Vicious (Sinners of Saint #1)

  She waved the toothbrush handle at me, then dumped clothes from her backpack into the laundry basket in one messy heap.

  “I’ll give you ten thousand dollars to disappear.”

  She rolled her eyes. She thought I was joking. “As tempting as the idea of putting a state or two between us is, I have nowhere to go.”

  “Twenty thousand dollars,” I fired back, narrowing my eyes at her. I was going to withdraw the sum from my own account. I doubted my dad would even notice, and if he did, it would still be worth it. I was losing my sanity, fast, because of her.

  “No,” she chuckled, resolute. “What the hell makes you think I’d do what you’re asking?”

  I figured she wouldn’t just leave because I told her to, so I shrugged and picked up my cell phone, staring at her, blasé.

  “I’ll fire your parents, and then you’ll all have to move back to some shithole in Virginia, and poor Rosie—poor fucking Rosie—won’t have access to the nice health care plan my dad is paying for. That’s what makes me think you’ll do what I demand.” I smirked.

  Her eyes turned to slits and her lips thinned. She hates me. I hated myself too. For the both of us. But I couldn’t fucking take it anymore. It was too much. She was too much. Maybe because of the way she looked exactly like a younger Jo. Maybe because of how I still wanted to fuck her regardless. It made me hate myself.

  “You can’t do that,” she whispered, her hands shaking as she gathered her fresh clothes and toothbrush to her chest. She loved her family so much. Especially Rosie. “They work for your parents, not you. They wouldn’t cave to their moody teenage son.” Emilia was trying to convince herself more than she was trying to convince me.

  “They wouldn’t?” My eyebrows jumped as I feigned surprise. “When’s the last time they even bothered being here? Let’s test your theory. I’ll call my dad right now.”

  To everyone else, it seemed like I’d always had Baron Senior by the balls. Even though he was too busy doing the New York-Cabo-wherever-the-fuck-Jo-wanted-to-sunbathe route to actually be a parent, he rarely denied me.

  I assumed it was because of the guilt that plagued him from what he’d done to my mom.

  “Hey, Dad, it’s me.” I spoke into the phone, swinging my legs up on her bed and crossing my feet at the ankles. I was still wearing my muddy sneakers. My phone was on speaker.

  “What do you want, Baron?” There was no mistaking the impatience in his tone.

  Help’s mouth opened slightly.

  I popped my minty gum in boredom, sighing. “Just so we’re all on the same page, since you guys are barely at the house anymore, am I correct to assume the staff is under my supervision? Meaning I can hire and fire if someone isn’t meeting my needs?”

  I heard the splashes of the waves against my father’s yacht—Marie, after my mom—and ice clink in a glass. Scotch was my guess.

  “Yes,” he said. “You assume correctly. Why? What’s wrong? Somebody giving you trouble?”

  I nodded with a triumphant smile even though he couldn’t see me. She could, though.

  Help’s face whitened beneath her golden tan. Upset. Horrified. I was sending her packing at eighteen, with no prospects and no place to go, and I’d threatened to fire her family if she wouldn’t leave.

  “No, everything’s good,” I said, still watching her. “Speak soon, Dad.” I hung up on the fucker—he and Jo and Daryl were going to pay, but they were a problem for a different day. I snapped my gaze to meet hers.

  She tilted her chin up. The contempt she held for me was rolling off her rigid posture in waves.

  The silence was suffocating and so was the idea that I was essentially ruining her life. I was choosing myself over Emilia, my feelings over hers, and it wasn’t noble or honorable, but it was who I was.

  “Can I finish out the school year, at least?” she asked so quietly it took me a few seconds to decipher her request. She was perfectly composed. Proud.

  Fuck, she was beautiful when she was strong. I was doing the right thing getting rid of her.

  I nodded.

  “Leave the week after school ends,” I instructed, getting up from her bed. I already missed it. “And it goes without fucking saying that you and Dean are done. This is the second and last time I’m telling—not asking—you to stop this shit. Tell him you’re leaving because you’ve met someone else online. Insist that he never contact you again. One glitch, Emilia, and I promise you, your family won’t just lose this job. I’ll make sure they don’t find another one.”

