14. Saint
Saint
M y engine roars as I speed past every car on the West Side Highway, knuckles flexing painfully around the steering wheel imagining it’s my father’s neck.
How could he?
How fucking could he allow this shit?
His new wife must have one holy cunt if she was able to convince him to let Hendrix stay in my dorm.
I stab call on the touch screen above my dash to try him again…letting out a deep groan when it goes straight to voicemail.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” I slam my palm against the steering wheel.
I try Theory this time. Goes to voicemail.
“Where the fuck are you?” I spit the question after the tone, then continue my assault on the end button.
With a quick swerve onto the exit, it’s less than two minutes before I’m blocking a hydrant in front of the mansion.
I kill the engine and fling open the door, not giving a fuck that a taxi almost rips it off the hinges.
Storming up the front steps like the madman I am, I’m greeted by no one but my father’s cameras when I get to the front door.
There’s only one reason why he would give security the day off—and knowing this feeds the anger I need to get out.
Which I’m sure is clear as fucking day to whoever’s turning the camera and watching me literally punch in the entry code.
Can’t be Dad. If it was, my phone would be dancing.
One door opens to another closed door, so once more I tap on some keys before hearing the click.
“Hello!” I shout, not sure why I’m surprised Darla isn’t here either.
The statues of saints judge me as I barge past them down the hall, so I flip each of them off until I get to the kitchen. Pulling out my phone, I dial my father again, heading to the refrigerator to grab a bottle of water.
Just as I finish chugging it, the call connects to voicemail, making me throw the phone against the wall. It takes the edge off, but not close to enough.
I need to fucking talk to him.
In an attempt to talk myself down, I use the calculated breaths Dr. Morris taught me, since the last thing I need is my father seeing me go postal.
In like a balloon…out through a straw.
In like a balloon, out through a straw.
I had a plan. It was foolproof.
Until my father made me the fucking fool.
The whole point was to keep the prey away from the monster—then he goes and brings it right to the monster’s fucking doorstep.
With my breathing steadier, I make my way over to the phone, picking it up to find the entire screen filled with cracks.
I dust it off with the hem of my jersey, hoping somehow the universe likes my despicable ass enough to at least let it still work.
“Shit,” I grumble, tapping my thumb against the screen, and although the phone app is still there, it’s not enough to use it.
Guess this bitch also has her reasons to hate me.
I’m seconds from tossing the phone in the trash when it starts to go off, and thanks to the Taylor Swift song she put as her ringtone, I know exactly who it is.
I slam my finger mercilessly against the screen, desperate for the universe, even though bitch proved to hate me, to give me a damn break. She does, because Taylor doesn’t get the chance to finish telling me she’s the problem.
“Hello? Big bro?” Theory’s voice trickles through the speaker.
I press the phone hard against my ear, ignoring the sting that comes with it. “Yeah, baby girl, I’m here.”
“Oh my God! I miss you so dang much!” she squeals. “But how did you get your phone?”
“I miss you too, and don’t worry about it. Why the fuck aren’t you guys home?”
“We’re in D.C. for the weekend. Daddy has work stuff.” The line goes deathly silent before she adds, “Oh no…”
Oh. Fucking. No is right.
My jaw muscles clench. “Put him on the phone.”
“Big bro, please…”
“Put him on, Theory! Now.”
There’s muffled frantic voices in the background before my father greets me with a clipped, “Hello son.”
“What in the actual fuck , Dad?”
“Why didn’t you complete the four weeks?” he spits like fire. I’m impressed.
“Would you believe me if I said I missed you?”
“Saint. I have no time for your antics. You shouldn’t be home.”
“You’re right, I should be in my dorm .”
He stays quiet.
“Why the fuck would you let her in my room?”
“It was necessary.”
“The fuck it was.”
“Hendrix is your sister now, son. So whatever animosity you harbor for her, it’s time to let it go.”
“ Stepsister, ” I grit out. “And I’m not letting shit go.”
