Page 245 of Vicious Saint
I’ve walked in the same shoes as Theory, been on the same end of relentless mean girl bullying. The only difference being the ticking time bomb inside me that resulted in their fear. As for Saint, well, I’ve watched him struggle hard enough to be a good person to know he didn’t choose the mind he’s stuck with. It was bestowed upon him.
Tarnished names are the only ones impossible to forget, and all it takes is one drop in even the royalist of oceans to cause a ripple effect. Luckily for Saint, I not only see, but believe, in the beauty lying at the bottom of his. Therefore his presence isn’t necessary for me to deliver the message I sent everyone the moment I walked through Riverside’s doors.
Nobody fucks with the people I care about.
“Take it back,” I demand with a growl, ignoring the whistles and shouts from the audience I didn’t realize was forming.
A mocking “not a chance” earns her three head slams into the wooden planks, making the one behind her crack.
In spite of an obvious daze, Annalie attempts to swing, but fails miserably when I catch her wrist, bending her fingers until I feel joints cracking.
Snap goes a piggy, and Annalie belts out an agonizing howl, making tingles erupt like butterflies throughout my belly.
It’s been a long time coming for this girl, and even longer since I’ve quenched my thirst for a good beat down. Crunching bones,breaking skin, painful grunts, the thrill of it all hits like a shot of dopamine.
Annalie mutters strained curses as she fights for my hair with her broken hand, too bad it’s been tied in a bun since I put on Carlo’s jacket.
Doesn’t stop the bitch from attempting my bangs, though.
She manages to catch hold of them, following through with a slap to my face. It stings, but in a delicious, straight shot of Tito’s kind of way, forming tickles down my throat that have me laughing maniacally.
“Pitiful…” I ring Annalie’s throat, squeezing until the color of her skin matches the blood on her lips. “No wonder Saint calls you number Seven.”
The insult is good, but would be more effective if Annalie could count higher than D-I-C-K.
With her good and bad fingers clawing at my hand, she grunts low. “Says the fat bitch who spent over a year trying to make him jealous…just to get pity fucked in the locker room.”
I blink several times, the sheer malice of her words acting as a push button, igniting a blaze wilder, hotter, more invigorating than any I ever felt before. It fills me to the hilt, then boils over through my eyes until I see nothing but red and a knife-sized chip of plank not far from my side.
My smile is sudden, wide, and mixed with enough fake sweetness to have Annalie’s brows furrow in confusion. Leaving her too distracted by my face and hand around her throat to notice where the other one is going.
“What the hell is wrong with you, you psycho?” Annalie rasps. “Why are you smiling like that?”
I give up nothing but silence as my fingers curl around the wood, clenching it so hard tiny splinters poke holes through my skin.
Chuckling, I point the sharp end at her.
“The real question is…why aren’tyousmiling?”
Annalie’s eyes widen, but before she can think to react further I slash one of her cheeks, then swing my arm backwards to slash the other. Blood bursts in wet lines across her face as she howls in pain, making the cheers from everyone around us lower to gasps.
I spit on her.
“Now let’s see how fast Saint pity fucksyou…”
Annalie’s howls have been reduced to sobs as two arms lock around my chest, pulling me off her and dragging me away with too much ease for it to be Carlo.
I rectify the ease instantly.
“Quit. Fucking. Fighting me.” Saint’s voice is a strained huff. “I don’t wanna hurt you.”
“So now you speak to me? After I fuck up your trashy girlfriend?”
The asshole lets go of me mid thrash, and I stumble sideways into Carlo. “Good-ehjob,signorina,” he whispers in my ear, helping to steady me. “I’m-ehproud of you.”
I wink at Carlo, then turn a fiery scowl on the body blocking my entrance to the dock. “Why the fuck did you stop me?!”
Other than hesitating to answer or look at me, Saint appears unbothered as he smooths down his Letterman. A go-to defense mech for when trying to avoid saying the things he really wants to.