  She didn’t answer, but I knew she got the message. She wasn’t the kind of girl to puss out when it came to her loved ones. Her family was her everything.

  When I walked out of the servants’ apartment for the very last time, I asked myself if there was a chance Emilia would ever forgive me.

  I wondered how much groveling I’d need to do if I ever wanted to get back in her life.

  No. The price was too high. We were done.

  But so were she and Dean.

  The Present

  I WASN’T GONNA DO IT.

  At this point, I didn’t even care about the money. I’d never cared too much for it anyway. Sure, I wanted to survive, maybe take a breather from chasing overdrafts, but at what cost?

  Nope, I wasn’t going to ruin anyone else’s life with a lie. Ever. I wasn’t Vicious.

  I spent my night lying in bed, thinking and analyzing the last few hours. There was a lot to take in. Vicious wanted me to lie and tell Jo straight to her face that if it came down to it, I would testify against her, telling the court he’d told me things he never had.

  I was a horrible liar. But a little voice inside me kept asking—and what if it is the truth? The answer was always the same—even if it was the truth, it wasn’t my truth. There were other ways Vicious could get what he wanted without dragging me into his war.

  At four in the morning, I finally kicked off my blanket and slipped into my flip-flops. I knew there was no chance I was going to fall asleep after deciding I wouldn’t help him, so I might as well just read. I remembered the library I’d always wanted to visit over the years.

  This was probably my last chance to see it before Vicious kicked my family and me out. And it’s the place I’ve been avoiding for ten years straight, always wondering, aching, and peeking through these doors. But no more. I wanted to see what’s behind them.

  I was done with his blackmail. Done with being bought.

  This time, his money would lose.

  I entered the mansion through the kitchen, using Mama’s security code. It was still the same ten years later.

  I tiptoed to the hall, clad in the XL Libertines shirt I called my pajamas, and headed down the ironwood floor, following the same route I had that first time I’d gone to knock on the library door. Vicious would be fast asleep upstairs. I’d read a little, inhale the scent of the old books, calm my nerves, and go back to my parents’ place.

  I was silent. Which was why my shriek almost rattled the walls when I pushed the door to the library open and found Vicious in one corner, sitting at an ornately carved wooden table with four upholstered wing-back chairs. It looked like a study table you’d see in public library, only much fancier.

  He lifted his eyes from the screen of his laptop at my yelp and stared at me long and hard for a few beats, until my racing heart calmed a little. Then, wordlessly, he pushed the chair opposite him with his foot in a silent invitation for me to join him. I didn’t move.

  “What are you doing up so late?” My voice trembled.

  “What are you doing trespassing in the middle of the fucking night?” he retorted, his voice calm and tired.

  He’d changed into a white designer V-neck and a pair of dark denim pants or jeans. I didn’t need to see them to know they hung low on his body.

  “I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I’d read a little. Never mind.” I spun around, heading back toward the hallway.

  He stopped me. “Help.” His voice was firm. I
halted, but didn’t turn around. “Grab a book. I promise not to make conversation.”

  I rubbed my thighs and mentally scoffed at the idea of joining him. Especially after how he’d acted in the car.

  “I’m resigning,” I said, my back still to him. It was easier that way. I always caved when his eyes held mine. “I can’t do what you’re asking me to do. Please don’t try and threaten me with my parents or Rosie or with starting a third World War. I’ve made up my mind. I can’t lie for you.”

  I heard the squeak of his chair as he got up, and I closed my eyes. I knew my resolve was going to crack with every step he took in my direction. Because stupidly, I still felt things for Vicious. Things I had no business feeling.

  He stopped when he was standing in front of me. I felt his heat rolling toward my body. I felt my body accepting the warmth, drinking it in, enjoying it, despite what he’d done to me.

  “Open your eyes,” he ordered.

  I did. We stared at each other for a few seconds. His eyes were still on mine when he slowly peeled his shirt off of his ripped body. I kept my glare on his black pupils, too afraid to drop my gaze. It wouldn’t be the first time I’d seen a male torso at such close proximity.

