Vicious (Sinners of Saint #1)

by L.J. Shen

  He made life easier. Nicer. Safer. I wasn’t using him by any stretch of the imagination. I cared about him. Helped him with his homework, left “good luck” sketches in his locker last fall before football games, and smiled like a loon every time he walked by me in the hall this winter.

  “You’d do that for me, babe?” An easy smile spread across his face. Out of the four of them, Dean was probably the stoner. He seemed to take everything in stride. Including our relationship. “I knew you were perf.” He was already up on his feet, pulling me by the hand. “Now hurry up, babe. I’m dying for a beer, and I’ve got some killer bud. Trent and Vicious are gonna shit themselves.”

  I flashed Dean a weak smile through my reflection in my small mirror as I fixed my hair. I liked my hair messy, but no matter what I tried to tell myself, I cared what people thought. I cared, and like everybody else, I wanted to be liked.

  I was wearing a creamy oversized sweater, cropped to my midriff and falling off one shoulder, and a pair of cut-off denim shorts. I slipped into my black-and-pink flowered boots and chuckled when he jerked me to his body and kissed me hard again.

  I pulled away after a few seconds, wiping our saliva from my mouth.

  “After you,” I said.

  He stopped, his brow furrowing, a serious expression on his face. “I love that you want to make me happy. Wherever we’re going next year, we’re going together. Got it?” He was staring at me like I was the sunrise.

  It felt nice.

  So nice.

  I allowed myself to bathe in his warmth, even though it wasn’t mine to take.

  “Yeah, Mr. Caveman. Got it.” I rolled my eyes but smiled.

  He kissed me again.

  So safe.

  He smacked my butt lightly. “Good. Let’s move it.”

  I was ready to be happy with him. I really was.

  “Last Nite” by The Strokes was pouring from the speakers as we shouldered our way through the drunken crowd. People were standing, dancing, and making out in Vicious’s living room like they owned the place. When my family first started working here, I couldn’t understand how his parents allowed him to throw these wild parties every weekend. Turned out they just didn’t give a damn. Not about the parties and definitely not about their son.

  Baron Sr. and his wife, Jo, were never around, especially not on weekends. It was my suspicion that Vicious lived by himself at least seventy percent of the time. I’d been there for over four months, and I could count on one hand the number of times I’d seen him interact with his father.

  I didn’t even need one finger to count the times he’d interacted with his stepmother.

  I thought it was sad.

  But that was the exact same thing Vicious thought about my life.

  Dean and I spent some time in the giant kitchen, with Dean tossing back shots—at least five or six—before he motioned for me to go upstairs with him. I obliged, mainly because I felt weird hanging out in the kitchen where Mama worked, and anyway, I hadn’t seen Rosie anywhere on the first floor. I was hoping she was upstairs somewhere. With any luck, without someone’s tongue shoved into her mouth in one of the many bedrooms. It wouldn’t be a big deal—and definitely not the first time I’d caught her making out with some random guy—but it always made me feel like a protective mama bear.

  Upstairs, Dean strode right through the door into the media room, while I hesitated outside, scanning to see if I could maybe spot my baby sister on the landing or in one of the hallways to the right and left.

  Truth was, I wasn’t only looking for her—I was also looking to avoid the other HotHoles. To say that they didn’t like me was like saying the Pacific was slightly damp.

  They hated me, and I had no idea why.

  “Jaime, my man!” Dean slapped his good friend’s back as he entered the inner circle of his friends inside.

  They were all standing with beers in their hands, talking animatedly, probably about sports. I stayed in the hallway with the rest of the rejects. I didn’t want to go in and give Vicious the opportunity to scowl or say something crude in my direction.

  After a few minutes, Dean whipped his head toward the door and noticed I was still outside. I didn’t particularly care, if I was being honest. I was talking to a girl named Madison who also rode a bike to school every day. But she did it to get fit and thin, whereas I did it because I was poor and didn’t have a car. We were talking bikes when Dean waved me over.

  “Babe, what are you doing out there?” he slurred on a hiccup. “Get your fine ass in here before I bite it.”

