47. Saint #2
Because although I hate what June did to protect Hendrix—now that I know what it feels like to love, and potentially lose her—a fucked up part of me gets it.
And an even more fucked up part of me would do worse.
“Every single one of us did wrong by Hendrix.” I glance at her red puffy eyes through the rear view mirror. “Not just you.”
I could tell by how June blinks, my show of support comes as a surprise, but not enough to sway the guilt in what she says next.
“Hendrix is my daughter.”
“And she’s the love of my fucking life,” I shoot back. “She’s your sister’s blood, and my father’s stepdaughter. Therefore we all should’ve done the right thing and trusted her with the truth. Regardless of our fear for how she would react.”
“Boy’s got a point, sis,” Poppy adds. “Our intentions may have been pure, but none of us did right by Hendrix. She’s a smart kid and had the right to prove she’s matured enough to understand the reasoning behind what you did. What we did.”
“She has been making better decisions lately...” June agrees with a blow of her nose into a tissue.
Doubt she sees me as one of them.
“Exactly…” My father turns to rub her knee. “And I bet she’ll continue to make better decisions when we all sit down to talk.”
It’s at this moment I swerve into the Riverside parking lot, half expecting that motherfucker Dante to be here waiting.
He’s not, and I couldn’t give a shit less than when I didn’t bother asking where he was going right before he left the mansion. Which was right after he gave his final warning for us to stay out of his way with Hendrix and the Ivanovs.
Fucker’s got another thing coming if he thinks I’ll trust him when it comes to Hendrix.
My skin crawls with the need to get to her as I put my Rover in park and don’t bother killing the ignition before taking off inside the female dorms.
I’m fine.
It’s fine.
Everything will be fucking fine once I get her in my arms again.
Hendrix will forgive me.
She’ll understand the pressure I was under and how I, like her nag of a mother, was just trying to make sure she didn’t get hurt.
If not that, then at least how much I love her and how long I’m willing to wait until she forgives me.
“Saint! The elevator!” my father yells from behind me as it dings open, but I have too much pent up frustration that needs to be released before I make any attempts to get my girl back.
So…stairs it is…two at a time.
By the fifth floor I’m already regretting the decision to take the long way, not only because of how out of breath I am from lack of exercise for months, but because I just gave those three assholes the chance to get to Hendrix first.
Luckily for me, when I reach the eighth floor, I find them loitering in front of Hendrix’s room with the door still shut.
I’m relieved at first, but the second I notice June and her sister crowding a body on the floor, every electrical current inside me goes haywire, and the world around me turns to hazy red.
When I rush over to see who it is, an amused breath pushes its way through my chest.
“What the hell happened?!” June shrieks down at an unconscious Annalie’s bloody mouth.
“If I had to guess…” Poppy tilts her head. “Hendrix’s fist.”
The two of them chuckle, and I may or may not be considering it when my dad interjects with his no nonsense tone, hands tapping against the override screen on the wall.
“What do you say we save the fist jokes for when there aren’t multiple of them slamming against the door? Yeah?”
That’s when I hear it. The faintest slamming metal coming from behind the wooden door to Hendrix’s room. I’m sure there’d be yelling, too, if the room wasn’t practically soundproof.
Which makes zero sense…because a person who wants alone time does not try this hard to get someone’s attention.
Shit. Just. Got. Fucked.
And someone’s about to die because of it.
Especially when a small red, white, and blue rectangular something catches my eye on the floor.
My eyes narrow, and when I close in on the object I see it’s a phone case. Specifically…a Captain America one.
Thrumming builds inside my ears, my skin vibrates, and my heart pounds furiously in its cage as I bend down to pick it up,
“All done!” my father announces, right before there’s the sound of metal sliding behind the wall.
My body moves on its own to push past all three of them and open the door. Where I find Archer and Bex in hysterics, and no sign of, yeah, you fucking guessed it.
My little Jimi Hendrix.
“What the fuck happened?!” I barge into the room, looking around like it’s a crime scene.
“Too much Saint…” Bex cries, pulling at her hair. “And…and nothing at all.”
Not bothering to try and crack emotional girl code...I set my sights on Archer, tugging him by the collar of his hideous pajamas. “Spill, Beaumont, before I spill your fucking guts all over the floor.”