  But it definitely would be the first time I’d seen Vicious’s.

  His white tee landed on the floor with barely a sound. I was hyper-aware the fabric near my bare feet in my flip-flops.

  “Look down,” he instructed softly.

  My eyes drifted south, my gaze slow and wary, taking in the perfect porcelain skin of his neck and shoulders, until I landed on his chest. He was hard-muscled and pumped…and covered with scars. Some pink. Some white. All of them old and faded. Long scars. Short scars. Deep scars. Shallow scars. There were many, too many, like a subway window that had been abused over the years. He looked like someone had doodled on his stomach and chest with a Swiss-made knife.

  Bile rose up my throat, and I clamped my lips together, feeling my chin quivering.

  “Remember when I used to arrange the fights at my tennis court?” he asked, his voice unruffled. “I’m not gonna lie. Part of it was for fun, to unwind. But the other part, Help, was because I didn’t want people to ask questions about my scars.” He lifted both his arms, showing me the front of his wrists and forearms.

  Covered with more scars.

  I’d noticed them before, of course, but I’d bought the lie. I’d thought the fights were to blame.

  I tried to swallow but couldn’t. His scars somehow felt like they were on me. My skin burned for him. “Jo did this to you?”

  “No.” He ran his tongue over his front teeth. “Her brother, Daryl Ryler, the guy you saw in this library that first day. Jo didn’t cut me. After she first married my dad, she just smacked me around. A lot. And then Ryler moved here when I was twelve…” He hesitated, but it didn’t look like he was having too much trouble getting the words out. His face was still as emotionless as ever, his speech low and firm. “She’d lock the door from the outside and leave him to ‘punish me.’”

  I sucked in a ragged breath. I wanted to kill that woman. Even after everything he’d done to me, I wanted his stepmother to die. Then something else occurred to me.

  “Did your dad know?”

  “I told him, but he was never around much. His business was always his focus. Then, after I got expelled from boarding school and was back here, Jo convinced him I was hurting myself. Cutting. All the rage with ‘troubled’ kids like me. She even hired a psychiatrist to assess me. One chosen by her, of course. There was talk of sending me off somewhere for treatment. So I learned to keep my mouth shut until eventually I was big and strong enough to fight back. I was sixteen.”

  My eyes ran over his torso frantically. Shame crawled into me when I realized it wasn’t only sorrow I felt. Butterflies flung their tiny wings in my chest and my nipples puckered. I liked what I was seeing. He was perfectly imperfect. Flawlessly flawed. Most importantly—he was Vicious.

  “You never told any else? The police? A teacher?”

  His dead eyes blinked once. “There wasn’t much point by then. Jo and my dad were traveling a lot, and Daryl was barely ever around. Drugs.” He shrugged. “He died shortly after you left town. Overdosed and drowned in his own Jacuzzi.” He tilted his head sideways. “Shame.”

  A shiver broke down my spine. I remembered every word of their conversation that first day in the library. No. Vicious was incapable of killing someone. But was he really…? I didn’t want to ask him about it. Both because I wasn’t ready for his answer and because it would’ve caused another moral debate, and my head was aching as it was.

  “Vicious…” I was breathless. He moved toward me. Our bodies touched. I wanted to melt into him, but knew better than to give in to that temptation. He was so haunted and troubled. And on top of everything else, he was still hateful to me.

  For Lord’s sake, the man still referred to me as “Help.”

  Yet when his body pressed against mine, warm and comforting, nothing like the man it belonged to, I couldn’t pull away. We were flush against each other, but his arms were at his sides. We were both liars, telling ourselves that as long as we didn’t use hands, this didn’t count. Only it did. In my heart, it did.

  “It’s a mess, but it’s my mess,” he said. “I won’t drag you into this shit in court. Jo doesn’t deserve a penny, but whatever happens with the will, this stays between me and her.” He dropped his eyes to my lips. He was so close, I was able to taste the saltiness of his warm, naked skin and the heat of his mouth. “You get out of this unscathed. I know you think I’m a piece of shit, and you have a good reason to, but I’m not asking you to perjure yourself. I would never complicate your life like that. Never. I just need you to help me frighten Jo enough to back off if there’s a problem with the will.”

