Page 122 of Vicious Saint
“Put her somewhere else. Fly her the fuck out to you. I don’t care. She isn’t staying with me in my room.”
“You’re going back to—”
“I’m not going back!” The words explode out of me. “Can you trust me for once?”
His voice lowers to a whisper. “You almost killed someone this time.”
“Keywordalmost…and you paid his shit family off with way more than they deserved.”
“That is not the point and you know it.”
“Of course it’s not, Dad. But I’m telling you the treatment helped. I got my shit under control and meds adjusted. No signs of…” My words trail off but, but it doesn’t matter.
Dad knows exactly who I mean.
“Alright. Under one condition.”
“No conditions.”
“Then I’m calling Dr. Morris.”
What a crock of shit this is.
I hate when this guy has the upper hand.
Or at least allowing him to be the only one to take it.
The last thing I need is another scene, and with my father’s permission and resources, Dr. Morris won’t hesitate to send the cavalry to Riverside.
Or find me anywhere else I try to stay.
“Fine. What is it?”
“You stay with your stepsister in your dorm. Help Carlo keep a close eye on her until we get back on Sunday.”
For someone to pose a threat to a man who has the means to wipe out an existence with the click of a button, I know this can’t be good.
Because no matter how soft-hearted my father is, with his level of power comes enemies, and they must be dangerous enough to send him to headquarters.
“You want to prove I can trust you, son?” He continues without my response. “Then this is how you do it.”
Pinching the bridge of my nose so hard it fucking hurts, I weigh the pros and cons.
I don’t want to put Hendrix at risk of my monster.
I don’t want her to see that side of me again.
Given my hatred, her attitude, and my fucked up obsession with pulling it out of her, having this girl spend two nights alone with me is the equivalent of holding a lit match to dynamite.
But there are other monsters out there too.
And sometimes it takes the one you know to keep them away.
“Okay,” I tell him, rolling my shoulders. “I’ll do it.”
“Alright, good.”
“But kick the detail. I don’t want some fucker I don’t know breathing down my neck.”
