8. Hendrix #2
“You look so pretty, Hen!” someone calls out, and when my eyes connect with the source of the soft timbered voice I find Bex. She squeals as she makes her way toward me dressed in a strapless bodycon appropriate for the heat.
Alongside Archer, far less practical in a gray tux.
“Fuck, Hen! That dress is wearing you .” He grabs my hand and lifts it over my head, whistling as he twirls me around. “Gahhhhhdamn, girl!”
When Archer releases me, I adjust the sides of my dress, still unable to shake the idea of being one of the only teens in the room over a size twelve.
I make it a point never to appear insecure about my weight, especially to the kids at Riverside Prep, because the second they smell insecurity they use it as a firearm.
And like I said, I love my body head to toe.
But I’m also human.
“Can you believe this room is only for the first half of the night?” Bex chuckles as she retrieves a glass of wine from the bartender, referring to the myriad of waterfall chandeliers, marble pillars, and authentic gold accents.
“I know, right?” Archer chimes in with a scoff. “Not a sax in sight. Totally underwhelming.”
Bex and I roll our eyes as the rival trio of ours make their way into the room like royalty.
Unfortunately, it includes the bane of my existence, who spent the majority of the limo drive to the hotel with an exaggerated sense of excitement for his newfound family.
I called bullshit, and Saint called me over to ride his face so he could prove how serious he really was.
In front of everyone, including uncles, aunts, cousins, and even Theory, who looked more amused than him.
I quickly became aware of Saint’s intent to kill me with sexual innuendos tonight, assuming he can crack me open with charming threats.
Which hasn’t faltered a beat since we had our moment in The Pit. In fact, every one the past couple of months have been watered down with candy and compliments.
Perusing eyes.
Licking of bottom lips.
I’m not stupid. His display of affection isn’t physical, it’s mental. The higher my confidence, the harder my fall from grace. This is why I refuse to take the bait.
What amazes me, though, is how good he is at faking it.
A gust of sadness washes over Bex’s face as the boys close in on us, no doubt missing her boyfriend Crayton.
“Yo, yo, yo!” Riggs holds his arms out wide, squeezing me into a sideways hug so tight my drink spills over the rim.
I shove him off. “This dress is Celine, dumbass.”
“Eh,” he waves me off, “I’m sure Archer’s got like seven spares lying around his closet for you to use.”
And just like that, Archer lunges for Riggs, who cackles like a hyena as Levi holds my best friend back with one hand. Not a word is said, but his threat is clear through the side eye.
Here’s the thing about our newfound alliance, the only one of us who has truly crossed the Royal Heathen line is Bex, and that’s simply because she’s with the previous leader.
Me and Arch? We’re still the undecided commoners.
Fine by me since I don’t need anyone besides him and Bex.
“Cut the shit, Leviathan,” Bex scolds him with a gentle backhand slap to his arm.
He immediately releases Archer.
“Aw, don’t look so glum, Carrot Top.” Riggs frowns at Archer, always playing on the fact he’s got a head full of red hair. “I’m sure she’ll return it safe and sound.”
There’s a scuffle, which is when the asshole across from me finally lays down the law.
“Enough,” Saint orders, and they both call it quits with bared teeth.
He smiles saccharine sweet. “This is cause for celebration, not arguing. I mean look how lucky I am to welcome not one, but two amazing women into the Lavell family.”
My mouth is pursed in a tight-lip angry fashion as he steps to me, towering my five-four with his six-three.
Saint winks, but it’s no longer playful. It’s violent.
“Especially my new sister.”
Things turn awkward for everyone with the abrupt switch of his mood. Saint’s glare filled with venom, lust, and murder all at the same time.
“Did someone say sister?” Theory cuts the tension holding a glass of something red. She doesn’t even get a chance to greet anyone before Saint snatches the drink from her hand.
“The fuck, dude?” she whines as he throws back the glass, and I can’t stop myself from examining the way his Adam’s apple moves as he swallows.
With a sigh of content he turns his fury on Theory. “I said no fucking drinking, you’re too young.”
Theory’s perfectly threaded eyebrows cinch together in annoyance.
“Pretty sure we’re both too young.” The smile widening on her brother is filled with intent, specifically to take the heat off me.
“So, big bro, unless you intend on spending the rest of the night getting a lecture from Daddy, I suggest you let this girl live a little.”
Saint’s nostrils flare, but he snaps two fingers and a server rushes over with a tray.
“One drink,” he grits out while ridding the empty glass and snatching a fresh flute of champagne in exchange.
“Not a sip fucking more.” He hands it to her roughly, but not in an aggressive way—in a twisted, pissed off, loving way.