  Torn, I shook my head. “I’m sure your friends can help you just as much, if not more.”

  “They don’t know,” he said. “I haven’t told them. Not about Daryl Ryler, not about Jo. I’m not proud of this, Help. I let them do this to me. For years. You’re the only one who knows, other than Eli Cole and a shrink I hired myself a few years ago.”

  I could have told him a lot of things. That it wasn’t his fault. That there was nothing to be ashamed of. That he wasn’t alone. But I knew Vicious well enough to know that wasn’t what he wanted to hear. He was too proud for a pep talk. What he wanted was cooperation.

  “Then ask your psychiatrist,” I said.

  “That would be very messy, very expensive, and very public. No. This is personal. Private. I want to deal with Jo quietly, and we both know you can keep a secret.”

  Pink.

  Black.

  “How do I know you’re not lying?” I made my voice stone cold, ignoring the compliment. But this made sense. I knew what I heard in the library all those years ago. But after Vicious’s behavior toward me, I’d chosen to believe it was just an ugly family argument.

  “You don’t. You’ll have to trust me.”

  “And what on earth have you ever done to make me think you’re trustworthy?” I wrinkled my nose, taking a step away. Being so close to him wasn’t helping.

  The back of his hand brushed my cheek, and my heart leaped. I retreated again.

  “I was an asshole, but I never lied to you. Not once. Josephine came after my family’s money with her brother, and she did some nasty stuff to get what she wanted. This is payday for her. But not in the way she hopes it will be.”

  I closed my eyes, shaking my head.

  When I didn’t answer, he took my hand and pulled me toward a chair. It was five in the morning, and I’d lost my appetite for the written word.

  “Stay.”

  “Why?” I demanded.

  “Because I order you to.”

  “No.”

  He dipped his head down and shook it, exhaling sharply. “Fuck, then do it because I want you to. It’s been a long day. Don’t decide right now. Just sit here while I work and get u
sed to seeing my sour-ass face again. I won’t try and bribe you again. Instead, I’ll ask that you think about what you, Emilia, consider as justice. Because I know you’re good and I know I’m bad, but at the end of the day, I suspect we have the exact same moral code.”

  I perched on the chair across from his, but only because I was too shocked to continue standing. Vicious’s confession, combined with the fact I suspected Ryler hadn’t really died a natural death, almost paralyzed me completely.

  I slowly reached for a leather-bound book on the corner of the table. I raised an eyebrow at him when I spotted the title on the spine. “Little Women?”

  He only shrugged.

  I opened the book but didn’t really read anything. Every few seconds, my eyes would drift back to Vicious.

  His gaze was still on the screen when he said, “Is there something else on your mind, Help?”

  I hated that we were back to what we were before his confession.

  “Am I an idiot for sitting here with you?” I asked, honestly interested to know what he made of this whole situation.

  A ghost of a smile passed across his face. “You’re a lot of things. An idiot has never been never one of them.”

  “Then what am I?”

  “You’re…” He looked up, inspecting me. Sometimes people could communicate with a stare alone, and his eyes said mine, but his mouth said, “Complicated. You’re complex. It’s not a bad thing.”

  I wanted to tell him that he didn’t deserve my help, that I hated him, but that wasn’t the truth. At least not the latter. Even if I was considering lying for him, I didn’t want to make a habit out of it, so I just kept my mouth shut.

  He tangled his leg with mine purposely under the table, daring me to pull away. I didn’t. I liked his warmth. I liked his long, muscular leg laced with mine. I liked how after a few minutes of pressing his leg harder into my calf, he used his knee to nudge my legs apart. I let out a sigh.

  But all throughout, he didn’t look at me. Not even once. I pretended to keep reading, and he tapped the table with a chewed pen. My hands tightened on the book when I recognized the name printed on the pen’s side. I realized that it was my pen. The pen I’d used when he came to McCoy’s.