32. Hendrix #4
With a scream not far off from Saint’s, I tackle the bitch onto the dock, managing to climb on top of her and pin her arms with my legs.
Carlo attempts to pry me off, but it takes nothing more than a demand in Italian for him to let me have this, he knowing more than anyone about the impacts of street justice.
The names Annalie called Theory and Saint play on loop in my head, becoming the driving force behind every fist I ram into her face and slap echoed throughout the sky.
I’ve walked in the same shoes as Theory, been on the same end of relentless mean girl bullying.
The only difference being the ticking time bomb inside me that resulted in their fear.
As for Saint, well, I’ve watched him struggle hard enough to be a good person to know he didn’t choose the mind he’s stuck with. It was bestowed upon him.
Tarnished names are the only ones impossible to forget, and all it takes is one drop in even the royalist of oceans to cause a ripple effect.
Luckily for Saint, I not only see, but believe, in the beauty lying at the bottom of his.
Therefore his presence isn’t necessary for me to deliver the message I sent everyone the moment I walked through Riverside’s doors.
Nobody fucks with the people I care about.
“Take it back,” I demand with a growl, ignoring the whistles and shouts from the audience I didn’t realize was forming.
A mocking “not a chance” earns her three head slams into the wooden planks, making the one behind her crack.
In spite of an obvious daze, Annalie attempts to swing, but fails miserably when I catch her wrist, bending her fingers until I feel joints cracking.
Snap goes a piggy, and Annalie belts out an agonizing howl, making tingles erupt like butterflies throughout my belly.
It’s been a long time coming for this girl, and even longer since I’ve quenched my thirst for a good beat down. Crunching bones, breaking skin, painful grunts, the thrill of it all hits like a shot of dopamine.
Annalie mutters strained curses as she fights for my hair with her broken hand, too bad it’s been tied in a bun since I put on Carlo’s jacket.
Doesn’t stop the bitch from attempting my bangs, though.
She manages to catch hold of them, following through with a slap to my face. It stings, but in a delicious, straight shot of Tito’s kind of way, forming tickles down my throat that have me laughing maniacally.
“Pitiful…” I ring Annalie’s throat, squeezing until the color of her skin matches the blood on her lips. “No wonder Saint calls you number Seven.”
The insult is good, but would be more effective if Annalie could count higher than D-I-C-K.
With her good and bad fingers clawing at my hand, she grunts low. “Says the fat bitch who spent over a year trying to make him jealous…just to get pity fucked in the locker room.”
I blink several times, the sheer malice of her words acting as a push button, igniting a blaze wilder, hotter, more invigorating than any I ever felt before. It fills me to the hilt, then boils over through my eyes until I see nothing but red and a knife-sized chip of plank not far from my side.
My smile is sudden, wide, and mixed with enough fake sweetness to have Annalie’s brows furrow in confusion. Leaving her too distracted by my face and hand around her throat to notice where the other one is going.
“What the hell is wrong with you, you psycho?” Annalie rasps. “Why are you smiling like that?”
I give up nothing but silence as my fingers curl around the wood, clenching it so hard tiny splinters poke holes through my skin.
Chuckling, I point the sharp end at her.
“The real question is…why aren’t you smiling?”
Annalie’s eyes widen, but before she can think to react further I slash one of her cheeks, then swing my arm backwards to slash the other. Blood bursts in wet lines across her face as she howls in pain, making the cheers from everyone around us lower to gasps.
I spit on her.
“Now let’s see how fast Saint pity fucks you …”
Annalie’s howls have been reduced to sobs as two arms lock around my chest, pulling me off her and dragging me away with too much ease for it to be Carlo.
I rectify the ease instantly.
“Quit. Fucking. Fighting me.” Saint’s voice is a strained huff. “I don’t wanna hurt you.”
“So now you speak to me? After I fuck up your trashy girlfriend?”
The asshole lets go of me mid thrash, and I stumble sideways into Carlo. “Good -eh job, signorina ,” he whispers in my ear, helping to steady me. “I’m -eh proud of you.”
I wink at Carlo, then turn a fiery scowl on the body blocking my entrance to the dock. “Why the fuck did you stop me?!”
Other than hesitating to answer or look at me, Saint appears unbothered as he smooths down his Letterman. A go-to defense mech for when trying to avoid saying the things he really wants to.
“As opposed to what? Letting you ruin your life by skinning the bitch alive?”
“What do you care what happens to me?”
He shrugs, once again averting his gaze. “We have enough drama to deal with.”
“You were quick to start some with the bartender, though.”
