Page 8 of Dirty Saint

Meanwhile, I barely made ends meet and worked myself to death. I was skinny from lack of food and overworking myself and hadn’t had a decent haircut in years. I had no automobile. I had no boyfriend, though I never considered having one, and I looked like death.

It wasn’t fair.

How could someone as despicable as Koah Saint have such good vibes in his life? He had lied about my father. He was why my dad had rotted in prison before dying a slow, painful, cancer-ridden death. He was the reason my sister barely remembered the man who had loved us so completely he would have given us the world.

Fate was a heartless whore who had ways of spinning things in the wrong direction. I should have been the one happy with friends and a life. I should have been smiling across The Strip at him while his back pounded in pain and his shoes fell apart.

Everything about the moment was backward. I wanted to run and never see Koah’s face again, but I had nowhere to go. I had decided to join Sadie for a night out, and no matter how badly I wanted to flee, I couldn’t force her to leave, and it was too far of a walk to my apartment.

I backed away, fading into the crowd around me until the backs of strangers blocked my view of Koah. The moment froze as the bikes buzzed around me, and people continued living their lives as if an epic quake hadn’t rocked mine.

AN HOUR PASSED, I remained in my spot, silently praying Sadie would be ready to go soon. We had gotten there late since we had worked an entire shift, and I was grateful the night seemed to be coming to an end. Cars had started to depart in different directions, along with the bikes that had raced that night. The guys still there exchanged money and drugs with women pressed against their sides, gazing up at them as if they were royalty.

It was sickening.

I started to walk through the crowd to Sadie’s car, ready to sit inside and wait for her, when someone said my name, stopping me.

“Victoria Walsh.” The deep voice resonated, sending a spike of hate zipping up my spine.

I paused as a wash of nausea spun through my gut, that day’s food sloshing around in bile and stomach juice and making me gag. My brain buzzed with ways to accept the challenge of facing him again, but nothing came to mind. Maybe if I kept moving, he would go away. But even as the thought entered my mind, I knew running like a coward would never sit well with me.

I turned to find Koah standing before me, his large tattooed arms crossed over his naked chest and a smug grin on his face. A braided hemp necklace with a dangling charm circled his thick neck, and I considered strangling him with it.

He was tall with tanned skin and Polynesian-style tats that seemed alive when he flexed or moved. His deep, soulful eyes were the murky green color of the Atlantic Ocean. His jeans hung low on his hips, and a trail of light hair stretched from his navel and disappeared into his jeans. Realizing my eyes were dipping into dangerous territory, I looked up quickly to find him grinning knowingly back at me with perfectly white teeth and juicy lips. I wasn’t checking him out. I was noticing the changes in him.

He was doing well for himself with diamond earrings, expensive shoes, a flashy motorcycle, and adoring women. It was bullshit. Koah Saint was living the life, and I was barely alive.

“What are you doing slumming around these parts?” he asked, his voice deep and melodic.

I clenched my jaws so tightly that my teeth felt like they would crack. “I’m not slumming.”

He chuckled, unfazed by seeing me. “Right. Be careful, Little Princess. This isn’t your kind of crowd.”

How would he know anything about my life or the people I chose to be around?

I imploded.

“Fuck you.”

I didn’t curse often, but the moment required a hard f-bomb. Little Princess had been a pet name my father had given me. Hearing it come from his lips made the name burn in my stomach.

He covered his cheek with his palm and pulled back as if I had offended him. I knew I hadn’t. He didn’t have a heart, much less the ability to be offended. “Wow. Little Miss Walsh bites back now. Good for you, Princess. You’ll need that here.”

“Yeah. My bite’s worse than my bark these days. Thanks to you.”

His stiff smile was unfriendly. “In that case, you’re welcome?”

How dare he?

“Don’t,” I snapped.

“Don’t what?” He lifted a brow as if he were genuinely interested.

“Don’t pretend you did me a favor when we both know you didn’t.”

He nodded, understanding my meaning. “The world’s a cruel place, Tori. Giving you thicker skin is a favor. You’ll need it if you plan on hanging around these parts.”

What the hell was he even talking about?

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