Page 296 of Vicious Saint
Saint straightens his back and clears his throat, as if about to perform a skit. “Oh, hey, Jimi. It’s me, Letterman. The guy you fought with, fucked, and hated. Fun fact…your room is called a provisional that I could easily lock you in with a single tap to my cell phone.”
Squishing my nose, I tell him, “Okay, yeah. Fair point.”
Saint lets out a deep, resigned breath. “You see? I didn’t hide this shit because I don’t trust you, I hid it because I’m scared to fucking lose you.”
“You’re not gonna lose me…and the reason has nothing to do with being locked in this room.”
“Yeah…it’s because you know I’d chase your fine ass all the way to Cyprus.” Saint’s lighthearted smile stands no chance against the exhaustion sinking the muscles of his gorgeous face.
For fear of him collapsing, I mark us officially done with tours and conversations.
“Alright, let’s go mister…” I stand, then pull down the blanket. “It’s time for you to get some sleep.”
He yawns. “No rest for the wicked, baby.”
“Well, there is for you.”
With a not so gentle push, I get Saint on the bed, then pick his heavy ass legs up on it one by one and twist off his shoes.
Another yawn commences, but this time while rolling onto his stomach. “I can’t sleep unless you sleep,” he mutters into the pillow as I cover him.
“You won’t have any trouble, trust me.”
“Oh yeah? And why’s that?”
Other than him already being halfway there?
“Iknowbecause for the first time in forty-eight hours, you won’t have to worry about where I’m going.”
A wave of excitement crashes through me as I squeeze the gun, peering down at my attacker lying helplessly on the ground.
His eyes are wide and filled with desperation as muted words rush from his lips. Please, I’m sure, to spare him, even though he had no intentions of sparing me. But I won’t. I can’t. Not when I can taste the flavors of death on my tongue.
A mix between sharp metal, smoke, and a painful end.
It thrills me in ways I never imagined.
Until the presence of something pure evil becomes all encompassing.
“Do it,” a cold, unfamiliar voice demands, and when I look up I find the shape of a man tucked away in the shadows, pure malice curving the edges of his silhouette.
“Who are you?” I ask, and when he steps into the light, a chill shoots like an arrow straight down to my bones.
A huge man stands at the head of my attacker, dark hair, beautifully carved face, and a Letterman jacket. Identical in every way to the boy I fell in love with, except for one. His eyes. The lively crystal blue has been replaced with a pitched out black, like doorways to oblivion. He’s staring down at me, a self-satisfied grin laced with venom tipping the corners of his lips, as if he’s been waiting a long time for this very moment.
It has the tiny hairs on the back of my neck standing on end.
“Saint? Is that you?”
His frightening grin widens. “Don’t insult me now, Jimi. You know exactly who I am.”
“No…I don’t.”
Or at least I don’t want to imagine.
“Your racing heart says otherwise.”
Another wave crashes through me, but this one drowns me in terror, cutting off my air supply.
