Wicked Saint: Sinners and Saints Book 1

by Eden, Veronica

“Okay, I’m coming,” I grumble as I follow them.

  We make our way to the football field. There’s a crowd of onlookers gathered around the sidelines blocking our way. Normally a handful of people watch our practice from the bleachers, but this is at least twice as many people.

  I rub my brow as I push through to get to the field. Coach is fuming, stomping back and forth, waving his arms in big arcs with his clipboard clutched in one hand. The team stands around with dumbfounded expressions. He throws the clipboard down on the ground, his face red and his eyes bugging when they land on me.

  The magnitude of the ire he directs at me makes me fall back a step in confusion.

  “Saint!” Coach screams.

  I have no idea what’s going on until I scratch the back of my head and glance away from him. Then I see it and my blood runs cold.

  I found my missing Jeep.

  What. The. Fuck.

  My stomach flips over, relief mixing with an anxious squirm.

  My Jeep sits on the football field in the middle of the torn up grass, deep tire tracks arcing in uneven donuts. The damage from the joyride stretches at least thirty yards.

  I take a few steps toward it, drawn by disbelief.

  My number is painted in black on the hood. The giant number 14 suddenly makes my usual saying seem stupid. Nothing about this scene can be described as lucky twice.

  On the windshield there’s a message painted in huge block letters. It reads: King Midas of Ridgeview, beautiful destroyer.

  I lace my fingers behind my head and force out a brittle exhale. My stomach feels like a nest of snakes coiling, writhing, and twining in a constantly moving mass.

  “Saint, what the hell were you thinking?” Coach grabs me by the back of my collar as he yells. “Destroying school property—we’ll be lucky if we can fix this before the game this weekend. Do you think this prank is funny?”

  The cloud of confused discomfort lifts enough for me to take in the way everyone’s looking at me. They really—?

  I can’t hold back the sharp laugh that punches out of my lungs. Everyone thinks I did this myself. They know me even less than I thought, seeing only the persona I wear like a knight’s armor around these people.

  Why would I do this? It’s stupid. Too easy to get caught. Pranks are only worth it when you can get away with it.

  Of course the school’s golden Saint would be cocky enough to proclaim himself King Midas.

  I cut a glance to Devlin and Bishop, hovering with the mix of people watching. A few people have their phones up, likely recording it all. Devlin raises his eyebrows and gives me a little shake of his head.

  He doesn’t know how it happened or who did it.

  “I can’t believe that you would do something so stupid and reckless—this could end our season early! The championship!” Coach rants in my ear, his spittle flying. He jabs a finger at the car. “Get that off my goddamn football field or you’ll be off the team!”

  The vein throbbing on Coach’s temple stands out against his purpling face. I’m worried about his blood pressure if I don’t get this under control fast.

  Holding up my palms, I plaster on a sheepish expression. “I’ll take care of it. I’m sorry this happened.”

  Hopefully the school won’t press charges for any damages. Dad would take care of it, he’s pretty friendly with the police force. He’ll use lawyer-speak to spin it like the harmless havoc of youth. He won’t be happy with me, though. Not if it means ending my football career early.

  I kind of wish that could happen, minus the blame for this bullshit prank.

  My day gets worse when I can’t find my keys in my backpack. I shove my hand into every pocket, eyes narrowing by the second.

  “Saint,” Coach growls in a warning tone.

  “I know, I know! I swear, Coach, I’ll handle it.” My mind is completely focused on getting out of this unscathed. I drag a hand through my hair. Where could my keys be? I turn to Coach Garcia to convince him. “Don’t bench me, Coach. I’ll do double time to make it up to you. And I’ll pay for the sod replacement for the field. We’ll be ready for the game.”

  “Fine.” Coach’s lips work and he crosses his arms. “Make it happen, Saint, or I’ll have no choice but to take this up with Principal Bishop.” He addresses the team. “Suicide sprints. Now.”

  Their groans have me hiding a grimace. I wish Coach didn’t take his anger out on them. This could fuck with our plays if they resent me for a week of grueling practice.