  Madison stopped talking and gawked at me like they’d just called me on stage to receive a Nobel Prize. I disliked her at that particular moment.

  I shook my head. “Having fun right here, thanks.” I smiled into my bottle of water, wishing I could disappear. I didn’t want Vicious to notice me.

  “Fuck’s going on here?” I heard Trent—beautiful, charming Trent Rexroth, who was a nice guy to everyone but me—grumbling from inside the circle. When he raised his eyes and saw me, he looked thunderstruck. “Jesus, Cole. You’re such an idiot.”

  Why was Dean an idiot?

  When Jaime noticed I was there, he pinched the bridge of his nose before shooting Dean a dirty look. “You just had to, huh? Douche.”

  The circle broke, and I caught a glimpse of Vicious, his hip leaning against a desk, a beautiful girl I didn’t know by his side. My chest hurt when I noticed how close he was to her. Still, he didn’t touch her or even look at her.

  What he was looking at didn’t surprise me. He was staring right at me.

  “That’s my fucking girlfriend, man,” Dean garbled to Trent, ignoring Jaime. “You better shut your pipe if you don’t want that pretty face of yours ruined.” He turned around, his steps wobbly and uneven, and shot me one of his panty-melting smiles, but his eyes were heavy with drowsiness and alcohol. “Millie, please?” He clasped his hands together, sinking down theatrically and walking the remaining way to the door on his knees. His dimples were on full display, but it did nothing to ease my embarrassment.

  I turned a nice shade of tomato-red and buried my face in my hands, my fake beam so wide my cheeks hurt. “Dean,” I groaned, squeezing my eyelids together. “Please get up.”

  “That’s not what you said just twenty minutes ago, babe. Actually, I think it was ‘Dean, does it ever go soft?’” He snorted out a laugh.

  I was no longer smiling.

  When my hands left my face, it completely wiped the grin off his face. Behind his back, Vicious sent me a death glare, his jaw ticking to the rhythm of my heartbeats.

  Tick, tick, tick, tick.

  His lips were so thin they were practically invisible. The first step he took forward made me flinch. He cut through the mass of people in the media room toward the hallway in a few long strides and yanked Dean from the floor by the back of his collar. Dean spun in place, his face colored with surprise, and that’s when Vicious slammed Dean’s back against the nearest wall, twisting his designer white crew-neck shirt.

  “I told you not to bring her here,” he whispered darkly, his lips barely moving.

  My heart stuttered in my chest.

  “What the fuck is wrong with you?” Dean pushed him away, taking a step forward, his every move laced with unrestrained adrenaline.

  They stared at each other for a moment too long. It made me think this was going to escalate to a fight, but Jaime and Trent stepped in. Trent pulled Dean toward the door, while Jaime shoved Vicious deeper into the room.

  “Enough!” Trent shouted at both of them.

  Jaime grabbed Vicious’s arms, locking them behind his back. The rage radiating from both of them was thick in the air like suffocating smoke.

  “Tennis court.” Vicious shook out of Jaime’s hands and pointed at Dean, seething. “This time don’t cry when I fuck you up, Cole.”

  I didn’t want them to fight. Vicious had a reputation. He fought until he passed out. His arms had the scars to prove it
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  Trent rotated, marching in my direction and narrowing his gray eyes at me. “Get the hell out of here,” he commanded, his big body filling the doorframe, his eyes hooded. He looked royally pissed off.

  I couldn’t see Dean or Vicious. Whatever was going on, it was a private matter I wasn’t a part of. Dean and I had been together for a couple of months, but I knew the other HotHoles wouldn’t help me stop the fight. I’d be wasting my breath.

  “When are you guys going to stop acting like I’ve got leprosy?” I questioned in a low voice, folding my arms across my chest. “Dean is my boyfriend, and y’all have literally never spoken a nice word to me. Why do y’all hate me so much?”

  Trent shook his head, a bitter chuckle leaving his lips. “Jesus. You really don’t know?”

  “I really don’t.” My face heated again. Was it that obvious? Was I missing something that was colossally clear?

