Page 124 of Vicious Saint
I grant him a sarcastic thumbs up, then when he turns, I continue on with the dramatic exit. And I say exit, because that’s exactly what the fuck this is now that it’s impossible to book a room.
After a long scream and quick squat on the toilet, I run my hands under the water to clean them off.
My mother really is something fucking else.
Cancelling the credit and debits.
Typical trap for a person who rarely carries cash.
I don’t even bother answering the fiftieth call of hers, the excuses she’ll try to feed me are already nagging at my brain.
He’s your stepbrother. Get to know him.
You’re only eighteen.
You can’t stay alone at a hotel with crazy people these days.
But she wants me alone in a room with her psycho stepson.
Granted, Mom doesn’t know all the nitty gritty about what happened in Lance’s room, but she knows enough toat leastconsider Saint dangerous.
But yeah.
Hotels…they’re the problem.
I wipe my hands on my shorts, not wanting a dryer to signal being done with business just in case there’re Italian ears somewhere listening.
I’m not dumb enough to still believe Carlo was only hired to be my driver, given drivers don’t usually feel the need to conceal carry weapons.
This guy’s packing.
Which means there’s trouble somewhere in paradise.
And given both our families have ties to low places, it’s not exactly a shocker.
But the Montgomery ties to a fall guy is nowhere near as dangerous as the Lavell ties to the U.S. government and its enemies.
Not to mention the rest of Riverside’sroyalfamilies.Why else would Vic need to be in D.C.?
I stare down at my phone, still debating whether or not the “I told you so” is worth getting Archer’s help.
Nope. It’s not.
I’ve dealt with enough drama from men today.
Bex is gone. So there’s that.
All that’s left is me, myself, and a trip to the closest twenty-four hour Starbucks.
Pressing the off button on my iPhone, I watch it shut down before hiding it in a small slot I found under the sink.
Again.
I’m not dumb.
I know simply keeping my phone off isn’t enough to stop a guy like Vic from being able to track me.
Sliding both arms into the straps of my Montsouris, I check myself in the mirror before initiating Project Fuck Right Off.