  Whatever. I don’t have time to deal with that right now. I jog over to Devlin and Bishop, dragging them away from the crowd watching the drama. Some of them compliment me for doing it. My jaw tics and I huff.

  “My keys aren’t in my bag,” I mutter.

  Bishop’s brows jump high. “Someone seriously got the slip on you.”

  “Don’t rub it in.” I rub a hand over my face, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Either of you have any ideas?”

  “Spare set?” Bishop suggests.

  “No, I think I know someone who might know,” Devlin interrupts. His lips press into a thin line as a shadow falls over his face. “Go check the girl’s track team.”

  “Why?” I don’t give a shit about the girl’s sports teams, so I don’t follow his logic. “I need to get a ride to my house to grab my spare keys.”

  Devlin grips my shoulder. “Seriously. That little bitch with the sticky fingers is on the track team.”

  “Gemma’s friend with the blue hair? The one who picked Eddie’s pocket to prove she could?” A thoughtful look crosses Bishop’s face. “She’s kind of hot in a guilty pleasure way. I’d totally do her in the backseat of my car at her trailer park.”

  A vicious growl escapes Devlin and he shoves his best friend. Bishop and I both stare at Devlin. He’s so carefree that it’s odd to see him react so strongly to anything.

  “I keep telling you, bro.” Bishop slaps Devlin on the back as he steers him toward the soccer field. “You have to let me know when you want to call dibs.”

  “Shut up.”

  Devlin gives Bishop a shove.

  I have no choice but to head for the girl’s track and field practice. It’s better than driving all the way home. Coach will work himself into a damn frenzy with the time that would take.

  Devlin turns out to be right.

  As I approach the area where the girl’s track team are doing drills, I find Gemma hanging out nearby. She has two textbooks open as she writes in a notebook. Her honey-colored hair hangs over her shoulder in a thick braid, loose strands framing her face.

  Gemma tucks her bottom lip between her teeth, appearing lost in thought. She looks beautiful in the late afternoon light.

  I want to fucking destroy her as I stalk over to her.

  It takes her a second to look up once my shadow blocks her light. I fold my arms and tower over her.

  Once she peers up at me, shielding her face from the sun and squinting one eye, I get fired up.

  “What did you do?” I hiss, reaching down and wrenching her to her feet.

  Gemma yelps as her things topple to the grass.

  “What the hell?” Gemma whisper-shouts, clawing at my arms.

  It does nothing to make me release her. My fingers dig harder into her upper arms.

  “How did you do it, Gemma?” I demand, bringing my face close to hers.

  She gapes at me. She’s a damn good actress. I almost believe her act.

  “You’re squeezing too hard.” Gemma pushes my chest, but I don’t let go. “Lucas. That hurts.”

  “You deserve it.”

  “Quit being such a caveman.”

  I growl in her face. “You like it when I hurt you, remember?”

  Gemma grants me a grunt in return, a little angry sound that stirs something in me, yanking on my impulsive instincts. My grip on her biceps flexes and I eat up her wince as retribution for the shitty afternoon I’m having. It’s a step in the right direction.

  She’s so godda
mn stubborn. She makes my veins burn with fire. I’m going to consume her until there’s nothing left that isn’t mine.

  “How the hell did you get my keys, huh? Who helped you?” I’m trying to make sense of how she pulled off her stunt with my Jeep. There’s no way she did it on her own. “I only saw you at lunch.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Gemma, I fucking swear if you don’t tell me, I’ll—”

  “I did it all alone.”

  She spits it out in a single breath, then clamps her lips shut. She stares at me hard, but her eyes slide to the track team for a fraction of a second. It’s long enough for me to guess her friend helped.

  Devlin did call her sticky fingers.

  I lift my eyes to the track and field team. A few of them have drifted our way. Even their coach has half an eye on us. Gemma’s friend finishes a sprint and her attention locks on Gemma.

  “Are you sure you worked by yourself?”

  Gemma tips her chin up. “Are you calling me a liar?”

