Page 123 of Vicious Saint
He pauses a few beats to weigh things too.
The disadvantage of holding my temper from two people for damn sure being one of them.
“He will keep his distance.”
“Afarone.”
“Take it or leave it, Saint. Right back to Holy Trinity.”
The bite in his tone is another stark reminder of how much stress he must be under. So, for that, I’ll concede.
“Just so you know…Hendrix ain’t exactly the type who likes being told what to do.”
“I’m starting to see that, yes.”
“Then you know she won’t agree without a fight.”
“I handled it. You just go back to the dorm and try to play nice.”
Nice is not exactly a word found in either of our vocabularies, but Hendrix better have that shit written in blood by the time I get to her.
15
Hendrix
“What the hell do you mean?!” I tear the ears off the second customer service rep in forty minutes. “I did not freeze my account!”
The irritatingly calm and collected woman repeats her spiel about how over two hours ago a request to freeze my bank and credit card accounts came through the bank app.
Apparently because they were stolen.
“My cards are right here!” I wave the Visa in front of me. “Right in my hand.”
She apologizes about the inconvenience but insists there’s nothing she can do without an investigation or some shit.
I hang up in her face and let out a shriek, stomping my feet like a child. All while the hotel staff cringes in secondhand embarrassment.
Consider my Spidey senses activated.
Pinning Carlo with a deadly stare, I march over to where he’s sitting on one of the couches.
“What the hell is going on?”
He stands, pulling at the bottom of his suit jacket. “Non lo so, signorina. I’m-eh sorry.”
“Oh, yes youdoknow, Carlo. Now spill.” I point to the cop outside the window writing a parking ticket. “Or so help me God, I will cry kidnap.”
“I…eh…” Carlo eyes the officer as he turns our way, then removes the sunglasses from his head to cover his eyes. “Sua madre…she know your stepbrother is home.”
My teeth grind together. “And how does she know he’s home, Carlo?”
He looks down at his freshly polished dress shoes.
Guilty. As. Charged.
“What the fuck, dude?!” I turn and storm off, shooting him a warning over my shoulder when he follows. “Wanna add bathroom peeping tom to your list of offenses?” I halt my movements, hand cupping my ear. “No? Didn’t think so. Now go away and let me scream at a mirror in peace.”
It’s no longer a secret that Carlo speaks very broken English and has been depending on whatever Italian I know to communicate. So, it’s safe to say he’s betting on assumptions when he announces in Italian that he’ll be sitting on the nearest couch.
