Page 13 of The Tenth Circle (Vicious Saint: Prelude)

My voice is desperate, unrecognizable, as I demand the motherfucker show himself again. He does moments after, shadow-shaped as the Royals’ mascot lion. I swing again, stumbling through him.

The dance goes on as each JV watches in horror through one good eye, astounded at the sight of a Royal Heathen being reduced to fighting off hallucinations.

When I come face to face with Vicious again, there’s not a shadow, snake, or a lion to be found.

Only a man.

With clear blue eyes, a blurry face, and wearing a Letterman.

He watches me intently from across the room, sitting on the edge of the table spinning Halo around a finger.

I shove a hand inside my pocket, finding nothing but lint and my pills.

With my eyes squeezed shut I pull them out, popping open the Motrin bottle I use as a disguise and tossing another one in my mouth. Second of the evening since it’s obvious I can’t will him away. I swallow that shit down like sand, but I know it won’t work.

We’re both too far from where we should be.

My eyelids spring open and there’s Vicious, face clear as day and sporting a devilish grin.

My devilish grin.

Filled with as much mockery as my hatred toward him.

Toward me.

Toward my fucked up head.

The room spins as I pace side to side with Vicious in my peripheral inspecting my knuckles.

He’s focused on Halo, but I can still feel him digging through the crevices of my mind, on the hunt to destroy every last bit of his cage.

For years I’ve been fighting the same war, in the same head, against the same monster, so why the fuck do I still think I can outsmart him?

I hit an impasse and turn to face Vicious, blood stained Jordans carrying me to him. My chest heaves as I get closer, watching his smirk switch from my devilish one to my arrogant one.

There’s too much of my nature this motherfucker stole from me, so determined to convince me we’re the same.

But I’m not him.

I’m not a fucking monster.

Just a monster’s vessel.

And Vicious boasting is the painful reminder of how easy it is for him to fill it.

With a puffed out chest, I meet him, and he rises off the table. We stare each other down, a silent challenge between us to see who will cave first.

My jaw tightens.

His jaw tightens.

I scowl.

He scowls—mirroring every single one of my moves to fan the flames burning my insides.

My eyes twitch again, the telltale sign I’m losing. The harder he taunts the larger the fire, and before I know it all that’s left of me is ashes.

The scream ripping past my throat is guttural as I lunge for Vicious, and just like before, he vanishes—then surfaces again behind the two beaten deer in headlights.

He places a hand on each of the JV’s shoulders, every detail so graphic a part of me is shocked they can’t feel it. He watches and waits to see my reaction. But all he gets is one from them. A bunch of bloody tears, begging, and muffled words.

Vicious presents the guys to me like they’re trophies I earned, a look of amusement plastered to the face of mine he’s stolen.

On the inside I’m screaming, ripping apart the world to take back what’s mine, but something on the outside stuns me into silence.

Light appears over Vicious, stretching slowly in a circle around his head, leaving me no choice but to follow the trail it leaves behind.

I tilt my head, unsure of what it is, but when the rising tide of self-loathing fills in my gut, it leaves no room for question.

Facing the truth the first time was hard, but even harder to dispute. For my dad and sister too. They could sense the monster in every room—one choosing to keep forgiving him, the other praying him the fuck away.

As if love or God could cure this disease.

Here’s the thing about ignoring diseases—it doesn’t make them disappear…only gives them time to spread.

To hide in plain sight.

Behind a star smile. Occasional mood swings.

Charm and medicinal side effects.

Venom so smooth it glides through your veins like a shot of Russo-Baltique.

Symptoms like these make it so fucking easy to forget the danger you’ve become, to yourself and those around you. Until the danger itself decides it’s time to come forth with a reminder.

As blackout-rage. Spilled blood on your hands.

A monster with a halo shining over his head.

The sound of whispers in the distance stirs me awake, my eyes heavy as shit as they blink open. I groan, trying to lift my head but it feels like weights are dragging it down.

The whispers grow louder, sharper, and heated. Going from conversation to full blown argument in seconds.

A guy and a girl.

The voices are distorted, but clear enough to know the girl wants something and the guy is refusing.

“Shut the fuck up,” I mutter, squeezing my eyes closed as the light from the sun creeps through the window.

Complete silence follows the demand, not that it helps the throbbing on the side of my head. I press my fingers to the pain, skin as swollen as it is aching.

With passing seconds comes enough energy to lift myself up and throw my legs over the side of the bed.

Resting an elbow on my knee, I squeeze the bridge of my nose, then reach blindly for my cell phone with my other hand. I slap around the surface of my nightstand a couple times before ending up with two checks in it instead. Ten million, tossed down the drain with my fucking humanity.

Guilt rises in my stomach like boiling water, and I allow it to burn my insides until they’re numb.

