Page 166 of Vicious Saint
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Saint
“Just so we’re clear…” I straighten the stapler on my father’s desk, aligning it correctly with the Post-It holder. “You’ve known about whatever the fuck is going on since January, and I’m just finding out about it now?”
He watches carefully as I move on to the mess of pens littered all over the surface, placing them one by one back into the “World’s Best Dad” mug Theory got for him. “Yes, Saint. But I’ve got it under control.”
“And what about Theory? Huh?”
“What about her?”
The sound of my fist hitting his desk has my father clenching his jaw. “She’s been across the fucking world this entire time. At risk and out of my reach.”
“She had Stanley by her side. Surveillance and undercover security around the entire campus. You should know more than anyone that my eyes are never off your sister.”
“Andyoushould know more than anyone that I don’t trust any of those motherfuckers with Theory.”
“Our security details undergo immense training, Saint. C’mon. Almost half of them are form
er agents.”
“Feds!” I bark out a laugh. “Point fucking proven.”
“Not the F—”
“NSA, FBI.” I collapse onto the chair in front of him with a pissed off grunt. “Same asshole, different dick.”
“Saint. You know I don’t like—”
“Not really giving much of a fuck what you like or don’t like right now. Sorry, Dad. Not when you’re keeping shit from me I need to know.”
“Things have been…complicated this past year. You know that.” He leans back to cross his legs. “Between the unfortunate incidents at Riverside, work, you, your mental health, your sister’s wellbeing.”
“Don’t spoon feed me that bullshit. Our entire life is a series of unfortunate incidents. It’s practically a birth rite.”
“Yes.” He nods. “But this time every single one affected you in some way. Starting with what happened to your best friend.”
The Crayton card.
Why am I not surprised he’s playing it?
I mean…my father’s been watching me like a hawk ever since he left in the spring. I could see it in his eyes every single time I’d pitch a fit. There was Victor Lavell finger waiting on the dial, wondering if that day would be the day Saint goes off the rails.
Little did he know I already had my ducks in place to make sure it didn’t happen…and it was working.
At least for the most part.
For years, courtesy of a few ticks and chemical imbalances, my modus operandi for fucked up behavior rarely had the pleasure of acting first and thinking later. Which may come as anunpleasant surprise to many who’ve been on the receiving end of said fucked up behaviors.
Violence, revenge, sexual misconduct, etcetera.
If it was Saint Lavell who committed the sin, then it was calculated, controlled, and done for good reason.
Okay, fine,reason.
Truth be told, I may enjoy it, but I don’t actuallylikehurting people. Or making mistakes I can never come back from.
A fact about me most people don’t know.
