Page 80 of Vicious Saint
There’s a scuffle, which is when the asshole across from me finally lays down the law.
“Enough,” Saint orders, and they both call it quits with bared teeth.
He smiles saccharine sweet. “This is cause for celebration, not arguing. I mean look how lucky I am to welcome not one, buttwoamazing women into the Lavell family.”
My mouth is pursed in a tight-lip angry fashion as he steps to me, towering my five-four with his six-three.
Saint winks, but it’s no longer playful. It’s violent.
“Especially my new sister.”
Things turn awkward for everyone with the abrupt switch of his mood. Saint’s glare filled with venom, lust, and murder all at the same time.
“Did someone say sister?” Theory cuts the tension holding a glass of something red. She doesn’t even get a chance to greet anyone before Saint snatches the drink from her hand.
“The fuck, dude?” she whines as he throws back the glass, and I can’t stop myself from examining the way his Adam’s apple moves as he swallows.
With a sigh of content he turns his fury on Theory. “I said no fucking drinking, you’re too young.”
Theory’s perfectly threaded eyebrows cinch together in annoyance. “Pretty sure we’re both too young.” The smile widening on her brother is filled with intent, specifically to take the heat off me. “So, big bro, unless you intend on spending the rest of the night getting a lecture from Daddy, I suggest you let this girl live a little.”
Saint’s nostrils flare, but he snaps two fingers and a server rushes over with a tray.
“One drink,” he grits out while ridding the empty glass and snatching a fresh flute of champagne in exchange. “Not a sip fucking more.” He hands it to her roughly, but not in an aggressive way—in a twisted, pissed off, loving way. I’d think it was endearing if he wasn’t such a prick to everyone besides her and Bex.
Speaking of Bex…
“How about some shots?” She twirls a finger through her orange hair, still not used to the darker side of her favorite Royal Heathen. “Maybe to the new stepsister and brother?”
Gag. So. Much. Fucking. Gag.
I tilt my head at Saint. “Where do they keep the arsenic?”
Just can’t help yourself, huh?
No, conscience. I can’t.
In fact, I fully intend to use snark and sarcasm as a means of coping.
“I will if you will.” He bites his bottom lip suggestively. “We can see who dies first.”
“Since this is my new life…I’ll hope that it’s me.”
“There are hotlines for that, you know.”
I flip him off, and Saint pretends to snatch it, then returns the “fuck you” with a blown kiss.
Our friends watch us, each on edge, except for Theory as she reaches up and pecks her brother’s cheek.
“I’m outtie…the sexual tension between you two is making me cringe.”
Saint’s glare lingers on her as she struts between Riggs and Levi, her killer body drawing the attention from every guy she passes.
Leviathan in particular.
His glance is subtle as a blink, but noticeable enough if paying attention. Luckily for him, Saint stopped.
I sense a catastrophe in there somewhere, but mine is paramount. So these two will have to get in line.
