Page 81 of Vicious Saint
“How about a dance…say…with the new brother and sister?” the D.J. announces on the mic, and my eyes turn to saucers.
God, please let there be another set of new siblings in this castle, hotel, venue, or whatever the fuck it is.
My prayers go unanswered when our parents retrieve the mic, demanding together that we join them on the dance floor.
I’m a second before bolting when I hear Mom say, “Hendrix Zinnia…don’t even think it.”
Saint nudges my shoulder. “Zinnia, huh? The more you know.”
Before I can respond he whips me around, pulling me into his side by my waist. His touch is gentle, yet possessive as he moves us slow and steady toward the dance floor. A show of faith purely for our parents’ benefit. There’s a smile spreading his lips as he nods to the proud onlookers, even waving to some like a politician at a fucking rally.
Phony. Charming. Deceitful.
Everything that makes him,him.
When we reach center stage a song I’ve never heard plays, slow and melodic. Saint takes it as an invitation to tower me once again.
One hand finds the small of my back, and the other my fingers to intertwine. He pulls me in, so close our bodies brush, and I’m forced to look up at him as we start to sway.
“Oh, this is gonna be real fun, Jimi.” His voice is all sorts of wicked as his gaze dips to my chest. “Real fucking fun.”
“I find nothing about this…fun.”
“Never said it’d be fun for you.”
A low growl rumbles from me. “Look, I get it. You hate me for what I called Theory and want my world to burn because of it.”
He tilts his head. “Remind me again what that was, exactly?”
“No.”
“No?”
“That’s what the fuck I said.”
Saint twirls me around, with much more force than appropriate, wearing his fake smile as he tugs me to him. “Why not? You had no problem doing it then. In fact, you talked quite a big game if memory serves correctly.”
“Being mean to Theory is the one and only thing I regret about that night.”
“Yeah? And I regret not ripping out your fucking throat with my hands.”
Jesus.
My heart freezes in my chest, and for a second, I’m brought back to The Pit, face to face with the hollow in Saint’s eyes. The battle that took place. My fear watching it unfold.
It’s all encompassing.
Turning the waterfall chandeliers above us to lanterns, the mahogany walls to cemented stone.
“If you wanted to hurt me, then why didn’t you?”
“Call me a patient predator.”
Anger has me attempting to rip myself from his hold, but that only entices Saint to reel me in, grip me tighter—lower—his hand just above my ass. He sucks in a breath, eyes covered once again in hateful lust.
I suck in air as well, lids fluttering closed as he brushes a thumb over my exposed skin from the backless dress.
A spark of electricity kindles inside me, my body reacting to his touch on pure instinct. Like Saint’s the lightning, and I’m the sand he turns to glass.