I’d think it was endearing if he wasn’t such a prick to everyone besides her and Bex.
Speaking of Bex…
“How about some shots?” She twirls a finger through her orange hair, still not used to the darker side of her favorite Royal Heathen. “Maybe to the new stepsister and brother?”
Gag. So. Much. Fucking. Gag.
I tilt my head at Saint. “Where do they keep the arsenic?”
Just can’t help yourself, huh?
No, conscience. I can’t.
In fact, I fully intend to use snark and sarcasm as a means of coping.
“I will if you will.” He bites his bottom lip suggestively. “We can see who dies first.”
“Since this is my new life…I’ll hope that it’s me.”
“There are hotlines for that, you know.”
I flip him off, and Saint pretends to snatch it, then returns the “fuck you” with a blown kiss.
Our friends watch us, each on edge, except for Theory as she reaches up and pecks her brother’s cheek.
“I’m outtie…the sexual tension between you two is making me cringe.”
Saint’s glare lingers on her as she struts between Riggs and Levi, her killer body drawing the attention from every guy she passes.
Leviathan in particular.
His glance is subtle as a blink, but noticeable enough if paying attention. Luckily for him, Saint stopped.
I sense a catastrophe in there somewhere, but mine is paramount. So these two will have to get in line.
“How about a dance…say…with the new brother and sister?” the D.J. announces on the mic, and my eyes turn to saucers.
God, please let there be another set of new siblings in this castle, hotel, venue, or whatever the fuck it is.
My prayers go unanswered when our parents retrieve the mic, demanding together that we join them on the dance floor.
I’m a second before bolting when I hear Mom say, “Hendrix Zinnia…don’t even think it.”
Saint nudges my shoulder. “Zinnia, huh? The more you know.”
Before I can respond he whips me around, pulling me into his side by my waist. His touch is gentle, yet possessive as he moves us slow and steady toward the dance floor.
A show of faith purely for our parents’ benefit.
There’s a smile spreading his lips as he nods to the proud onlookers, even waving to some like a politician at a fucking rally.
Phony. Charming. Deceitful.
Everything that makes him, him .
When we reach center stage a song I’ve never heard plays, slow and melodic. Saint takes it as an invitation to tower me once again.
One hand finds the small of my back, and the other my fingers to intertwine. He pulls me in, so close our bodies brush, and I’m forced to look up at him as we start to sway.
“Oh, this is gonna be real fun, Jimi.” His voice is all sorts of wicked as his gaze dips to my chest. “Real fucking fun.”
“I find nothing about this… fun .”
“Never said it’d be fun for you.”
A low growl rumbles from me. “Look, I get it. You hate me for what I called Theory and want my world to burn because of it.”
He tilts his head. “Remind me again what that was, exactly?”
“No.”
“No?”
“That’s what the fuck I said.”
Saint twirls me around, with much more force than appropriate, wearing his fake smile as he tugs me to him. “Why not? You had no problem doing it then. In fact, you talked quite a big game if memory serves correctly.”
“Being mean to Theory is the one and only thing I regret about that night.”
“Yeah? And I regret not ripping out your fucking throat with my hands.”
Jesus.
My heart freezes in my chest, and for a second, I’m brought back to The Pit, face to face with the hollow in Saint’s eyes. The battle that took place. My fear watching it unfold.
It’s all encompassing.
Turning the waterfall chandeliers above us to lanterns, the mahogany walls to cemented stone.
“If you wanted to hurt me, then why didn’t you?”
“Call me a patient predator.”
Anger has me attempting to rip myself from his hold, but that only entices Saint to reel me in, grip me tighter—lower—his hand just above my ass. He sucks in a breath, eyes covered once again in hateful lust.
I suck in air as well, lids fluttering closed as he brushes a thumb over my exposed skin from the backless dress.
A spark of electricity kindles inside me, my body reacting to his touch on pure instinct. Like Saint’s the lightning, and I’m the sand he turns to glass.
“It’s a shame you’re so beautiful,” he says in a low, husky voice, forming a pit somewhere deep in my stomach.
Not because the words are false, but because of how real his disappointment sounds.
As if I’m something valuable he doesn’t want to lose. Or break. Which is absurd given he’s the one dead set on keeping me at arm’s length. But, then again, contradicting himself is Saint’s modus operandi.
Curiosity gets the better of me and I respond with, “Beauty is not something to be ashamed of.”
Saint’s lips find my ear, and it’s at this moment I’m reminded that his, and my, entire family are watching us.
Stepsiblings. Not lightning and glass.