Sinners & Saints (Sinners & Saints #1)

by Ballinger, Chelsea

  “The pleasure is all mine.” He holds my hand a bit longer before letting go.

  “Where did you go this morning?” Jordana asks him as we sit back down.

  “I went and bought the usual convivial house remedy. We were running low,” he answers.

  He sits down on the couch across from Jordana and me. He sits the small messenger bag he has on him and pours out loads of drugs on the glass coffee table.

  “Yay!” Poppy claps her hands, grinning like a kid in a candy store.

  “Well, I guess this really is a house full of sinners.” I say eyeing the coke and what appears to be molly and ganja, which is my usual drug of choice.

  “Well, isn’t everyone a sinner?” Hugo asks me as he leans back against the couch stretching his arms out like he is king. I guess I’m going to have to knock him off his throne.

  “Well, of course, but there are still saints too,” I answer.

  “And which are you?”

  “Well, I think I’m both. I personally consider myself a good-natured posh bastard.”

  “But what do you partake in more? Do you sin more than good?”

  “I like to think that I have a perfect balance going on. I have good intentions in the things I do, so hopefully I’m doing what is best.”

  “And doing good is what’s best?”

  “Yes.”

  “Says who? God?” he phrases God in slight amusement.

  I shrug. “I don’t know, but I take it you don’t praise the man upstairs.”

  “I have my personal quarrel with him, if he does exist.”

  “Well, even if he didn’t exist, what’s the point of misery all the time? Unless you are a psychotic sociopath with no feelings, guilt is bound to take over.”

  “But isn’t guilt pointless when even knowing the repercussions of the sin, you still go on ahead and do it? If God does exist, the audacity of us consuming ourselves in guilt is a spit in his face.”

  That was fucking sexy! I smile slyly at him. “Very good argument, but forgiveness does exist. Everyone is capable of redemption at some point.”

  “The weak are usually the ones who apologize for their mishaps. They are those that acquire attention in the beginning because it makes them feel better. I’ve learned to never be sorry for who you are.”

  “Well, I can’t say that I’m sorry for all the things I’ve done, but I still own up to them. I don’t expect pity; I only hope for forgiveness and acceptance. So should all.” I sit up straight and so does he. After five minutes of introduction, we are already playing a chess game of words. I love it. “So what about you, Hugo? Which do you normally partake in?” As if I even need to ask.

  “Didn’t you hear? I’m the devil,” he speaks with conviction. He is clearly making it known to me that this is who he is. No mystery, no loophole, nothing else but this. My first mind tells me to back off, Juliet. You don’t want any part of this guy. But like always I don’t listen to it.

  “Well, even the devil has a heart,” I say softly and make it known that I mean it in the most sincere way possible. I want him to know that I can sense more. I want him to fear me because I do not fear him.

  He doesn’t move. His jaw doesn’t even flinch. Maybe his eyes say something, but I would never be able to see because of those bloody shades.

  “Well, in other news,” Jordana interrupts our cockfight. Personally, I think I won. “Eleanor received a phone call from Scarlett.” The mention of her name again causes all of them to look at Hugo.

  “Interesting,” he says and his jaw twitches.

  “Scarlett doesn’t even like Eleanor, I thought,” Cody says.

  “I know, but Eleanor said she called and announced that she’ll be returning,” Jordana claims.

  “Really?” Cody asks.

  “I quote Ms. Eleanor, ‘The cunning Marilyn is returning,’” Jordana dramatically gasps and clasps her hand on her cheek. “Oh, dear God, I fear the island may burn.”

  Poppy, Jordana, and Cody laugh and I giggle a bit, but Hugo doesn’t. He’s still staring my way. I can feel his gaze piercing through me. I’m excited to meet the infamous Scarlett. Maybe if I meet her I could get more of a clear insight on Hugo.

  “Well,” Hugo says, standing up. “That means this will be a very interesting summer. Enjoy your treats, kids. I’ll be in my room until dinner.”

  Once he’s out the room, Jordana slowly claps, grinning at me.