  “You’re not a liar. You’re a fucking demon.”

  I grasp her chin in a punishing hold and force her head up. I seal my lips over hers and kiss her with a fierce intensity, biting her lips until they open for me.

  She whimpers, lurching in my hold with nowhere to go. Gemma’s smart, though. She relaxes and offers her surrender for me to take.

  I devour her mouth in front of our audience. No one will deny Gemma Turner is mine.

  Gemma’s body shakes when I tip my head to the side and kiss her deeper. As soon as she starts to kiss me back, I rip my mouth away from her.

  Against her lips, I declare in a snarl, “I own you now. You are mine whenever I want you. If you deny me, I’m going to rip you apart on the spot for touching my Jeep.”

  Gemma’s pulse thrums beneath my palm where I hold her jaw and neck. Her eyes are wide and full of fear. Good.

  I press my forehead to hers and narrow my eyes to slits of steel.

  “You just destroyed any shred of hope that I’d give you mercy. You’re mine,” I repeat, “until I’ve bled you dry.”

  Gemma’s throat bobs against my hand with her gulp.

  “Go get my keys. Right now.”

  Releasing her with a shove that makes her stumble, I stuff my fists into my pockets to keep from snatching her back for another wild kiss.

  Gemma keeps her eyes on me, like I’m a threat. She’s right to look at me like a predator prepared to annihilate her at any second.

  “Keys, Gemma.”

  A small noise gets caught in her throat as she drops to her knees, pawing through the bag I stole once. As she stands, she brushes grass from her black tights. I have half a mind to bring her with me when I get my Jeep, toss her in the back and rip her tights apart to get to her.

  She’ll learn that I’m in charge.

  My keys dangle from her fingers and I rip them away from her. She jumps and hugs herself, eyes moving between me and the people watching. Her cheeks are pink and with a shaking hand, she pushes the loose strands out of her face.

  I grab her chin and force her gaze back to me.

  “I always get what I want.” I pin her with a possessive, dangerous look, willing her to understand. “Don’t test me again.”

  It takes a few seconds, but she lifts her eyes to me. They’re shiny with emotion. Staring at me with her bottom lip sucked into her mouth, she nods in agreement.

  Gemma Turner has finally recognized that no one denies me. And she won’t escape.

  Fifteen

  Gemma

  Lucas Saint will take everything if I let him.

  I can’t let him.

  I have no idea what I’m doing anymore. I wasn’t going to let him win or get to me…but I can’t deny that the kisses are insanely good. He has a talent for breaking through all of my defenses when his mouth is on mine, making me forget for a second why I hate him as I’m swept away on the tide of his kisses.

  I’m stuck between anticipating him and fending him off.

  After Lucas came for his keys, he attacked me with a kiss whenever he found me at school. Every morning I strengthen my resolve, staring myself down in the mirror as I coach myself to stay strong.

  And every day he breaks through and makes me crumble against his body.

  I should hate him with every fiber of my being.

  But I don’t think I do.

  My head is so messed up.

  There might not be a point in fighting him, other than my pride. Everyone in school already thinks I’m with Lucas. Social proof flies around via mass text, Snapchat, and Instagram all day. People record our kisses and slap stickers and captions detailing their precious Saint’s latest conquest.

  I overhear bets running for how long I’ll last before the next girl gets a turn.

  How long until the prude breaks.

  That’s what they think of me. Even now that the students have backed off a little, it’s a double-edged sword to be Lucas’ fixation. Instead of being open about it, the bullying from other girls continues in sneaky ways. I’m cornered in the bathroom and told to move on by girls I’ve never met. They’re eager for their turn.

  Carter Burns is the only one bold enough to keep proclaiming dibs when Lucas finishes with me. He’s only so brave, though. He waits until Lucas isn’t around to corner me.

  Carter makes my skin crawl. Unlike Lucas, who makes me question my sanity because he’s gotten in my head and refuses to fuck off, the way Carter looks at me makes me uncomfortable.

  He poses a different kind of threat.