“Bro, you good? You need somethin’?” Levi questions, the loyal soldier in him always ready to go to war.

Guy may be younger than me, but he’s way more mature and resourceful at times. Especially now when I’m stuck paying off two guys I almost sent to meet their maker, along with keeping their hospital stay under wraps from prying eyes.

Luckily for me, the two assholes are assholes who got into Riverside through a lottery, not status.

Tossing the checks on the bed, I finally snatch my cell phone off the nightstand.

I check the time. Eight-thirty.

Which means I spent over eighteen hours in a self-induced coma.

“S th aint…I-I’m th-o , th-o sorry.” A soft, feminine lisp pulls my attention, the familiarity of it sending a bolt of electricity soaring through my veins and sobering me up.

My head swivels to the door where Theory stands before me, intertwining her fingers, her heightened lisp and stutter being the same ticks she had since she was a little kid.

Her hair is a mess, as if she’s been pulling at it all night, and both chestnut eyes are swollen like she’s been crying a lot.

My baby girl.

Who I’d watch cities burn for in a motherfucking instant.

With so much pent up sadness draining the color from her face.

This time the guilt burns hot enough to sear me open, forcing me off the bed and to my feet in an instant.

My arms widen for her, and Theory wastes no time throwing herself into them. Her arms wrap around me like a vise, the innocence of it reminding me that, even though we’re both in high school, some of hers is still intact despite her recent behavior.

She whispers an apology again, knowing damn well the vital part she played in what happened yesterday.

Nobody knows the demon I fight more than my sister.

And nobody has the ability to quiet him the way she does.

Or do the complete opposite.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” I grit out, pressing my palms against her cheeks and then my lips to her head. The coconut scent of her hairspray does nothing to ease the rage, because it’s still the same one she picked out at seven when I taught myself how to braid her hair.

Theory rears her head back, swiping a hand across her nose. “I-I wa sth n’t. I s th wear. I was th n’t thinking.”

“Did they…” My words trail off as I let her go. “Did they force you?”

A question I would’ve asked when I approached them if I was still in my right mind. Not that it matters, the result would’ve been the same regardless.

Actually, scratch that shit. If they did, the fuckers would’ve had a cold date with the coroner.

“No. I-I wanted to do it.”

Levi’s jaw tightens almost as hard as mine, since he, too, has seen Theory as a sister since we were kids.

“Well, I hope you enjoyed yourself…because it’ll never happen again.”

“S th aint…pleas th e lis th en.”

“Oh, no, baby girl. You listen. You will not befriend. Talk. Smile. Share class notes with any fucking guy in school except the Royal Heathens.”

Theory swallows, and I know how bad she wants to argue.

That I’m too protective, overbearing.

Unhinged when it comes to her.

That one day I will have to accept the fact she’s not a little girl anymore—and stop beating the shit out of any guy who looks at her the wrong way because of it.

Yeah, well fuck that fucking shit.

“ Sth aint…I’m not gonna?—”

“Yes you will!” I boom. “And don’t even think about sneaking behind my back, because you know I’ll find out. Send you away, lock you the fuck away if I have to. Kill whoever he is without losing a lick of sleep.”

She gulps but says nothing.

“Do. You. Hear. Me?”

I know I’m being controlling, but this is a dangerous world we’re caught up in. One I’ve been fighting to keep her away from.

Theory stares up at the ceiling, contemplating her life choices.

I watch her closely, waiting to see if she’s going to make the smart one, because I will go back to finish the job on those guys if she doesn’t.

Humanity be as damned as my fucking soul.

Thankfully for the JV’s, baby girl decides to use the brain our dad spent over a quarter million dollars nurturing by sending her to the most well renowned all-girls Catholic boarding school.

In Switzerland.

And as much as it sucks not seeing Theory for months at a time, it puts our minds at ease knowing there’s been no boys or trouble.

Unlike Riverside.

Which will now become Theory’s home thanks to my father’s newfound leniency when it comes to his daughter.

Makes no fucking sense, just like his religion.

With a defeated sigh, she says, “I’ll s th ay away from g-guys, okay?”

I pull her in for a hug again, and she squeezes me even tighter than before.

At the end of the day, no matter how frustrated my sister gets, it’s never enough to diminish her love for me as an older brother.

The same goes for me when it comes to her.

Lifting Theory’s chin, I catch sight of the scar under her jaw, then tighten mine as I drag my gaze to her eyes, which are heavy with the endless questions of why things have to be this way.

On the outside I may seem cool, but on the inside I’m choking on suppressed remorse. Because even though she has every right, my sister will never have the heart to ask me this question out loud.

Too afraid it’ll undo all the years she spent trying to convince me I’m not an evil person. That I’m more than the sum of my fucked up parts.

Theory Lavell is the only girl I will ever love unconditionally—her ability to forgive the unforgivable being the top reason.