behind the counter of the diner snaps her gum at me, and gives me a once-over, a gleam in her bright brown eyes. “I remember you. You changed your hair. And you lost weight.”

  “Yeah, thanks?”

  The girl—her name’s Dena. Her dad is from Spain, I recall, searching in my extensive mental Destiny inhabitant index. Speaks fluent Spanish. Had a nerdy and cute boyfriend during high school.

  Never spoke to me before.

  How can I be the new me when these people have known me since I was a toddler and remember me exactly as I was three years ago?

  And that “You lost weight” line. Tagged on, like a parasitic afterthought, meant to put me at ease, please me. They make it sound like a good thing.

  Maybe it is. My weight was one of the reasons I got picked on during my school days, here in Destiny. But I haven’t been eating because coming back stressed me so much, so good thing? Not sure.

  And I’m still me. No thigh gap. No slender limbs and curves in the right places. No big eyes and pouty lips like the girls in the magazines or the popular girls at school.

  School is over, I remind myself. Finished. Done with. You are free.

  I roll that around in my mind as Dena shows me the ropes. I’ve worked in diners in these past three years, on and off, to get some pocket money, so I don’t need that much guidance.

  Real life outside school is different. It has to be. I have to believe it. Luna the frightened unpopular girl is gone, too. Now I am the new Luna, and like the new moon I am in darkness until I reveal myself, reborn.

  Hey, it sounds good in theory, all right? It gives me a plan, a purpose. I can do this. Be the new me who isn’t so shy and insecure, who doesn’t go red when someone laughs or points at her. I am good enough. I need to believe it.

  Who cares if I’m not all that pretty? I’ve brains, and smarts, and I will make something of my life.

  Once I get through this Summer, that is. And save some money. And decide what I do next.

  My cousin says I should get a degree, maybe in web design and graphics. Move to a city, get a good job in a company. That I can do it.

  My thoughts return to Ross and what my dad and Josh said about him.

  That he’s still here. Hanging around. That his dad attacked him.

  That’s so screwed up.

  Worse still, why can’t I get him out of my mind? It’s hard to stop thinking about him. Not only because he taunted and tormented me—but also because he was the sexiest, hottest guy in school.

  And the world, probably.

  What a pity he’s such an asshole.

  Chapter Two

  Ross

  “Wanna go someplace quiet, handsome?” she whispers. “Get to know me better?”

  I’m sitting on the steps outside the town’s only worth-mentioning bar, a bottle of Vodka in one hand and a nameless chick beside me. Blond, damn persistent, and a pain in the ass. Cute, though. Hey, I haven’t turned into a hermit just yet.

  But I don’t feel it tonight. I don’t fucking feel anything. Anything good, anyway.

  “Come on...” she whines, inching closer and rubbing her cheek on my arm. “Come home with me. You know you want it.”

  She smells of cheap beer and perfume, and my dick sits up and takes notice, ignoring my fucked-up brain.

  Which annoys me even more.

  “Okay, are you fucking stupid,” I mutter, “or new in town? Go away.”

  She giggles. “You’re funny.”

  Am I now? Not something I hear every day, let me tell you. Girl’s drunk to the gills, that’s what’s going on, just like me.

  Could be the reason why she’s acting like that. Nobody in their right mind would wanna take me home. I’m unshaven, my hair falling in my eyes is greasy, my cheeks hollow. I look like shit and I don’t give a fuck.

  D
oesn’t mean there aren’t chicks that still want me. Quite a few, in fact.

  And I’ve given it to them hard, now and then. Rough. Violent. Sometimes they get off on it. Sometimes they slap me in the face. Mostly, if I’m not too shitfaced, I make sure they have their pleasure.

  Inevitably, come the next morning, they scream at me until I leave.

  A guy has needs. Urges, dark ones sometimes, especially when my brain takes me down that spiral to the black pit below. Hell, I think some might call it. A sort of personal hell where all my demons live, clawing at me, clawing at my mind.

  And I’m no saint. Physical contact ain’t my thing, but my dick often has other ideas, and... there’s a relief right after I come, right before reality kicks back in. A blank, a moment of bliss where the world disappears.

  Some days it’s the only thing that keeps me fucking sane.

  “God, you’re so quiet!” She pouts. “Was it something I said?”

  “No.”

  She apparently takes that as a positive answer, an invitation to crawl over me. Her red lipstick is smeared around her mouth, and she looks more like a sad clown than anything remotely sexy right now. No idea why my dick had stirred earlier, because it sure is losing interest now.

  I shove her off me. “Not tonight.”

  “But why not?” she whines, tugging on my arm, long nails digging in.

  “Because...” Good question. No matter how she looks, no matter how drunk or stupid she is, I’ve fucked girls like that. Done it all the time. I’m an animal. “Just because.”

  As I squint into the darkness of the street and wonder about it myself, I think I know why I’m out of sorts. Earlier today, coming out of work, I thought I saw someone... a familiar face.

  A girl.

  No, I’m drunker than I thought and my memory has been playing games for a while now. She hasn’t been around in years. And it shouldn’t fucking matter anyway.

  “Rossssss... Come on,” she whines again, pulling on my arm as I push to my feet, weaving a little, clutching the Vodka bottle like it’s all I have in the world.

  Maybe it is.

  Why did I tell her my name?

  “Listen to me,” I grunt. “Keep the fuck away from me. I don’t want you, got it?”

  “You’re cruel,” she whispers. Tears gather in her eyes. “You don’t mean it.”