  “I must say, you surprise me. You are a delightful one,” she compliments.

  “I tend to shock a lot of people.” I smirk then waste no time asking, “Were he and Scarlett together?”

  “Define together,” Jordana lightly laughs. “Hugo and Scarlett had an arrangement. They didn’t do relationships so they found comfort sexually through each other.”

  “So, friends with benefits?”

  “Yep. It started right when he got here. She was eighteen. He was fifteen. Taught him everything he knows. With Hugo and Scarlett, it’s never natural. They don’t do love. Hugo has never used the term, not even with his own brother.”

  “Where is his brother?”

  “He’s with their father on a trip to a charity event for the foundation of youths that are autistic and mentally challenged. Really their dad just needs to look good in front of potential business partners and bringing his autistic son does the trick.”

  “He sounds like the usual areshole.”

  Jordana takes a shot before answering, “You have no idea.”

  3

  HUGO

  I see everyone as a pawn. I have my own little chess game that goes on in my head daily. I can’t even play chess, but mentally I have developed my own way of the game. I give nicknames to my chess pieces, a name that suits them best. Cody, the Virgin. Jordana, the Unwanted Advisor. Poppy, the Clueless One. Ms. Eleanor, the Eccentric. My brother August, the Wise Recluse. This girl, Juliet. She is a fine creature. She intrigued me from the moment she spoke. She will be dubbed English Rose.

  I write the name on my black chalkboard wall. Every week or so I pick up a piece of chalk and draw out a new chess game. Every time I add a new player and today that new player will be her. English Rose is fitting. She’s British and sexy as fuck. What more explanation to that name does anyone need? Her light brown hair radiates along with her blue eyes. I can already tell that she talks too much. She’s one of those miss fix-its and is not afraid of a challenge. In fact, she probably loves challenges, as should anyone with enough balls. It makes life interesting. Although fresh potentials do excite me, the mention of Scarlett’s return does something more. It excites me and worries me. Wherever Scarlett goes, bodies are trailed shortly after—metaphorically speaking. I’m not complaining out of guilt, it’s just that usually when Scarlett leaves town for a month, or a year in this case, I’m the one cleaning up her mess. Last year she decided to get back at her professor at Columbia when he tried to fail her for dumping him. Scarlett and I basically ruined his career and his family life with the porn video we recorded of him and another student. His wife left him, moved to a suburb in Illinois along with their daughter, who was suffering from a broken heart due to me fucking her and leaking this information to her fiancé. He was an idiot who left his hot virgin girlfriend alone for two years to go on a mission to promote Christianity in foreign countries. They were both supposed to save themselves until marriage. I actually saw on Facebook a month ago that he had forgiven her and they are engaged again. How I see it, I did him a favor. Someone’s got to know what they’re doing on their honeymoon, and trust me she will know. I am an exceptional teacher.

  Wait. Where was I again? Oh, yes—how I am the one to clean Scarlett’s mess. Rumors had spread that Scarlett was behind the leak, but I took full responsibility, spilling the information to the right gossipers—housewives and maids—and the professor beat the shit out of me. He jumped me in the middle of class. Seriously, he did. He was teaching on his last day, his wife had just left him and he lost everyone’s respect.
No one was even taking him serious in class. After a few giggles and snide remarks, the bastard transforms into the fucking Hulk and jumps over my desk, tackling me. I had a mild concussion from him slamming my head on the floor and a broken nose.

  “You and that little bitch ruined my life!”

  That’s what he repeated to me as he punched me in the face. The shit hurt. Then again, my wounds did get me a foursome with some sorority girls. Pain always leads me to greatness; that is what Scarlett taught me. Scarlett, The Beautiful Serpent. Her name too is self-explanatory if your path ever comes across hers. She is beautiful and treacherous. She is the closest thing I have ever come to feeling something. I add her name back on the board. She’s back in the game and what a splendid game it will be.

  JULIET

  “Who’s this?” Poppy asks, looking through my Polaroids in my white box that was covered in Sharpie doodles.

