Page 10 of The Tenth Circle (Vicious Saint: Prelude)
SAINT
CURRENT DAY
R iverside Preparatory School is the oldest and largest standing educational facility in Manhattan. Dressed on the outside in cathedral style pillars, stained glass, and ogival arches, the building was labeled “Chelsea’s Palace” by some mayor back in nineteen seventy-six.
But a palace can’t be a palace until royalty dwells inside it.
So, in eighteen ninety-three, four deep rooted families from multiple parts of the country took on the role.
The Shaws, Lavells, Bishops, and Creeds.
The Shaws and Lavells from the northern parts and the Bishops and Creeds from the southern.
Each family having thick ties to church and states, with enough money and power to rule over all.
Including good old New York City.
It may have been years after the civil war ended, but the men in these families did not quite approve of the light at the end of those tunnels. So instead…they built their own underneath the school.
Government officials in their pockets turned a lot of blind eyes and churches with their hands out called many of their transgressions a necessary evil.
The blood. The sweat. The tears.
The sin.
This school was built on the labor of many backs, all of which suffered to ungodly extremes at the hand of political tyrants and zealots making up for lost time.
On the surface, Riverside may look like a castle in the center of Chelsea, Manhattan…but the history of its supremacy is not one that falls easy on righteous ears. Then again, what hell bred by heathens, even royal ones, actually is?
Because if there’s anything a heathen loves more than his throne…it’s a challenge.
Which is why, from the moment I saw the fire in Hendrix Montgomery’s eyes in the storage closet I was addicted—to her smart mouth and how it didn’t back down when I bared my teeth. To her hitched breaths as I tasted the sweet pussy she hides between her legs.
I was a motherfucking goner.
I wanted more.
No. I needed more.
And that’s precisely why I refused to take it.
Saint Lavell gets on his knees for no one. So when this girl managed to bring me to them in minutes I knew I had to shut that shit down. Drive her crazy to keep me from drowning in mine.
Thankfully, Hendrix’s insecurities made it so fucking easy.
That is, until she proved on that elevator her crazy didn’t stop at letting a stranger finger fuck her in the dark. Once again Hendrix flipped the script, and I’ve spent the rest of the year flipping it back. Fucking her in every way possible that doesn’t include my cock.
Sexual innuendos, manipulation, pranks. Whispering threats of violence on her friends, fuck buddies, and precious art supplies when she pissed me off.
I even transferred into each one of her classes, including the drawing elective she willingly took up. The class was boring as shit, and if this girl didn’t spend every free moment outside of school wrapping her fingers around pencils, I’d think she enrolled just to torture me.
Let’s put it this way—if petty was a wall, I’ve been busy nailing every inch of it.
But Hendrix Montgomery has been busy too.
Being a brat. A detective. But mostly a fucking tease.
Using these talents to gather intel on me for her spank bank.
Likes, dislikes, favorite colors, games, and sexual preferences. Granted, when it comes to the last one there’s not much I leave to the imagination.
Being shy with my cock was never my strong suit.
Everyone who knows me knows I love to fuck.
A lot.
And that I’m damn fucking good at it.
But little Miss “Judge a Book by its Body Count” has managed to learn a bit more about me than I expected thanks to her best friend endgaming it with my best friend.
And courtesy of Crayton and Bex finding love in fucked up places—the entire dynamic of the Royal Heathens has shifted.
Because now we have a queen.
And I have a…I don’t fucking know what to call it with her stuck up friend.
“Yo, Lavell!” Riggs shoves my shoulder, breaking me out of my daze. When I look over he’s passing the joint we’ve been nursing for thirty minutes. “I’m starting to feel neglected.”
The asshole’s got a flare for the dramatics, and since he’s heading toward the end of his sophomore year, seems the trend will be following him into junior year too.
I take a deep pull, examining whatever’s left of the paper before blowing out smoke.
“You take care of what I told you to?”
“Would I ever let you down?” He takes the joint back, bringing it to his lips. “I handled that shit like a motherfucking boss. Took ’em for everything they got.”
There’s the sound of an irritated huff, coming from my left, with his cousin Leviathan Creed’s name written all over it.
He’s the least annoying one out of the two. I know this because the guy's had sixteen years to try and steal the title and is yet to succeed.
“Here we go…” he grumbles, but Riggs ignores him, along with his eye roll as he stands.
“So there I was, mouthing off to the sucker as he scrambled to keep up with demands.” He holds the joint between his lips, jab-crossing the air. “Told him keep stackin’, and don’t stop until that bitch is filled to the brim with the goods.”
Levi reaches for his AirPods, and I do the same with my phone, both of us knowing it takes a sober Riggs at least ten minutes to answer a question.
