Page 19 of Saint

Saint:Why would you do that?

Violet:You killed him.

Saint:Who? You’ll have to be more specific.

My grip on my phone tightens, and for the first time, I consider Liam might not be the first life Saint has taken.

Violet:My boyfriend.

Saint:Liam? I heard he’s taking a vacation.

I read his message over and over, my heart racing.

Violet:What did you do?

Saint:Absolutely nothing.

Violet:That’s a lie.

Saint:Prove it.

Saint:See you soon, kitten.

I’m about to type a response when a picture comes through, and my fingers freeze.

It’s me lying in bed last night in this outfit. I’m asleep, and the room is dark, so I can barely make myself out clearly. But in the mirror above my dresser, there’s a figure that sends a cool chill up my spine. Neon blue Xs and a wicked smile look down at where I’m lying on the bed.

And almost as soon as I process the image, the conversation wipes clean and disappears. He must have hacked my phone because one by one every message blinks away, and then it’s gone.

Saint is toying with me, and he’s not done yet.

Liam is dead.

Not much is clear about last night, but I’m positive about that single fact.

I set my phone down beside the sink and grip the counter. My shoulders deflate and they burn with how stiff I’ve been holding them. My throat is raw from Saint fucking it, and I’m shaking, coming down from the high of what happened.

Lifting off the counter, I turn on the shower, ready to wash away a night my mind will never escape. But as I pull the shower door closed, something on the inside of my wrist catches my attention.

At the very edge of my wrist, where it meets the pad of my thumb, a cross is carved into my skin. The way it’s positioned is upside down. Puffy, angry, and red where the jagged marks are deeply carved. And in one of the corners is a scribbledS.

Saint.

7

Sigma Sin

Violet

“You look like death.”Mila’s eyes widen when I drop into the seat beside her.

I missed my first class of the day trying to make myself presentable, and still, I failed. After a shower and layers of makeup and clothes, I’ve managed to hide the majority of the physical reminders of what happened last night. But no amount of primping brought life back to my tired eyes.

“Thanks.”

“You know what I mean.” She shrugs, brushing her chestnut hair back. The lighting in the classroom draws out the faint red streaks in her strands. “If you’re sick, you’re allowed to stay in bed, Vi.”

“I know.” I considered it after stepping out of theshower.

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