Saint cracks his neck but says nothing.
Hypocritical point proven .
“Why would you defend me?” This question comes from Theory, who is standing off to the side with Levi.
I step to face her. “Because I wasn’t lying when I told you I care about you, and that I didn’t want to see you get hurt.”
“I don’t know what to s-say,” she stutters, looking down at her boots.
Seems to run in the family.
“So say nothing, especially to Annalie. Ever again.”
Theory runs over, hugging me. “I’m really sorry for how I treated you, Hendrix. I was such an idiot.”
“You were hurt, I get it.”
“Doesn’t matter.” She unravels herself. “You didn’t know me at the time and have treated me with nothing but kindness ever since.” With a sharp tone, Theory adds, “And I never should’ve been told to begin with.”
Agitation rolls off of Saint in waves when his sister casts a tight glance at him. Tension builds between them, and then he turns his sights on me, but after a few seconds of studying, tension melts to resolve.
“Thank you, Jimi.”
I blink a few times, then swallow the surprise from his genuineness with an empty gulp.
Did Saint Lavell just show…appreciation?
There’s an unreadable look that passes in his eyes, and this time it’s me who can’t respond. In a verbal sense at least. All I manage is a half drawn smile at him, then return my attention to everyone else.
“Damn, Hendrix.” Levi whistles. “I knew you were feisty…but a Joker smile? That shit’s diabolical.”
“Yeah, well, the bitch deserved worse.”
And would’ve for sure gotten it if someone kept his arms to himself.
“You did break her fingers. A couple of nails too,” Saint comments unceremoniously, making a rumble form in my chest I refuse to contain.
“Yeah, well, you broke Stevenson’s nose, at least Annalie deserved it.”
“Maybe, maybe not.”
How fast Saint goes from appreciation to judgment not only infuriates but devastates me once again. Feelings I know better than to let him see before I’m granted a damn apology.
My skin heats, and my stomach churns with how stupid I’m beginning to feel for defending him…and I’m not only referring to tonight.
“Boy, you’ve got some nerve.” I unbutton Carlo’s jacket, throwing it on the ground before marching toward the sound of Archer’s distant shouting.
There’s crunching of heavy footsteps from behind, growing louder by the second, and my pace barely picks up before Saint is grabbing hold of my wrist. “Jimi, wait.” He jogs to a stop in front of me, breathing heavy.
“For what?” I rip my arm away. “You to keep judging me in boredom?”
“I wasn’t judging you…I was saving you.”
“From what?! I clearly had the situation under control.”
“From mistakes you won’t be able to come back from.”
My lips twist in disgust…because how dare he play the voice of reason card.
“I’m a nobody to you, remember? Why do you care?”
“You are not a nobody.”
“Your words to Theory, not mine.”
Saint peers over his shoulder at our familiar audience, then groans, abducting me again. “Come with me.”
“Hell no.” I escape… again .
This asshole’s yet to even bother apologizing for calling me a nobody . Let alone everything else. Hindering a trip to jail for mauling his ex is not enough for unsought forgiveness.
“Fuck, Jimi. You honestly think I don’t regret the shit I said?”
“Got an odd way of showing it.”
“Me leaving you alone was my way of showing it.”
“Such the martyr.” I bat my lashes. “All must be forgiven now.”
This time when Saint grabs my wrist, it’s hard enough to cut off blood flow. “You and your fucking sass,” he mutters, dragging me along with stumbling legs toward the woods.
“What the hell are you doing?!” I screech.
“Getting you alone.”
Memories come flooding back of all the times throughout the year he’d done just that. In elevators, closets, deserted corners at parties. He even preferred his taunts whispered.
Saint puts on shows when it comes to retaliations…petty and lethal. But with his true forms, good, bad, seductive, they were almost always just for me.
He stops at the base of the woods, tucking us away in the shadows of a large tree, then turns to face me. I can tell Saint’s fighting—and failing—to stop himself from perusing my legs. Similar to the way he was when finding me with Craig.
“You need to quit drawing attention to yourself.”
“How so, exactly?”
Saint’s chin is lifted, but it takes a second for his eyes to follow.
“The stunt with Annalie.”
“That stunt was in defense of you and Theory.”
“And I fucking appreciate it, believe me.”
“Really? ’Cause other than your ‘Thank you, Jimi’ it’s been hard to tell you appreciated anything I’ve ever done for you at all.”
The blue of Saint’s eyes appear through a shred of moonlight between the leaves above our heads. They’re wild and desperate, filled with the type of pain that only comes from words, or feelings, unspoken.