Page 88 of Vicious Saint
Not in castles or happily ever afters.
Vicious appears behind my Dad, his tux and hair styled identically to how mine was earlier. Before Hendrix went and rattled me, looking drop dead gorgeous in her jade dress. Before I got close enough to smell her fucking pheromones. Feel her skin. Her pulse. Her fuckingeverything.
But mostly it’sbeforeI found out my mother’s sleazy, handsy, nephew was going to show up two days fresh out of prison. No doubt about to take his sexual frustrations out on Hendrix.
Vicious wears a stone cold scowl as he threatens to place his hands on either side of my father’s neck.
I’ll take your father. And your sister.If you don’t give me who I want.
“Get out of my head!” Tears blind my eyes as I lunge for him, forcing my father to shove Theory to the side and bear hug me.
“Son!” He grunts. “Please. Just listen to the sound of my voice. He’s not real.”
I thrash in his arms, fists flying, nails gripping wherever I can, leaving another round of marks and bruises on the last man in the world who would ever deserve it.
Especially on his fucking wedding night.
I groan low, deep, my octaves rising with every list of my father’s pleas and pacifications.
Listen to my voice.
You are Saint Lavell.
The Royals’ quarterback.
Here with me, your father, Victor Lavell, and your sister Theory Lavell, who love and care about you very much.
You are not a monster.
These words would mean everything to me in another life, another time, where I may actually believe it. But right now in this room, as I use my brute force to tear open the collar of my father’s white shirt—any form of defense involving words of affirmations is the equivalent of bringing a knife to a gunfight.
Pointless. Doomed.
Just like my fucking existence.
Ravage.
Ruin.
Vicious begins his usual twisted motto, poofing into thin air then appearing behind Theory, eyes on me as his mouth descends to her neck.
Paint. Her. Red.
He hovers there, raising two fingers to caress my sister’s cheek.
“Don’t fucking touch her!” I shove my father off me, throwing myself at Theory and nearly crushing her into the wall.
Vicious steps back, head angled sideways, watching as my father restrains me with enough force to bring me down.
Then give me the one I really want…he buzzes like a bee as soon as my face hits the floor, the eyes he stole from me wide and wild.Give me the bitch you hate. Feed me her blood and make her beg for our mercy.
“You can’t fucking have her!”
I hate Hendrix, fucking hate her.
How she looks at me, challenges me.
Makes me want to break her for what she did then fix her pretty. Play. Protect. Fuckingruinher like she’s ruining me.