I’ve got my reasons for showing Hendrix some mercy, but I’m not stupid enough to tell him . As far as my dad is concerned, my hostility toward Hendrix lies solely with his vows to her mother.
And I made damn sure of it by not letting him know she was in the room when I fucked up my mother’s piece of shit nephew.
“Precisely why I’m calling Dr. Morris to take you back to Holy Trinity.”
“I’m not going back there. I’m fine.”
“You don’t sound fine , son.”
I look down at my phone, then the broken glass on the floor. “Alright…like ninety-nine percent.”
“We can’t risk another episode. There’s too much at stake right now.”
I should inform the asshole that he already bagged Hendrix’s mom and only a bitch would expect a marriage to come without baggage, especially when it involves her husband’s kids, but I doubt insulting his new wife will tip the scales in my favor.
“What’s going on?”
“Nothing I can explain over the phone.”
Guess I was wrong…because if it was June he was afraid of hearing our convo, he wouldn’t have her close enough for me to hear her yapping in the background.
Which can only mean one other thing.
“I’ll call you on the secure line.”
“No, Saint. What I need you to do is go back to Holy Trinity, finish out your treatment, and allow your new stepsister to stay safe in your dorm with Carlo.”
Any asshole with eyes could tell the Italian isn’t a driver.
It’s why I laughed hearing Hendrix refer to him as such.
“Put her somewhere else. Fly her the fuck out to you. I don’t care. She isn’t staying with me in my room.”
“You’re going back to—”
“I’m not going back!” The words explode out of me. “Can you trust me for once?”
His voice lowers to a whisper. “You almost killed someone this time.”
“Keyword almost …and you paid his shit family off with way more than they deserved.”
“That is not the point and you know it.”
“Of course it’s not, Dad. But I’m telling you the treatment helped. I got my shit under control and meds adjusted. No signs of…” My words trail off but, but it doesn’t matter.
Dad knows exactly who I mean.
“Alright. Under one condition.”
“No conditions.”
“Then I’m calling Dr. Morris.”
What a crock of shit this is.
I hate when this guy has the upper hand.
Or at least allowing him to be the only one to take it.
The last thing I need is another scene, and with my father’s permission and resources, Dr. Morris won’t hesitate to send the cavalry to Riverside.
Or find me anywhere else I try to stay.
“Fine. What is it?”
“You stay with your stepsister in your dorm. Help Carlo keep a close eye on her until we get back on Sunday.”
For someone to pose a threat to a man who has the means to wipe out an existence with the click of a button, I know this can’t be good.
Because no matter how soft-hearted my father is, with his level of power comes enemies, and they must be dangerous enough to send him to headquarters.
“You want to prove I can trust you, son?” He continues without my response. “Then this is how you do it.”
Pinching the bridge of my nose so hard it fucking hurts, I weigh the pros and cons.
I don’t want to put Hendrix at risk of my monster.
I don’t want her to see that side of me again.
Given my hatred, her attitude, and my fucked up obsession with pulling it out of her, having this girl spend two nights alone with me is the equivalent of holding a lit match to dynamite.
But there are other monsters out there too.
And sometimes it takes the one you know to keep them away.
“Okay,” I tell him, rolling my shoulders. “I’ll do it.”
“Alright, good.”
“But kick the detail. I don’t want some fucker I don’t know breathing down my neck.”
He pauses a few beats to weigh things too.
The disadvantage of holding my temper from two people for damn sure being one of them.
“He will keep his distance.”
“A far one.”
“Take it or leave it, Saint. Right back to Holy Trinity.”
The bite in his tone is another stark reminder of how much stress he must be under. So, for that, I’ll concede.
“Just so you know…Hendrix ain’t exactly the type who likes being told what to do.”
“I’m starting to see that, yes.”
“Then you know she won’t agree without a fight.”
“I handled it. You just go back to the dorm and try to play nice.”
Nice is not exactly a word found in either of our vocabularies, but Hendrix better have that shit written in blood by the time I get to her.