Page 270 of Vicious Saint
The guy was terminated by the end of eighth period.
One time, I had two JV idiots spit some fat jokes at me in the hall, and the next day they had burns lined like hickeys down their necks. Saint never told me heHalo-edthem, and I never asked, but the way the two assholes refused to look at me after said more than enough.
Even Stevenson eventually admitted Saint only stun-knuckled him because he was pissed he didn’t protect me. Something about how he’d kill Stevenson if he ever allowed a crazy dude to put hands on me again.
Granted, Saintwasthe crazy dude with his hands on me, but executing methods correctly was never his strong suit. Up until Stevenson and I ended, I was convinced he was retaliating for me rubbing the guy I was fucking in his face.
Saint was retaliating, yeah, but not against me.
“Shit…I really hope that doesn’t happen.”
Theory waves me off. “Don’t stress it, babe. Saint knows what he’d be losing if he did.”
I’m about to ask what that is exactly when my phone vibrates again.
Archer: You really think going out to a public place like that is a good idea?
What kind of freaking germs have gotten to this guy’s head? We were at that club together not too long ago…and surrounded by acres of woods for his party weeks after.
Me: Why would it be a bad idea?
Another minute passes before he answers.
Archer: Are Carlo and Saint going?
As if the first one isn’t standing idle by the concessions, sticking out like a sore thumb in a button down, suspenders, and slacks. On his third Manhattan Special. Carlo’s version of my demand to keep his ass looking more casual, less criminal.
As for the second, Saint has made it obvious he’s been tracking me wherever I go the entire time. Yeah. I found the app hidden in my phone, plus the tiny trinket I’m sure he got from his dad attached to the inner wall of my bag.
It enraged me when I found the black Cheerio sized device, given the cut was still fresh after what he did to me with Theory. But, for some bizarre reason, I couldn’t find it in me to remove it.
Me: Obviously. What’s the prob dude? Why you acting sussy-bus?
Archer: I’m not…just thinking along the lines of a scarred up Annalie…Royals…Mafia…Bratva drama…and how things could pop off at any minute with all of them.
Fuck Annalie and any revenge she’d be stupid enough to pull after a hefty payoff and iron clad contract from one of the Royal families.
As for the mafia pop off…nothing has. Like, at all.
I’m starting to really think whatever shit’s going on is being blown way out of proportion. The Salvinis and Ivanovs are ruthless, and if either of them wanted to take out a bible thumper and his offspring, I’m pretty sure they would’ve already.
Shit…everyone knows the previous head of the Salvinis was a known psycho who went on a murder spree against the Ivanov family.
The kicker? Because it was on his bucket list.
Nikolai Ivanov declared a nasty war ever since, and let’s just say his family’s methods of punishment are not much less deranged.
The possibility of Saint, Theory, and-or me getting caught in the crossfires of people like this has bile threatening to lurch up my throat. It also has me wondering if I’m wrong and Vic and his Salvini allies are just really good at hiding.
Archer: Forget I mentioned it. Everything is fine and the flu meds are making me paranoid.
Archer’s confession eases my worries, but not enough to throw them away completely as I wish him goodnight and remind him I’m just a phone call away.
I make sure to focus the lingering nerves on Saint’sgrooveand winning this game as Theory and I watch the rest of it sipping sodas.
“Let’s go! Let’s go! Let’s go!” Theory hops out of her seat, squealing as her brother scours what little field space is left between him and a touchdown.
Something clicks in Saint’s head, making him launch the football in the direction of a wide open player, number thirteen A.K.A. Leviathan, who’s edging closer to the touchdown zone with his arms out.
