Page 229 of Vicious Saint
With a finger pointed at her, I say, “What Iknowis that Annalie is an opportunist. A heartless bitch who will manipulate anyone to get what she wants. And, regardless of how shitty you’ve been treating me lately, you are not one. I care about you, Theory. Therefore, I want you to be surrounded by true friends who would never hurt you.”
I don’t miss the spark of appreciation in her eyes.
No matter how fleeting it is.
Because it’s true. Theory is a good person, and I truly care about her. She just needs to be given the room to grow the fuck up. Something I would’ve been happy to help with as her stepsister if her actual brother didn’t go and screw us over.
31
Saint
“Late again,” Balkan mutters, staring ahead at the field as my jog slows to a stop next to him.
“My bad, Coach. I was up late last night.”
“Doing what exactly, Lavell? And if you spit out anything that involves a female I will personally cut your dick off.”
“Studying.”
Doubt telling him Russian whereabouts would make the pulse on his neck quit swelling.
“You think I’m an idiot?”
I shove the helmet over my head. “I do not, Coach.”
“What did I tell you? No more fucking chances.”
Keep. Your shit. Together. Saint.
It’ll be hard to run a team with a dead coach.
“Aw, c’mon, Coach. You should know ‘three strikes you’re out’ ain’t our game.”
He jerks to face me. “This is one big joke to you, huh, Saint?”
Not a damn joke in sight.
It was four in the morning when I finally called it quits on sleuthing. Five hours later being a dangerously short amount of time for us to play Fuck Around and Find Out.
“It won’t happen again.”
“So you keep saying…”
“I mean it this time.”
He eyes me with slit lids. “Well, you better prove it before we get to the championship, because Monohan’s been working real hard for my attention…and I may like what I’m seeing.”
This fucking guy Coby, you’d think he’d learn his place after I secured him a dental appointment on Fight Night.
I take a hard glance at the guy leading stretches, my stomach twisting in angry knots as I jog onto the field, ready to bring every motherfucker doubting me back to their knees.
This mad king may have been lost lately, but he’s not dead, and it doesn’t take long after I call the first hike to have Coby wishing I was.
Forty straight minutes of plays executed to royal perfection.
Throws smooth as silk.
Rushed touchdowns hitting Balkan like a spank on the ass.