  “That’s my best mate, Jazib,” I say looking at the photo she’s holding.

  “He’s hot.” Poppy gleams over the photo of Jazib posing in front of his red Maserati. Jazib is a hottie. Arabic men to me are usually hot. Especially Jaz with his shiny black hair and the incoming facial hair on his chin. I always tease him about it.

  “You sure he’s just a friend?” Jordana asks, eyeing me curiously.

  I laugh at the thought. “Yes, if you know Jaz and I, us more than friends is ridiculous. But he’s a great person. He’s always been there for me.”

  Jordana gets up from my bed and gets ready to leave with her tablet in hand.

  “Where are you going?” Poppy asks.

  “To go be nosey on Juliet’s Facebook and give Hugo some dirt on her.”

  “Please don’t judge my photos before 2010,” I warn her. She smiles at my lack of care and goes on ahead. Stuffing my clothes in the drawers, I glance at Poppy.

  “What are your parents like, Poppy?” I ask, wanting to know more about the ditzy but sweet girl.

  She sighs, still looking through my pictures. “Daddy is very sweet to me. Calls me the light of his life.” She smiles to herself then looks at me with sparkles in her eyes. “He always tells me that he loves me more than my older brothers.” I try not to laugh as she continues. “I think it’s because one is gay and one married a former escort.”

  “How old are your brothers?”

  “Forty-one and thirty-three.”

  I gape at her. “How old are your parents?”

  “Daddy is seventy. Mom is forty-three even though she likes to tell people she’s thirty-eight.”

  “Oh, that explains it.”

  “Yeah, my mom stole my dad from my brothers’ mom. She’s really nice to me though because my brothers love me and in her words, ‘It’s not my fault that my mom is a little, greedy, heartless slut.’”

  “Oh, she sounds cultured,” I say in amusement.

  “I sometimes wish she was my mom. My mom doesn’t like me much.” My heart hurts a bit for Poppy. Anyone that doesn’t like her must be a self-centered bitch.

  “Why would you say that?” I ask and she looks back up at me and that sparkle disappears.

  “She doesn’t like anyone that’s prettier than her.”

  HUGO

  “Hey.” Jordana as usual comes in my room uninvited while I’m doing pull ups in my boxer briefs. I don’t see the point in wearing workout clothes when exercising in my own room.

  “What do you want?”

  “Looking through the new girl’s...” She pauses, looking at the chalkboard. “I mean the English Rose’s social media. Nice name. You’re more kind to her already than the rest of us. You know Unwanted could have been left out of my name.”

  I jump down from the pull up bar. “You come in my room and give me advice I don’t ask for all the time.”

  “Just because you don’t ask for it doesn’t mean you don’t want it.”

  “That’s exactly what it means, Jordana.”

  “Well fine, but you definitely need it. As your friend, I seriously advise it.”

  “I tolerate you the most. Doesn’t mean we’re friends.”

  “In your fucked up world, that makes me your best friend.” She gleefully sits on my bed.

  Jordana is one of the sexiest women I know. She is a mixture of a classic and exotic beauty. Being the daughter of a model has done her well. Unfortunately, the universe decided to punish men by making her a full-blown lesbian.

  “I probably tolerate you the most because I haven’t had sex with you,” I suggest.

  “That’s why you should thank God for lesbians. The limitations of the female species make you humble.”

  “Whatever,” I say sitting on the bed next to her. “But why should I care about the new girl’s social life?”

  “Or lack thereof. Well, no she does have a social life but not friends,” she says staring at the screen. “I mean, she has friends, but in her personal pics it seems only this guy Jazib is her friend. She claims they’re just friends, which means he’s gay because she is sexy as fuck.”

  I can’t disagree with her there. Juliet isn’t exotic looking or your typical beauty, but there is something sexy about her. Maybe it’s the banter. It’s definitely the accent.

  “As your unwanted advisor, I advise you to steer clear if you want to maintain your tortured, brooding, bad boy image. If you want a change of pace, then go ahead and go for it.”

  “You’ve only known the girl for a few hours and already you think she is something special?”

