Page 159 of Vicious Saint
I drag my gaze behind me, finding those mesmerizing green irises sparkling with determination.
Telling me to focus.
On her.
Her circling thumb.
My breathing.
Until naturally they’re syncing together.
Hendrix releases a shaky breath, and a strange feeling comes alive deep in my chest. A mix of something carnal, but not in the ways I’ve grown used to with her.
It has me mouthing a genuine thank you for the first time in a long time to someone other than my sister and father.
After a small nod from Hendrix, I turn to face the Italian.
Who must’ve felt the danger lurking, because he’s got a hand inside his jacket.
“I’d think twice before doing that,” I warn right before Levi’s got a gun pointed at him over my shoulder, cocking it.
“What in the actualfuck, Levi?” Hendrix bursts. “Why are you packing?”
She should already know the answer to that.
It’s similar to why Carlo’s here and about to get his head blown off.
What’s done to one, is done to all.
The Royal Heathens code of loyalty.
Carlo pulls his hand out slowly, jaw tight, chin lifted.
A smart move on his part.
Other than one more trip to Holy Trinity, the last thing I’m willing to do is knuckle under to a guy responsible for Hendrix’s safety who isn’t who he says he is.
The Italian’s got secrets—and I want to know exactly what they have to do with her.
“Atta boy.” I step to him and grin when the fifty-something year old tough guy has to look up to meet my eyes. “Now get the fuck out, call my father, and let him know you won’t be going anywhere near Hendrix until I know who the fuck you really are.”
A declaration like this may put my deplorable ass on a noble pedestal, but I’ll kill or get killed on it with zero regrets if I have to.
Because what my little Jimi did for me seconds ago is not something that can be paid for with a bullshit thank you.
Or even a ceasefire.
It deserves a second code of loyalty—dedicated solely to her.
21
Hendrix
The silence is deafening as all six of us are seated around the dining room table. Mom, Vic, Auntie Pop, and Theory got back early this morning, and as I expected the first two’s lips only get moving when they’re shoving spaghetti into their mouths.
I, on the other hand, only have an appetite for answers about what the hell is going on.
Days have passed since Saint kicked Carlo out of his dorm room, and to my surprise I haven’t seen the guy since.