A stoned Riggs? Minimum thirty-seven.
I have two choices: stare at the empty football field or scroll through texts.
I choose scrolling.
To one in particular.
It’s not until I pass Fifteen—I know this because the bitches I fuck are labeled by numbers—that I come across the name I’ve been looking for.
Jimi Hendrix.
It’s a thread I started after stealing her number from Archer’s phone the night after our little game began:
Me
Hey Jimi…it’s me
Me
Saint
Me
Your next book boyfriend *heart eyes emoji*
It took a solid ten minutes of her sitting on the hood of Archer’s Porsche biting her nails before responding. I know because I was watching from inside my Range Rover.
Jimi Hendrix
Here’s to hoping you get *skull emoji* off quick then *fingers crossed emoji*
Me
Now that really hurts my feelings.
Me
Turns me on a bit too not gonna lie…
Jimi Hendrix
How the hell did you get my number?
Me
A friend *wink face emoji*
Jimi Hendrix
Pretty sure you have no friends.
Me
Things got pretty friendly on the elevator last night *shrug emoji*
Jimi Hendrix
You’re as arrogant as you are delusional.
Me
Huh….
Me
Is that why I’m picturing myself holding Hershey kissed DDD’s?
Jimi Hendrix
That would be your chemical imbalances.
Me
They have been juggling a lot lately…
Jimi Hendrix
What do you want, Letterman?
Me
*finger point emoji, pinch finger emoji, cat emoji, peach emoji*
Me
If you need help cracking the code I’m free to demonstrate.
Jimi Hendrix
Awww that’s sweet…now how’s this for a code?
Jimi Hendrix
*middle finger emoji, middle finger emoji, middle finger emoji*
Jimi Hendrix
*middle finger emoji*
Jimi Hendrix
*middle finger emoji*
Me
Get it outta your system?
Jimi Hendrix
For now…yeah.
Me
I do love a good fight.
Jimi Hendrix
Well good because I have every intention of punching you in the face for invading my privacy.
Me
*cry laughing emoji*
Me
It’s gonna be a fun year Jimi Hendrix…I can feel it in my boner.
Like I said, Hendrix Montgomery has done her share of trying to provoke me. To convince herself she doesn’t want me.
That she doesn’t hit the pillow at night wishing I was on top of her making her purr like a pretty kitty.
“Just say you ordered the fucking pizza!” Levi barks next to me, once again breaking me out of thought.
Riggs tosses the lit joint at him. “Why you gotta go and shit on my ending? I was about to tell him I got the guy to throw in an extra two liter.”
Sliding the phone back into my Letterman, I look up to find Riggs flipping off Levi.
“The owner of Patrizio’s is a deacon and your father’s a right wing conservative about to run for Governor…pretty sure he’d hand you the blood of Christ if you asked him nicely.”
Riggs waves me off. “Nah, man. Pop’s totally progressive.”
Yeah. In shutting down Planned Parenthood.
Levi whistles and juts his head toward the other side of the football field. “Guess we’re not the only ones who changed our plans…”
I look over to find my little Jimi Hendrix strolling arm-in-arm with her all time boy bestie , Archer Beaumont.
She’s got a cigarette in her other hand, blowing the smoke up to the sky, laughing at whatever kind of lame ass jokes drama club nerds enjoy telling.
Like the force of a magnet, I’m jogging down the bleachers, and Hendrix’s back is already tensing by the time I jump off the bottom. Levi and Riggs don’t bother following behind, mostly because they know I use a minimum of twenty minutes making Hendrix squirm, and they have a pizza to get in ten.
Hendrix breaks free of her hold on Archer to pick up her pace, but thanks to months of training, my legs are stronger.
“Where’s the fire, Jimi?” I ask when I reach her on the field.
“Preferably up your ass,” she shoots back, flicking her cigarette.
With a friendly punch to Archer, my arm wraps around Hendrix’s shoulder as I fall in stride.
“What’s the matter? Don’t you miss me?”
She shoves me off. “Like I’d miss a hemorrhoid.”
“I did warn you about shoving those sticks up your ass.”
Hendrix whirls around, forcing me to stop short.
“What do you want, Letterman? As you can see…I’m busy avoiding you.”
“Always so angry.”
“Maybe that’s because I spent the entire school year with you up my ass.”
“Not all of me.” I wink.
Blowing out a breath, she turns around and marches off.
“I thought you’d be happy to have me in all your classes.”
“Yeah, well, imagine my surprise when I wasn’t.”
“You need something, Lavell?” Archer chimes in like the gallant hero he always is.
“Just a quick conversation with our girl here, Beaumont.” I jog a few steps to snatch Hendrix’s forearm, and Archer throws his head back when I drag her off.