  When he leaned down, his face level with mine, I shivered. “If you think you can rip us apart, you’re wrong. Leave Vicious alone.”

  Leave Vicious alone?

  My blood went from zero to boiling in a second, and I was ready to burst. Baron Spencer was everywhere. Where I lived, where I hung out, where I slept, and where I studied. That was fine, and not his fault. But he didn’t have to look at me the way he did, to talk about me the way he had. He didn’t have to bark at me and mock me every chance he could.

  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.

  Vicious rubbed his jaw, kicking my door shut behind him. “If you wanted my attention, congratulations, you’ve got it. Now break this Dean bullshit off.”

  I flung the blanket to the floor and bolted to my feet. My sweater slid down one shoulder, and my plain white bra peeked out. I was too agitated to care. I pushed him with all the strength I could muster, not even a little worried about the consequences. His broad back bumped against the wall, but his expression remained cool.

  I took a step back, placing my hands on my hips. “What’s your problem with me, huh? What have I ever done to deserve this? I don’t go in your house. I don’t look you in the eye when I see you at school. I don’t talk to you or about you. But it’s not enough for you. Look, I don’t want to be here either, okay? I never signed up to live in Todos Santos. That’s all on my parents. They need the money. We need the money. Rosie has an illness and health care’s better here, not to mention this place is rent-free. Tell me what you want me to do that doesn’t require my family being homeless, and I’ll do it, but for Lord’s sake, Vicious, leave me alone!”

  I wasn’t sure exactly when I began to cry, but hot, fat tears ran down my cheeks. I think I must have boiled to the point of overflow. I didn’t like that he was seeing me like this, vulnerable and broken, but hoped it would inspire him to be a little less hateful to me.

  His eyes dragged slowly from the mural to me, his stare still vacant.

  I raked my fingers through my hair, frustrated. “Don’t make me be mean,” I muttered. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “Break up with him,” he repeated, curt. “Make it stop.”

  “Make what stop?” I frowned.

  He squeezed his eyes shut. “Emilia,” he warned.

  About what, I didn’t know. But for once, he didn’t refer to me as Help.
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  “He makes me happy.” I stood my ground, because who the hell was Vicious to tell me who to date?

  “He’s not the only one who can make you happy.” He opened his eyes, and pushing off the wall, he took a step in my direction.

  My skin was on fire, and I knew what would soothe the burn away, like an aloe balm, but it was wrong. So wrong. So was him ordering me to stop dating Dean.

  Then why does a part of me feel pleased?

  “Ask me what I want again,” he snapped. His voice was ice rolling on my skin, leaving uncomfortable shivers of pleasure in its wake.

  “No.” I started walking backward, still facing him. He followed me. A predator stalking his prey, and he had the physical and psychological advantage over me.

  I was about to become his next meal, and I had no doubt in my mind—he was going to devour me.

  “Ask,” he breathed, my back had hit the opposite wall and his arms came up around me, caging me in. I was trapped, and not only physically. I knew there was no way out, even if he’d stepped aside.

  “What do you want?” I gulped. I wanted him to make it stop too, and I wasn’t even sure what it was. But it was there. I felt it too.

  “I want to fuck you and watch your face while I do. To see how you drown in me as I hurt you as much as it hurts me to have to see your goddamn face every day.”

  I sucked in a breath. Not sure how to respond, I raised my hand to slap him across the face. He captured my wrist, stopping me before my palm reached his cheek, and shook his head slowly.

  “You need to earn the right to slap me, Pink. And you’re not there yet.”

  Pink. My heart stuttered.

  I was horrified that he affected me this way. It seemed like no matter what he said to me, he always left a dent. In my brain. In my thoughts. Making me dissect him. But with him here, admitting to wanting to have sex with me… something changed.

  We were flush against each other, and I was drunk on his scent and high on his face, and oh my Lord, I knew we hadn’t done anything, but it felt so much like cheating. Self-loathing made my stomach churn. I wiggled my wrist free, trying to push past him. But he wouldn’t let me go.