Vicious (Sinners of Saint #1)

by L.J. Shen

  “There’s really nothing to tell. He needed a PA, and I needed a job. Since we went to high school together, he thought of me,” I explained carefully. Calling him an “old friend” would be lying to their faces.

  I left out the fact that Vicious had said he needed me to do something shady for him.

  That he admitted he had less than respectable plans for me.

  That he’d already threatened to fire me twice.

  And I definitely left out the part where he told me he’d fuck me against the glass desk of his office for everyone to see.

  “He’s a fine-looking boy.” My mother clucked her tongue in approval, taking another generous gulp from her wine. “Surprised he hasn’t settled down with anyone. But I guess that’s how it is when you’re so young and wealthy. You have the pick of the crop.”

  I shuddered inwardly. Mama admired the rich. It’s something Rosie and I were never on board with. Maybe because we had the misfortunate of attending All Saints High and tasting the disdain and snobbery of wealthy students. The bitterness stayed in our mouths long after we’d left Todos Santos.

  “I never liked the boy,” Daddy said out of nowhere.

  My head snapped to him. My father was the Spencers’ Jack-of-all trades. He cleaned the pool, handled the landscaping, and was the maintenance guy when something broke down or needed replacing. He worked mostly outside and had gray hair, a sun-wrinkled face, and the stringy, muscled body of a laborer. This was the first time he’d ever spoke about Vicious that way.

  “How come?” I probed, pretending to be nonchalant while I poured myself another glass of wine. I was going to be tipsy by the time I got back home, but I didn’t care.

  “He’s bad news. The things he did when he lived here…I’ll never forget them.” Daddy’s lips were pinched in the kind of disapproval that made my heart sink.

  I knew my father. He rarely spoke ill of someone. If he didn’t like Vicious, that meant he was rude to him too. I wanted to poke at the subject, but knew my chances of getting answers were slim to none. Daddy wasn’t a gossip.

  I paid the check, even though my parents tried to argue about it, and Daddy drove us back to the house.

  My room remained the same as when I’d left it ten year ago. Interpol and Donnie Darko posters. The cherry blossom mural, the colors slightly faded—that was what I loved about oil colors, they grew old with you. Some pictures of me with Rosie scattered around. The room reflected my teenage years pretty accurately. Only it didn’t have a huge picture of Vicious squeezing my heart until I mentally bled out.

  I plopped down on my bed—with its floral pink quilt Grandmama made for me—and drifted into wine-induced drowsiness…

  My nap was interrupted by a scowling Vicious standing at my door, dressed in a suit and scary as hell. He still hadn’t learned the art of knocking.

  Which was a perfectly fitting metaphor for our relationship. I was always expected to ask for permission to enter his space, but he was always barging into mine unannounced. Much like how he’d found me at McCoy’s.

  “It’s time,” he said, hands in his pocket, giving me his profile. He looked on edge, even more than usual.

  I sat upright on my bed before grabbing my handbag from my nightstand, still woozy from sleep. My mouth was dry from drinking too much wine and eating too little food. He didn’t budge from the door when I got to it. Just stared at me like a psychopath—the same cold, rich jerk who watched me like I was prey but who still hadn’t decided if I was good enough to be his next meal.

  And I was still the servants’ daughter who wanted him to love her or leave her alone, just as long as he put her out of her misery.

  I tilted my head sideways, refusing to pass and risk touching him. “Are you going to let me through?” I huffed.

  His eyes, lazy yet brooding, gave me a slow once-over before they landed on mine. He offered a little smile that said, Fight me for it, Help.

  Whatever. I wasn’t going to make a move until he got out of my way.

  “Remember Eli Cole?” he asked.

  Of course I remembered him. He was Dean’s dad. A divorce attorney who dealt with high-profile cases, and a man who always looked at me with warm eyes when I’d gone out with Dean. He was nice. Sweet. Much like I remembered his son.

  I nodded. “Why?”

  “Because he’s who we’re going to see. I need you sharp. Are you drunk?”