  “Hugo, I bet you five hundred that this girl is more than meets the eye.”

  I always love a wager. “Fine, we will see, but this girl is clearly a reformed bitch.”

  “What?” Jordana looks at me confused and I point to the old pictures of Juliet. They’re pictures of a young Juliet with girls that look like the normal high-class bitches and surrounded by alcohol and people. As if some of the captions reading ‘me and my bitches’ isn’t enough.

  “You know when she first met the Queen of England, she asked what type of underwear she wore,” Jordana tells me. I smirk at that, picturing the girl asking the Queen of England that. I’m not surprised, so why do I find that amusing and… oh God. I find it cute.

  “She probably gained a conscience,” I say. “I have a cousin from London; I’m sure she can confirm it for me.”

  “I thought you weren’t interested?” she asks, her brow arched at me.

  “Know thy enemy more than thy friend.”

  “Who says she’s an enemy to you?”

  I never answer Jordana’s question. Truthfully, from the moment she first challenged me, I knew she was going to be a problem, but still I find myself looking forward to dinner tonight.

  “Juliet, my dear, I am so delighted that you’re here,” Ms. Eleanor addresses from the end of the dinner table.

  “Thank you for having me.” Juliet, across from me, smiles as our butler, Thomas, pours us glasses of wine.

  “I’m sorry, I forgot the school you’ll be attending.” Ms. Eleanor raises her hand as Thomas begins to pour her wine. “Thomas, may I have my usual please?”

  “Bloody Mary with an extra kick, madam.” He winks at her and goes to fetch her drink.

  “I’m starting at Columbia in the fall, mam,” Juliet tells her. So, she will be going to my school. That should make for an interesting semester. Poppy already makes it entertaining enough.

  “Oh! That’s wonderful! Hugo and Poppy attend there.”

  Juliet looks at me. “How do you like it?”

  “It’s a wonderful educational experience.” I speak in no other tone than my own and she arches her brow. “You don’t sound so in love with it,” she points out.

  “Education is very important, but I just went to the one school that would piss off my father the most.”

  “Your dad doesn’t like Columbia University?” she asks, emphasizing the school’s name.

  “My father was a Harvard man. In fact, eight generations of Mandrake men went to Harvard. I
decided to destroy that tradition.”

  “Oh, how very ardent of you in your rebellion. What else do you plan to do to anger you dad?”

  “The usual—ruin the family name with immoral antics and then ultimately take over the family business after he dies.”

  “Hugo,” Ms. Eleanor tries to be serious but the woman is as serious as Doctor Seuss. “No bad mouthing the people that gave you life.”

  “Well, technically it’s not bad mouthing. His death is inevitable like the rest of the human population.”

  “Hugo has been here with me for years,” Ms. Eleanor informs Juliet. She adores me. I don’t know why. Never have I showed her any true affection, but she somehow overlooks my coldness. I will say this; she is more of a parent to me than my own father. “No matter what they say, I know he’s a sweet boy.”

  “Oh, could have fooled me,” Juliet mutters.

  “I thought you said even the devil has a heart,” I fire back.

  “There is a difference between having a heart and being sweet. I don’t see you as a ‘let me help you with your groceries’ or flowers and candy type of bloke.”

  “Judging so soon?”

  “No, just observing. I mean, you’re pretty blunt.”

  “That is accurate,”

  “Maybe if you took off your sunglasses, I could see more. They say the eyes are the window to the soul.”

  “Exactly… I don’t want anyone seeing into my soul. Be careful what you ask for, Juliet. When someone gets glimpse of it, they beg me to put them back on.”

  “The only begging worth to a man is by a woman who is capable of understanding the beast within him.”

  A silent pause occurs at the dinner table. Ms. Eleanor, who finished her Bloody Mary, taps her spoon on the empty glass for another one. Thomas comes in on cue to refill.

  “I like you.” Jordana points her fork and smiles at Juliet then at me and mouths out, ‘Five hundred.’ This is only the first damn night. No way I’m going to declare a loss.