Page 205 of Vicious Saint
But my monster’s hungrier than ever…and for the first time in a long time I’m willing to give him whatever he wants.
“Paint,”Hendrix whispers, then disappears only to reappear knelt in front of me touching my cheek.
“Him.”
She leans in, lips so close, so fucking real I can taste them.
“Red.”
I nod and Hendrix smiles, pulling away just enough for us to look down at Luke, who’s been reduced once again to a featureless vessel.
“I’ll never let anyone hurt you like I did,” I whisper to her right before my thumb flicks the lighter…and he ignites into flames.
Hendrix reaches for my hand, still smiling at me as the sound of blood curdling screams fill the air, and the scent of flesh burning fills my nostrils.
Then the red haze engulfs us both.
28
Hendrix
“Does this field always have to be so damn bright?” I grumble to Archer as he sits next to me on the bleachers.
It’s the homecoming game, which I had every intention of avoiding like the plague until my best friend went all sad puppy on me.
Archer hands me the hotdog he bought us from the concession stand. The least he can freaking do. “Quit being such a crab. The homecoming game is one of the most important games of the season.”
“Oh, please…” I mock him with an eye roll.
“Woohoo! Homerun!” Mom yells from beside me. “Let’s go Royals!”
I, along with everyone else within a ten foot vicinity of the front row, look at her in bewilderment, and if Auntie Pop wasn’t home sick, pretty sure she’d beat the stupid out of her.
Archer leans in. “Has your mom ever watched a sport in her life?”
“Not a single one.” I take a bite. “Doubt she even knew what ESPN was before Vic.”
Who, of course, draws his attention away from his star son to explain the terms of footballandbaseball to her.
Archer huffs in amusement, then starts working on his hotdog. “Is it safe to assume the bonfire is a no-go?”
A beach party at night in Brooklyn mostly with people I hate?
No thanks.
Through a swallow I respond with, “Yup.”
“Homecoming dance?”
“Double fucking yup.”
Quite the turn of events since last year it was us forcing Bex to go, and it ended up being a shitshow of epic proportions. There’s no way. No fucking way I’m risking that shit again. Especially now that I’ve been on the outs with everyone’s favorite psycho star player.
On instinct, my eyes gravitate to the field, past the idle marching band, cheerleaders, and our lion mascot dancing. Where Saint’s huddled with his teammates, mouthing off whatever quarterbacks do before they break apart.
My chest tightens as I watch him rub a hand over his helmet, knowing first-hand how obsessed he is with retaining its shine.
“Hey…you good?” Archer looks me over. “We can leave if you want.”