  It stung, but I only arched an eyebrow and offered him a tight smile. “Vicious, please. We can work this out between us. Think about the kids,” I mocked.

  Vicious didn’t appreciate my joke. He scowled and moved away, allowing me to squeeze past him and walk out the door. I felt his eyes heating my back when he muttered under his breath.

  “Fuck the kids. I’ll stay for the ass.”

  In the car, privacy glass isolated us from the driver, blocking every sight and sound in the rear. I stared out the window. Boutiques, art galleries, and day spas, all decorated for Christmas, flashed by in a colorful blur of Main Street holiday lights. This was downtown Todos Santos, where I’d collected empty memories like old receipts. I drew in the condensation on the window, dragging my fingertip along the glass, painting a face of a sad woman. The rain knocking on the window looked like her tears.

  The silence was thick in the air, and the traffic and the rain became heavier as we moved through downtown. People were dashing to grab takeout food, shop for gifts or make it to a Christmas concert.

  “Are you getting a divorce?” I finally asked. I twisted my head and glanced at him. He looked every bit the rich finance lawyer that he was. I, meanwhile, wore a retro dress—royal-blue velvet—paired with silver leggings and cowboy boots.

  “In a way,” he mused, his gaze still hard on the window. Aloofness bled from his eyes. He hated this town. I hated it too. But while I had my reasons—I was bullied, mocked, and ostracized—he was practically a king here. It didn’t make any sense.

  My heart drummed wilder at his words. He was married?

  “Do you want to talk about her?” I asked quietly.

  He chuckled, shaking his head, and I closed my eyes, trying not to let his voice stop my heart. It didn’t belong there.

  “She’s a dead woman walking. I’m getting divorced from Josephine. My father is going to die any day now. I need to protect my assets and money from his gold-digging wife.”

  My jaw slacked, and it was that exact moment when Vicious’s head swiveled and our eyes locked.

  “Why?” I whispered. I had a bad feeling this was not the whole story. I had an even worse feeling that he was going to involve me in his war somehow. I couldn’t afford to take sides. My parents worked for Josephine Spencer.

  “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 o
f 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.”

  So this was why he’d hired me as a PA and not anyone else. He needed someone who Josephine would believe had the opportunity to know him well enough that the story would be convincing.

  But I didn’t actually know anything. He’d asked me to lie.

  I shook my head and grabbed the door handle on my side of the car. “Why do you think that I’d lie for you? That I’d do that even if it were true?”

  He blinked once and smiled before opening his side door and stepping out. His eyes weren’t sad anymore. Just an empty pretty shell, like the rest of him.

  “Because I said so, Help.”

  DEAN’S HOUSE HADN’T CHANGED ONE bit. Still big and warm and welcoming, painting a perfect picture of the privileged guy who had once lived there. After passing by a Christmas tree the size of my New York apartment and a garland in the foyer, we stopped by a large oak door at the end of the hallway. It was the first time I’d been in Eli Cole’s office. I didn’t know how much he knew about how his son and I broke up, but if he did know the full story, he didn’t make it uncomfortable for me. Eli was older, with suspenders and a bowtie, an old-schooler who looked a lot like a professor or a teacher in a Harry Potter movie. He was nice to everyone, always, never rude or patronizing like the rest of this town.

  They were qualities that had instantly endeared me to him.

  Vicious and I were sitting in plush leather chairs—antique looking and newly padded—in front of his rich, dark wooden desk. Eli didn’t have a computer or a laptop on his desktop. Just a stack of papers arranged neatly on one side and a huge library of family law books behind him.

  My hands were sweating, and I tangled my fingers together as I mulled over the last words Vicious had said to me before we stepped out of the limo.

  Because I said so, Help.

  He knew I was weak when it came to him. Knew every time he was around I was in a constant battle with my morals.

  Because I’d wanted to kiss him that day despite being Dean’s girlfriend.

  Because I wanted to lie for him today, just to put a smile on his cruel, beautiful face.

