Page 241 of Vicious Saint
Craig laughs, holding out his virgin glass of soda for me to clink.
I do, and we move on with gushing about the arts.
For quite longer than I expected, in fact, because there’s no daylight in sight, and the bonfire is too far to help with the autumn chill.
“You cold?” Craig asks, removing his suit jacket when I hug my arms. But when he holds it out for me to take, a white oxford covered arm shoots across the bar to smack it away, and I’m helped into a different suit jacket.
Craig’s smile is flooding with nerves as he stares at the gun dangling from Carlo’s suspenders, throwing any doubts he had left of him being only a driver out the proverbial window.
I put on Carlo’s ten thousand dollar jacket, and even though I’m warm and cozy, only the innocent bartender gets a thank you.
Once again we’re back to doing our casual thing, comparing artistic notes, teasing, shit like that. But this time with Craig beside me, since the bar is dead.
“So you mean to tell me a rich pretty girl like you actually has brains?” Craig gasps in faux surprise after I give him a judgmental run down on the differences between cartoon and animation.
I hit him with a playful shove of his arm. “Asshole. I told you I’m new to this life.”
There’s a glint in his eyes as they run down my body, a gesture that would usually have me adjusting my cleavage. But, because I’ve been ruined by a particular stepbrother, all I take from Craig’s flirting is a confidence boost.
“I know, I know, I’m kidding. It’s just fun riling you up.”
I drag in a breath, then release it with a long sigh.
“I take it you get that a lot?”
“Oh, Craig. More than you can imagine.”
“Most guys like chicks with power and sass.”
Grief creeps in, lining my belly as I remember all the times Saint would accuse me of having too much of the last one. Apoor front on his end, because he always found ways to pull the sassiness out of me.
Along with my vulnerability.
Something I learned to pull from him too.
Shaking off the useless reminiscing, I get back to the guy making my sober night slightly tolerable, deciding to embrace the attention I deserve for all the effort I put in to look my best.
“Yeah, until power intimidates them.”
Craig reaches for the gold necklace Carlo gave me, twisting the horn in two fingers. “Meh. Insecurity is for boys.” He releases the horn, and it feels like ten pounds of raw iron hits my chest.
Bringing the third Pepsi to my lips, I respond nervously, “Hey, I’ll drink to that.”
Craig chuckles, doing the same as Carlo mutters threats of violence for him to quit touching me.
“So, tell me something else about—” Craig’s suggestion gets interrupted by a loud screech, then the music cutting off. Same for every light except the one over the bar. Complete silence hinders the crowd, similar to animals in a forest when a predator is lurking.
What. The actual. Fuck. Is with the bullshit tonight?
Before I get the chance to react rationally, Carlo’s dragging me off the stool, gun in hand as he crushes me against a wooden pillar of the gazebo.
“Uh.” Craig’s gaze bounces back and forth. “Should I be ducking or something?”
“No…” I wince from Carlo’s weight. “Sicilian’s just suffer from chronic paranoia.”
“Right…”
There’s a steady crunching of pebbles along the trail leading to the bar, making Carlo draw his gun in the direction of the sound, and Craig actually ducks because of it.