  My only safe haven from the absurdity is at home.

  I’m doing the dishes after dinner when Alec whips me with a dishtowel.

  “Hey!”

  Alec dances away when I flick soapy water at him.

  “Butt face.” I hold two fingers up and wave them between my face and his. “I’ll remember that. I’m watching you. Expect payback.”

  Alec snorts and props his elbows on the counter behind him. Our parents are watching Netflix in the living room. Other than my Lucas drama, everything feels like it used to. It’s a normal family night at home and it makes me smile.

  “It’s good to see you’re making friends.” Alec draws me out of my thoughts about our Rockwell-adjacent evening.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Lucas and everyone. You’re getting along with everybody.” Alec shrugs and grabs an apple from the bowl next to him. He crunches into it and speaks with a full mouth. “It’s a weight off my shoulders. I was worried.”

  I roll my eyes. “Yeah, you really stood up for my honor or whatever.”

  “Yeah, well…” Alec has the decency to look sheepish for being a dick. “I’m glad I don’t have to stress about you now.”

  I press my lips together. What I told him before still applies. I don’t want to ruin things for him at this school.

  If I tell him everything Lucas has done to me, I doubt he’d be so relieved.

  “Whatever,” I mutter, switching the water off. “I’m going upstairs to chill.”

  Alec hums and wanders into the living room as I make my way up the staircase.

  I pull my hair down from a messy bun and braid it, flopping onto my bed.

  A text from Lucas pings on my phone. Grimacing, I open it, like the masochist I am.

  Lucas: Tell me what you sleep in at night. I want to know how I should picture you when I jerk off thinking about it. Do you go commando? [wink emoji] Or do you have a cute little sleep set that would drive me crazy? I’m coming to your window tonight to find out.

  Ugh. Goddamn pervert. I throw my phone facedown on my bed.

  I hate that he can get to me even when I’m in my room.

  Every inch of my walls are covered in photos I’ve taken since first discovering my interest in photography. Behind my bed I have a string of fairy lights and square prints that I update every month. I trace my fingers over the ones I’ve added since moving to Ridgeview.r />
  Two of them have Lucas in them. I didn’t mean to snap photos of him, but he does draw attention to himself. He’s impossible to ignore.

  I’m a photographer—of course I can begrudgingly acknowledge that Lucas is attractive. The planes of his face probably fit the golden ratio. His face is…aesthetically pleasing.

  And it pisses me off.

  Pursing my lips to the side, I peel off the prints featuring Lucas from the wall and toss them in the drawer of my nightstand. I grab a pillow behind me and cover my face to muffle my groan.

  Stupid Lucas.

  I stew like that until I fall asleep.

  * * *

  I startle awake. It’s dark and I’m disoriented.

  I think I fell asleep with the light on, vaguely recalling the comforting orange glow of my lamp. Mom or Dad must have checked on me before going to bed. They always turned my light off after I fell asleep when I was little and afraid of the dark.

  As I lay there, the dream comes back in starts and stops.

  There was an intruder that climbed in through my window. Lucas. It was him and he was torturing me. Touching me. Kissing me.

  Blinking a few times, I squirm my legs beneath the covers. My skin prickles and heat throbs between my thighs. I bite my lip and snake a hand down my body, the light touch sparking along my nerve endings. My chest heaves with my muffled gasp. I’m so sensitive.

  I dip my fingers into my damp underwear and trace my folds, arching from the bed.

  As I touch myself, my dream fills my head.

  I lick my lips and circle my fingers faster on my clit, seeking the satisfaction of release that Lucas hasn’t given me.

  My hips rock up and I pant.

  I wanted that kiss in the locker room to go further. I wanted more.

  “Ah—”

  I bite my lip hard and turn my face into my pillow to muffle my cry as my orgasm ripples through my body, the tingling pulses erupting from deep in my core. My limbs flop against the bed.

  Blinking at the ceiling, I exhale. I can’t believe I dreamed about Lucas. I can’t believe I masturbated while thinking about him!

  I cover my face with my arm.