  I barely listened as Vicious and Eli discussed prenups and undue influence, wills and precedents for contesting them. Eli retrieved a thick law book from the shelves, and they talked about Jo and Baron Senior, both men hunched over the desk, reading through a decision together. Vicious looked too engrossed in what he was doing to care that I was having a meltdown next to him. So many things swirled in my head, tangling into a headache.

  I was torn between Vicious’s truths. The one he gave me and the one he gave the rest of the world. And my truth? It was very simple. I didn’t know what was right and what was wrong. I just knew the lines between the two blurred when it came to him.

  “Millie?” Eli’s voice pierced through my thoughts.

  I blinked and straightened my spine, smiling politely in his direction. “Yes, Mr. Cole?”

  “Do you have any questions about everything we’ve discussed so far?” Eli knitted his fingers together and offered me an encouraging smile.

  I shook my head no. No one had asked me to do anything yet, which was good, because my morals were going to win. Again.

  “Everything’s clear?”

  I licked my lips. “Yeah,” I said.

  “Good. If not, you’re sitting next to one of the finest attorneys I’ve had the pleasure of meeting. I’m sure he can brief you more about what to expect if this goes to court,” Eli said. “Your testimony is Baron’s best chance. The statute of limitations for criminal charges has long since expired, but he can still punish that woman. For Josephine, I suspect having no money will seem as bad as jail. It’s imperfect justice, but that you can corroborate what he told you is very important. I’m so glad you’ve offered to testify, Millie.”

  Offered? Vicious had told him that I was going to help them out without even asking my permission. Oh, heck no.

  I tried to soothe my nerves by telling myself that if Eli was so sure and positive about what happened, then maybe lying wasn’t so bad. Maybe Jo deserved all of this for abusing her stepson. But then I remembered that before Eli was a nice man, he was a lawyer.

  A lawyer who was responsible for a lot of nasty divorce settlements in Hollywood. Cases that were all about money.

  He was not to be trusted, just like Vicious.

  Eli escorted us back to the front door, and Dean’s mom, Helen, kissed his cheek while ignoring me. Maybe she knew more than Eli did about my breakup with her son. Or maybe she simply wasn’t as gracious as her husb
and about forgiving me for what I’d allegedly done.

  When we walked to the car, keeping our distance from one another, Vicious said, “And to think that she thought you might someday be her daughter-in-law.”

  Again, his voice was smooth and casual but his words venomous.

  “Aren’t you proud of yourself for breaking us up?” I bit out, hoping I sounded just as calm as he was.

  He stopped next to the car, ignoring the SoCal drizzle, and opened the door for me. I climbed into the back, scooting to the far corner to put as much space as possible between us. He joined me, but this time scooted closer than he had been earlier. Our thighs were pressed against one another.

  I was just getting used to his physical proximity again when he twisted his body toward me and captured my wrist. He guided my hand to his mouth, the hot air of his breath hitting the sensitive flesh of my wrist.

  “Dean ever made you feel the way you do right now?”

  He stared into my eyes, searching for something. I didn’t know what it was, but I wanted him to find it in them. My stare dropped to his lips and I gulped. I could almost taste them, like that night all those years ago. Soft and warm, against all odds. And right. So right.

  “Dean ever made you shake the way you are right now, even when he fucked you? Dean ever get you that far out of your comfort zone? Your home? Your precious morals?” He smiled at me, his lips a whisper from my wrist, from the heavy pulse throbbing there.

  A shiver rolled down my spine, sending electricity to the rest of my body and exploding in my lower stomach.

  Suddenly, it felt too hot to breathe in the car.

  “Don’t lie to me, Help. I can smell your bullshit a mile away. Kind of like your normal scent, because you always lie to yourself when it comes to this. To us. I did you a huge fucking favor, breaking you up, and you’ll thank me later. Naked. For now…” He pressed the button on the intercom, and his voice turned from a hot whisper to a clipped order, breaking the spell. “Cliff, take us back home.”