8. Hendrix #4
“Get the fuck off him!” I jump onto Saint’s back, fully aware I’m still commando, and wrap my arm around his neck to choke him.
It. Does. Nothing.
Saint doesn’t let up one bit, and the feral-like growl rumbling in his throat is enough to turn my blood to ice.
His mind is gone again, but the battle is here.
This is so fucked.
Lance’s eyes, or whatever’s left of them, is pleading with me to help. But I can’t.
Not even when I start pounding my fist into the side of Saint’s head. You’d think I was a speck of lint on his shoulder.
After the hundredth punch to the cheek, Lance has officially gone unconscious, head falling to the side.
But that doesn’t stop Saint from using his bloody hands to wrap the guy’s tie around his neck and choke him.
“Please, stop.” I’m in full blown tears as I beg this madman, aware he probably won’t even hear me. “You’re gonna kill him.”
“Hey, big b-bro.” A voice comes from behind me, slow and cautious. “Think you can turn the lights up for me?”
This is the first time I’ve felt Saint breathe in minutes, and although it takes a few more, he releases Lance.
Making it so much harder to comprehend any of this.
The charming hatred—wanton aggression—especially the hollowing out. Don’t even get me started on Theory’s weird ass request. The room is already lit for fucks sake.
Saint is deathly still as Theory taps my shoulder.
She smiles, but there’s remorse in it as she beckons me with an outstretched hand. By instinct I take it, uncaring that mine are stained red.
When she helps settle me on my heels, I find Archer standing in the doorway, the look of disappointment and horror plastered across his face.
“I-I need you to g-go, Hendrix.” Theory squeezes my shoulder, whispering, “And p-please, don’t tell anyone about this.”
I shake my head vigorously.
Saint cannot get away with nearly killing someone.
Glancing over at the man, or animal, in question, with his back to me, I take in the calmness of his body. The return of steady breaths.
My throat is dry as I remove my heels and toss them, taking slow backwards steps over to Archer, who immediately steps in front of me like a human shield.
But…says nothing.
“Archer,” I call out to him, voice low and shaky, “we need to do something.”
He shakes his head.
As if anything more will draw too much attention.
Saint stares down at his blood covered hands, examining and flexing his joints as Theory pads over in her pajamas to kneel at his side.
Fear squeezes me tighter than Archer’s hold on my arm as I watch her mumble something to Saint, resulting in his shoulders tensing and head turning to face me.
As expected, his eyes are devoid of the light that tends to blind me. And his face is filled with so much blood I’d think he pulled a Hannibal Lector.
I stay rooted in place when Saint tilts his head…as if debating whether or not he wants to eat me too. It’s horrifying, unhuman-like, and at this moment I’m considering he may not be.
Does it sound nuts? Obviously.
But as I take in the sight of a blank face and dead eyes, it may be more insane to consider Saint one of us.
I’m fighting two urges: one being to help Lance, and the other to turn and run before Saint rips off a chunk of my flesh with his teeth.
A door slamming in the hall makes both Archer and I jump, but Saint doesn’t even react as he goes back to glaring at the limp body in front of him.
“Saint! Theory!” Vic’s voice bellows out in the hallway, but Archer still refuses to move and stops me when I try to.
Theory begins to panic as Vic’s hollering grows closer, tugging at her brother’s arm and begging him to leave. It takes a few more of her pleas before Saint rises and wipes blood off his cheek with the back of his equally bloody hand.
With the same lifeless expression, Saint walks off with mechanical strides, heading straight for where we’re standing beside the door. Archer steps us out of the way, and I swallow hard when Saint passes, then again when Theory mouths another plea for me to not say anything.
I hate the idea of staying silent, but morality is the last thing on my mind after witnessing the atrocity I just did. Especially since I’m now bound to the person who committed it.
I mean…a stun gun to the kidney seems like child’s play after this.
“Holy shit, Arch!” I whisper-yell when I hear Saint and Theory exit the suite. “Did I really just watch Saint do that?”
Archer finally speaks, hushed even though we’re semi alone. “I told you he can be dangerous at times.”
“Dangerous?” I scoff, the prickles on my arms lingering. “Underplaying the situation fucking much?”
Archer’s expression deflates.
“What do you want me to tell you, Hen?”
“You can start with the truth about who the fuck that guy was.”
A few beats pass before he pulls at the roots of his hair. “Fine, fucking fine.”
I cross my arms to wait, trying to settle the wariness in the pit of my stomach.
It takes a lot to keep my best friend from talking.
So, the fact that he’s so hesitant with this is doing nothing to settle my nerves.
“That was Saint, okay, but not the side of him you’ve gotten to know.”
I hate that I can see where this is going, because I’ve got my own reasons for developing many “not exactly’s” with this guy.
Letterman with the souped up knuckles might be a few steps darker than Crazyman from the closet, but I don’t know how to categorize this type of behavior.
Other than animalistic.
But human beings have evolved so much.
And science doesn’t teach three sides of the latest sapien coin.
“I need you to elaborate on this side of Saint, Archer. NOW.”
Before I pass out.
Archer peers over my shoulder, down at the lifeless body, then back at me. “This side, Hendrix…” Sliding his hand down his face, he blows out a breath. “This side is known as Vicious.”