“Hendrix…” He pants. “She left.”
“Why would she leave?!”
“Because she was mad at us!” Bex squeezes my arm in an attempt to let go of her friend. “Just like she’s mad at you!” When I release Archer, Bex turns to point at June. “And you.” She points at my dad next. “And you.” Then Poppy. “And you!”
June wastes no time rushing over to Bex, squeezing her arm like Bex was mine just a second ago.
“Where did she go? Rebecca, please tell me.”
“I honestly don’t know. She locked us in here.”
“Tell us what happened before that, then, kiddo.” My father tries to take control of the situation, the collection in his voice lowering mine to a grit
“No. Tell me what happened.”
Bex walks us out of the earshot of the parentals, and looks straight at me as she whispers, “Hendrix found out Archer knew.”
This motherfucker.
“You knew about the Salvinis?”
“Are you really shocked?” he whispers back.
“No. Just really homicidal. So watch it.”
“Saint…it’s not just that.” Bex swallows. “Annalie told her about us too…”
“Us? What do you mean—” Is as far as I get before it feels like a wrecking ball smashes through my chest.
My eyes burn wide, and when they’re on her again Bex nods apologetically.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck!
Squeezing Bex’s shoulders, I keep my voice low and say, “I need you to tell me exactly what happened right before Hendrix left.”
She looks behind me, then at Archer, then settles on me again.
“Hendrix was really upset at Archer after finding out he knew about Luca Salvini being her dad…so she said she needed a smoke and to give her space. We agreed, but when she opened the door to leave, there was Annalie, asking if Hendrix knew me and you had sex.”
“We did not have fucking sex!”
What happened the night of Bex’s birthday was nothing more than me helping my friend in need.
“Obviously! I don’t even know how that skank heard about it.”
Yeah, well, I have a couple really good guesses.
And if I had to choose one…it’d be the nosey sixteen year old who recently held a nasty grudge against Hendrix. Who also loves to eavesdrop on my conversations when they’re with The Royal Heathens.
“What happened after?”
“She completely lost it,” Archer adds with a shake of his head.
“Flipped out?”
“No. The complete opposite,” Bex replies for him. “And that’s what’s worrying us even more.”
“Just get to the fucking point already!”
“Hendrix didn’t flip out, Saint. She went dark. Distant unlike anything I’ve ever seen before. She was in the room with us, but not at the same time. It’s like the second she realized there was a fraction of truth in Annalie’s words, a switch went off in her head.”
A chill runs down my spine as I note every single detail of what Bex is saying. Seeing and knowing it all too well.
“It was really scary,” she continues, not skipping a beat. “Hendrix ended up knocking out Annalie. But when Arch and I kept trying to talk to her, she was just…gone. I mean, she mumbled some stuff walking over to the bed but I could barely understand it.”
“What could you understand?”
“I don’t know…” Bex chews on her bottom lip. “Something about a list?”
“And then what?”
“That’s it. That’s all I got.” She shrugs. “Right after, Hendrix pulled out some gift box from under the bed and took off. Locking us in here without a way to get in contact with anyone.”
The chill I felt earlier turns into a full on ice storm, freezing my back straight. “Did you just say…a gift box ?”
“I know, right?” Archer furrows his brow. “Who wants to play an angry Santa?”
Bex slaps Archer in the arm, then looks at me again.
“It was in a safe under the bed.”
“ Rebecca .” The way I grind out Bex’s full name has her shoulders locking as tight as mine. “I need you to think long and hard about whether or not you heard Hendrix say anything else before she left.”
Bex withdraws into herself as she thinks but doesn’t have to long before Archer says something useful for once.
“Wasn’t she muttering something about honor?”
“Yes!” Bex snaps her fingers. “About needing to honor her loyalty to someone.”
Given everyone in Hendrix’s life she deemed worthy of loyalty has not only lost it, but is standing in the same room, tells me two things:
One—Hendrix hit the point of running.
Two—She’s looking to get even.
If I had to wager a guess…it’d be with the people who took the man she loved away from her.
Or better yet…who took the father she loved away from her.
And what more poetic way is there to deliver revenge on his behalf than with his gun?