Page 243 of Vicious Saint
That signature wicked grin of Saint’s appears behind his second shot of tequila. “C’mon, Good Guy, you should know more than anyone the rules about loud music after ten.”
“Do you have any idea how much this shit will cost me?”
He slams the small glass down on the bar. “Not a fraction of what it probably cost you to get that lipstick stain on your collar.”
Archer’s eyes widen, then he runs a frantic hand over the mark in an attempt to clean it. “You’re a fucking asshole, and you’ll be paying for the damages.”
Saint mocks him with indifference, proving once again my best friend’s point about the colossal sized douche he can be.
Archer being right angers me in ways I’d rather not admit.
So much, any awe or understanding I felt for the jerk ignites into flames I’ve kept buried since he lashed out at me for “rejecting him.”
Archer storms off to handle damage control, and I’ve got half a mind to toss a boot at Saint, but don’t get the chance to follow through because another female voice, albeit far less ratty, appears out of the woodwork.
Literally.
“Hey, guys,” Theory greets Saint and Levi with a careless wave.
As for me…I’m invisible as always.
“How thefuckdid you get here?” Saint all but roars at Theory as he jumps off the stool. “I told you not to come.”
“Yeah, well.” Theory pins a look on the other Heathen, who seems just as angry but has yet to say a word. “Nobody was home and Stanley fell asleep on the couch, so I took an Uber.”
Speaking oflashing out…
Theory Lavell, ladies and gents. A true rebel for the cause.
Ugh. This night needs to end.
And it would be for me right now if I didn’t have to worry about Archer somewhere bursting an artery.
As if things couldn’t get any more awkward, a blonde stumbles over to the guys, drunk as a skunk in a sleeveless leather dress.
“There you areee…” she slurs, and my throat closes with each one of her steps, not expanding again until a lazy finger traces down Levi’s arm.
Theory’s eyes glisten as she watches them, and the girl’s girl in me wants so badly to march over and give her a hug, regardless of our differences. Because if not me, then my mom and auntie will for sure find a way to grant her freedom to be a teenager.
Make mistakes. Fall in love. Become an independent woman.
As if grasping my sympathy, Theory glances at me, and for the first time in a long time, it’s not with hostility, but shame.
As quick as it comes, is as quick as it goes thanks to Saint dragging her away from us, and Levi stalking off into darkness with whoever the drunken mess is.
With a special thank you to the lights shining from the yacht, I’m granted a pristine view of the drama between brother and sister as they argue by the entrance of the dock.
“Dio mio…” Carlo shakes his head when Saint punches a metal sign.
God is right, and I hope he’s listening because Theory’s going to need all the help she can get after pulling this stunt.
In a dress not much longer than Annalie’s.
What’s being said between them, although inaudible, is punctuated with Theory pointing fingers and her brother pacing like a caged animal. It ends abruptly with a roar from Saint loud enough to wake the dead.
Holy. Shit.
I’ve seen this guy fly off the handle many times, but never toward Theory. Then again, she doesn’t look surprised or scared by the nuclear explosion. Her arms stay crossed, foot tapping,chin in the air as Saint launches any object he can get his hands on.
