13. Hendrix
Hendrix
“ W hat. The fuck. Are you doing in my room?” Saint growls as he closes the distance between us.
Carlo pulls me behind him just before Saint reaches us, one hand shoved inside his jacket pocket.
As if reaching for a…
A gun?
“I don’t know who you are, but if you wanna keep your fucking head, get out of my way.”
“ Mi dispiace , signore Lavell . But I can’t-eh do that.”
“You better-eh do that, motherfucker.” He mocks Carlo. “Because I need to have a chat with my stepsister .”
I’m not gonna sit here and allow this asshole to intimidate me, or my driver, who annoys the shit out of me with his hovering, but is turning out to be a decent guy.
“It’s fine, Carlo,” I reassure him and step aside, offering a nod. “You can go outside.”
“ Signorina —”
“Listen to the lady, Carlo. Like a good doggy.”
Carlo is a mix of concerned and murderous as he steps backwards into the hall, a tight eye remaining on Saint as I close the door.
I just complete the turn around when he crowds my space.
“Answer the question, Jimi. Why the fuck are you in my room?”
“First of all, don’t insult my driver. Second of all, you weren’t supposed to be home for another two weeks.”
The ones I barely got to start using to my advantage.
Along with his fancy shower since the water’s running cold.
I guess this is what happens when you choose the greater of two evils. The lesser one comes back to freeze your ass.
“Don’t fucking push me.”
I eye Saint’s knuckles as they flex at his side. Fear sets in, but I know if Saint was going to hurt me, he would’ve done so already.
Then Carlo as an added bonus.
“The female dorms burned down.”
“I heard. Shame you weren’t inside.”
Red hot fury takes over.
“Fuck you.” I march farther into the room, gathering whatever clothes I can off the bed.
There’s a lot worse than fury emanating off Saint when he locks his wrist around mine to spin me around. “What’s the matter, Jimi? Scared of what I’ll see behind that towel?”
Ripping my arm away, I grit out, “I’m not scared of anything.”
“I’m starting to see that.”
“Good. Now get the fuck out so I can get dressed.”
Saint’s eyes dip. “I’d much rather reminisce.”
It really is sad how hard this guy tries to rattle me.
Especially when it comes to my body.
And fuck if I’m gonna let him do it now, not after how much he embarrassed me last time I was naked in front of a guy.
Sucking air through my teeth, I tell him, “Fine,” then drop the towel, leaving me on display in nothing but a black bra and panties.
Thankfully two of my best ones.
Saint’s inhale is sharp, and I eat. That. Shit. Up.
“See somethin’ you like?”
He swallows, choosing silence when I need anything but.
So, I pop a hand on my hip and glare up at him, playing more on his weakness in an attempt to exploit it.
“Hello? You gonna answer or what?”
“That depends…”
“On?”
“You. If you want me showin’ or tellin’.”
The intention behind the words speaks volumes.
Not that it matters.
Because I refuse to relinquish the upper hand.
Feigning a gag, I swipe my hoodie off the mattress, throwing it over my head and sliding my arms inside in one smooth motion.
“I guess they allow pigs in Cyprus .”
“Not many people in the world are capable of telling this one no.”
I’m given no time to prepare a witty response, because Saint pushes me down to sit on the bed, and again when I try to stand. I pin him with a look, then cast another behind him to where I know Carlo is waiting.
Saint bends over to coax my attention, both hands on his knees. “You think your Italian could stop me if I wanted to hurt you?”
I play my cards real careful, unsure if it’s smart to have Saint know I’ve become privy to Vicious.
Since technically, I am invading his territory.
“I’m starting to believe not many people in the world could stop you from wanting to hurt me.”
He seems satisfied with this response—and it’s probably not a good thing.
“Do you know what would happen if someone else pulled this little stunt of yours? Hm?”
“It’s not a fucking stunt, asshole. I was forced to stay here by our parents.”
He does not seem satisfied with this response.
“Were you also forced to make it a fucking mess? Go through my shit?”
“I didn’t go through your shit.”
“Left drawer of my dresser.” He juts his head. “It’s cracked open.”
Barely.
How the heck can he tell from here?
“That wasn’t—”
“You moved my 2’s.”
Oh, Mylanta. Saint’s obsession with his Jordans is almost as bad as his obsession with being a dick.
“Did not.”
His eyes turn to slits. “Then why are they next to my 5’s?”
Probably best not to tell him it’s because I tried them on.
“I was making room for my stuff.”
“There will be no making room for your stuff because you’re getting the fuck out of here.” He pauses. “Now…before I do something only you will regret.”
I have zero control over the laugh bursting past my lips.
“Somethin’ funny?”
“Just how delusional you are. In like…every single way.”
Cheap shot, Montgomery.
I’m proud of you.
“Tell me…what exactly was the goal being here, Jimi? Did you miss me that much?”
“Not enough, actually. You should try leaving again.”
“That…mouth.” His nostrils flare, and I give myself an internal high-five.
“What about my mouth, Letterman?”
Saint grips my chin, eyes dipped to my lips as he runs a thumb along the bottom one. “I’m gonna really need it to stop pissing me off.”
“Or else what?” I smack his hand away. “I’ll end up like Lance?”
Cue a tight, ragged inhale. “Shut your mouth, Hendrix.”
“All these demands coming from the asshole who’s in no position to place them.”
“I said shut your mouth.”
“You know what? Maybe I won’t.” I shoot to my feet. “In fact, now that you’re back I’d like to have a little chat about what you did that night.”
Fuck this tip-toeing bullshit.
