Page 7 of Dirty Little Saint

He sighs. “And the Blackwell girl?”

I hate that he even knows she exists. “She had nothing to do with it. Wrong place, wrong time,” I lie.

“Bullshit,” he yells and slams his fist down on the desk. “Have I taught you nothing about that wretched family? They are the reason we’ve been cut off from the source of our power. You and your friends wanna play with her cunt? Fine. But bringing her into this house… marking her with our sigils… you have crossed a fucking line.”

I feel the poison in my veins surge. “The Blackwells didn’t raise her. They kicked her out of Ever Graves just as they did us. Maureen is nothing like them.”

Holden snickers. “Or it’s a trick. A lie. It seems you’re the one who should have better control of his dick. You’re letting it make decisions that affect this entire family. This isn’t about me fathering bastard sons. No. You have brought the enemy into our house. There will be consequences, Riot.”

Fuck.

Nothing I say is going to convince him. I need to get her the fuck out of here.

I nod. “You’re right. I’ll take whatever punishment you see fit.” Keep the focus on me, you fucking tyrant.

He smirks. “Oh, it will be more than fit.” The chair screeches against the hardwood floor with the force of his pushing back on it as he stands up. “We’ll discuss this more later. I’m ready to meet this little temptress of yours. Shall we?”

My stomach turns. “Finally. All this talk has made me fucking parched.” Never back down. Never show weakness. Never fucking show emotion.

He nods. “Good. Let’s have a civil drink together. You’re not going to like me very much after tonight.”

Was that a fucking threat?

I snicker back at him. “I don’t like you very much right now.”

It’s a game we play. A battle of wills and wit. We’ve been doing it my whole life. It’s like our entire world is one big game of chess, and my father controls the board. He doesn’t see me as his opponent but as his pawn. If he’s not careful, I’ll have to take him out instead.

I’m uneasy until I see her. She sips on an ice-cold martini by the fire, her warm fingers leaving condensation prints on the glass. Valentin and Atlas flank her on either side, dutiful and loyal like guard dogs.

Romulus hands me a single malt scotch as I stalk toward my coven. I’ve been drawn to Maureen since the moment I saw her in Wickford Hollow. But nothing could have prepared me for how I feel now. The sigil on her neck glows in recognition of our bond as soon as I breathe the same air she does.

“Hello, Firecracker. You look tasty as fuck,” I whisper in her ear, which elicits a shudder from her lips.

“I don’t think your mother’s very happy about that,” she teases.

“Did you know that they locked her in her fucking room?” Valentin barks.

They are playing a dangerous game with me. I try not to show a reaction but simply nod. “Typical. My mother still thinks we’re teenagers.”

Atlas laughs. “Fuck, remember those days? Sneaking out of your fifth-floor window to go party in the woods. We had to make so many fucking bargains with the ravens so they wouldn’t rat us out.”

Valentin steps in closer, his nostrils flaring “This isn’t a joke. She should be with us in our room. Not locked away like a prisoner.”

I smile and swirl my drink. “Keep your voice down, Val.”

Maureen squeezes his hand. “Don’t worry, I’m fine. Their house, their rules.”

Before Val can get another protest in, a cold draft sweeps through the room, and Holden Graves makes his grand entrance.

“Where’s your mother?” Maureen whispers.

I tighten my grip on my glass. The absence of Clover Graves could only mean one thing. This cocktail party isn’t a party at all. It’s business. And Maureen is the whole fucking agenda.

Maureen

Every cell in my body wants to get away from Holden Graves. On the surface, he looks like an older version of Riot. But his energy is black and toxic. It oozes out like tendrils of smoke, threatening to suffocate us all.

The guys are on edge, wound tight. As if this man could deprive us of oxygen with just a flick of his fingers. There’s a pit of dread stewing in my belly that tells me maybe he could. It’s already getting harder to breathe from the tension.

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