Page 6 of Dirty Saint

At that, she chuckled and pushed me toward the door. “I hate to point this out again, but if you let me get a job, I could have a cell.”

“Forget about it. I’m doing this so you’ll keep your head in those books,” I said, motioning with my chin toward the stack of books on the kitchen table.

“Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. Get out.” She laughed.

Once on the other side of the door, I paused to take in my little sister. She was smiling happily. I had pleased her, fueling my night and keeping me going.

Anything.

I would do anything for her.

“Good night, brat. Don’t wait up.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah. Like I have to worry about you staying out until morning.”

She giggled before she closed the door in my face. I listened as she turned the three deadbolts I added to the door. Knowing she was safely locked behind our apartment door on the complex's second floor, I turned and left.

2

Tori

AnightwithSadieand the girls meant standing along a deserted gravel road called The Strip and watching lunatics race motorcycles. It was an abandoned strip of highway in the center of Atlanta, tucked away while still in the city's busiest and most dangerous part. The news consistently reported about the area's crimes when I managed to watch a broadcast.

The asphalt was cracked, with spray-painted murals lining it and overgrown grass and dirt along the sides. What looked to be a decrepit gas station sat at one end of The Strip, most of its bricks lying on the ground around the foundation, while the other side merged into a broken parking lot littered with trash. But the fresh, bright white line that marked the finish line was the most noticeable thing about the place.

When we pulled up in Sadie’s green four-door Hyundai, the view of bikes, cars, and multicolored neons was like a scene fromFast & Furious. The air was fueled with the smell of drugs and gasoline, and you couldn’t hear yourself think over the bass-thumping speakers, the cheering crowds, and the roar of motorcycle engines. The place buzzed with electricity and energy, and while most people would enjoy that feeling, it left me with a weight of anxiety crushing my chest.

I followed Sadie, unsure of what to do with myself, and when she handed me a beer, I reluctantly took it and sipped it while I stood in the back and disappeared into the crowd. No one other than Sadie noticed me or spoke to me, which was fine with me and better for my severe social anxiety. It was embarrassing, but I was clueless about talking to others. I worked with people, but it was limited activity working on the grills.

We had only been at The Strip for a few minutes, and already I was uncomfortable in my skin and feeling out of place. The Atlanta night was sticky, and the humidity clung to my skin, dampening my clothes. I ran my fingers through my locks, feeling the frizz forming on the ends. It wouldn’t be long before the mop of hair on my head became poofy and gross. The quicker I could get through the night and back to my place, the better.

Sadie bumped her shoulder against mine and smiled at me.

“Having fun?”

I grinned, knowing it wasn’t going to reach my eyes. “Tons.”

She laughed, her mouth open wide enough that I could see her perfectly lined teeth. “Loosen up, Tori. Have a few drinks and enjoy yourself. You’d be surprised how much fun this place can be.” She lifted her bottle and took a long pull from her drink. “Besides, Saint’s up next. He’s my favorite racer.”

The night seemed to pause around me at her words.

Saint.

My body locked up, my muscles going stiff. I had once known a guy with the last name Saint, and just hearing the name sent a blazing arrow straight to my chest. An explosion of raw hatred filled my lungs, drowning me with its liquid heat. My cheeks flushed with fury at hearing the name, but I extinguished the flames, knowing she wasn’t referring to the same guy. That was impossible.

The Saint I knew was an evil son of a bitch. He was a vile human who ruined lives and lied with his fingers brushing the Holy Bible. I had watched him lie with his hand on the Bible. I hadn’t seen him in ten years, but I hoped wherever he was, he was feeling God’s wrath for his deception and part in ruining my life. I prayed he rotted somewhere, living a much worse life than mine.

“Saint,” I repeated the name, leaving a mighty trail of disgust across my tongue.

Sadie turned my way as if I had asked her a question.

“Yeah, girl. He’s all muscles and hot tattoos,” she continued, shaking her head and sucking her teeth as if she had already tasted him. “He’s a Hawaiian sex machine who makes the girls crazy.”

My heart slammed to a halt, and I sucked in a humid breath.

Hawaiian?

No.

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