If Saint, or Vicious, or whoever he wakes up as is going to hurt me, it’ll be whether or not I give him a piece of my mind.
“What night?” He plays stupid.
“The night you twat blocked me.”
“Just a little disagreement between men. Nothing for someone like you to concern yourself with.”
“Someone like me?’’
“Yeah, you know.” He reaches for the ends of my damp hair, twirling them around his finger. “Desperate for my attention. Yet still so insignificant.”
Weeks of pent up fury explode from me like a volcanic eruption, driving my hand back, then toward Saint’s face, only for him to catch me in the air by the wrist.
He waggles a finger at me slowly.
“Now, now, Jimi. What did I just say about pissing me off?”
“I don’t give a fuck! How dare you call me desperate, you worthless piece of psycho shit.” A slap from my free hand cracks across his face, forcing his head to the side. “The chipped nail polish on my toe is worth more than the lungs that keep you breathing.”
Saint freezes, the epitome of murder in his eyes as he blinks a few times. Until poof, it’s gone, and an amused chuckle rumbles from his chest.
“What the hell is so funny?”
Besides the irony of having to ask the same question he asked me.
“Just how easy it is to make you crazy.”
“You’re seriously fucked in the head, you know that?”
He releases me with a sigh. “So it seems.”
I stare at him, long and hard, trying to decipher which way this statement was intended. Saint seems to mistake my deliberation for contempt when he shrugs.
“If it helps you feel any better, you make me crazy too. A little too crazy if ya know what I mean .”
I have to physically shake my head to keep it from combusting.
“Better? No. Stabbier? Definitely.”
“No shit! I’ve done my share of stabbing too.”
I glare at him.
“You know…with my co—”
“Yeah, I got the innuendo.”
Saint breaks into a frenzy of shits and giggles, sliding two hands down his face.
“Fuck, Jimi. You’re funny.”
“So it seems,” I mutter his phrase, my gaze set on the door.
“So. It. Fucking. Seems…”
“Look asswipe,” my attention shoots back at him, “this little trip of yours may have put you in a better mood since the wedding, but it sure as shit hasn’t put me in one. So I’m gonna need you to tuck away the Jekyll-Hyde complex you’ve got going on and listen carefully…”
Poof goes the giggles…enter serious everything .
“No, you fucking listen.” He bares his teeth, bumping into me hard. “I don’t give a shit about your mood or what a bitch like you thinks of me. In fact, as far as I’m concerned, you, your mommy, and your aunt are just another one of my father’s charity cases.”
It takes everything in me not to slap him again.
“Oh yeah? And which number does that make you?”
With a guttural roar, Saint lifts his duffle from the floor and sends it flying, making me flinch as it crashes into his dresser.
“Get the fuck out!” he screams, right before slamming comes from the door.
Damn you auto-lock.
I holler to Carlo that I’m fine, ignoring whatever he says in Italian, and study the look on Saint’s face.
It’s equal parts hurt and enraged. Both of which I can tell he’s holding back.
And I loathe the feeling squeezing my heart because of it.
“Gladly you piece of shit.” I spin around, leaving him to his violent breathing as I stomp over to the closet.
Saint darkens the doorway moments after I’ve got a pair of shorts on and shirts piled in my arms.
“You should know better by now than to make me this angry,” he says in a much calmer tone.
“Well, call me an idiot then.”
I’m no longer frightened, just exhausted—because it’s become abundantly clear that whatever is wrong with this guy, leaves him with little to no self-awareness.
“You invaded my privacy, Jimi.”
I drop the shirts on the floor between us. “Seriously? And what the fuck do you think you did to me on the night of our parents’ wedding?”
“That was different.”
“How?!” I burst. “How was barging into Lance’s bedroom as we were hooking up any different?”
Saint’s mouth opens like he wants to say something, but he closes it just as fast.
“Exactly.” I shake my head, then bend down to gather my clothes.
Saint surprises me by trying to help.
“Thank you,” I grumble as he hands over my Captain America tee.
Remaining on his haunches, Saint watches closely as I gather more. “I know you hate me,” he says, picking up another shirt to fold on his lap.
Perfectly of course.
“Yeah? Well, you should also know I have my reasons.”
“We both have reasons.” He hands it over, and begrudgingly, I thank him again.
“You have one reason to hate me, Saint. One.”
“One is all I need.”
After the pile of shirts are in my arms, I climb awkwardly to my feet and push past him. “God, you’re such an asshole.”
“I need you to stay away from me,” he states behind me as I toss the shirts, along with some other clothes in my duffle.
“Trust me. I want nothing to do with you.”
Except, thanks to our parents, Saint now has everything to do with me.
“And as for my sister—”
With more vigor than necessary, I shove my slippers in the bag. “Let me guess. You’ll out me if I don’t stay away from her too?”
My eyes follow cautiously as he strides around to sit on the bed.
Then, I nearly topple over and die when I hear him say, “No, I won’t.”
“You won’t?”
He shakes his head, and it takes every bone in my body to stop me from asking why. To just take the win while the Saint I used to semi-tolerate is still here.
“What’s the catch?”
Why the hell am I the way that I am?
“No catch. You make her happy.”
Pursing my lips, I respond, “Okay, then.”
Saint’s lost in thought as he gazes across the room long enough for me to finish packing.
I sit next to him on the bed, where he shoots me a side eye before returning to his thoughts.
“I mean it, Jimi,” he finally says, more as a plea than demand. “You need to stay away from me.”
“I already told you I would.”
“Good…because it won’t end well for you if you don’t.”