Page 7 of The Tenth Circle (Vicious Saint: Prelude)

HENDRIX

“ S o tell us, Hen. How’s it been going?” Auntie Pop applies a fresh layer of lipstick, and I watch as a breeze brushes through her long, luscious dark hair.

Gotta love loaded questions while nursing a weekend hangover.

“I see you’ve gotten closer to Archer and Rebecca,” Mom adds with a twinkle in her brown eyes—not from excitement, but because radiance is a trait that comes easy to the Montgomery women.

Juniper and Poppy Montgomery. The twenty-first century faces that could launch a thousand ships. At least that’s what I heard some rando tell them once.

They may be the twins at the table, but I still share most of their features: average height, straight dark hair, peachy skin, freckles around the nose. Can’t speak on my dad’s side because I’ve never seen what he looks like.

Mostly because I never wanted to.

“Yeah, they’re pretty awesome.”

“And the others?”

Well, they can all go fuck themselves.

“Some are alright, most aren’t.”

“Sorry, kiddo.” Auntie agrees. “Teenagers suck.”

I smile. “Eh, it’s all good. I got my thick skin from you.”

“Hey!” Mom feigns offense. “I have thick skin too!”

Auntie Pop rolls her eyes and I do the same.

“Oh please, June.” She scoffs. “I called you ugly one time and you ran to Dad crying. Got me grounded for a week.”

The mention of Grandpa makes me smile, my aunt’s picture painted so clear. Mom was always his favorite and she knew it, which I’m sure plays a vital role in why she named me after his favorite musician.

Yes, yes, I’m referring to Jimi Hendrix.

“The greatest guitarist of all time” as per Grandpa, and he would always argue that Rolling Stone could vouch for it.

Mom shoves auntie's arm playfully. “You will never let me live that down, will you?”

“Nope. Maybe even longer than when Mom found out you broke the floral family tradition.”

Auntie Pop is referring to the tradition of every female in the Montgomery lineage being named after a flower.

Until Mom went and snapped the stem with music.

No matter how much Grandma loved me, she never truly forgave her for it. The disappointment didn’t mean much to me because I was spoiled regardless, but I know Mom still carries a weight from her decision.

Even now with both of them gone.

“I do hope you’re controlling your temper, Hendrix.” Mom’s authoritative voice kills the light mood. “We’ve come so far.”

“Only bashed like three skulls, we’re good.”

Auntie Pop and Mom offer raised brows in unison.

“What? I’m joking…shit.”

Mom picks up her glass of whatever, bringing it to her lips as she says, “I know you’re tired of me harping on your past, but it can easily sneak up on you if you’re not careful. Especially in a new world filled with pretentious rich people.”

I counter her stupidity with an eye roll, knowing what I respond with next will not bode well with my guilt or her cheery disposition. “A world you chose to bring us into when cashing in that lottery ticket.”

It was a shot under the Gucci belt, I know. But I would’ve been more than happy skating through life in public school and the chic apartment she somehow managed to earn working retail.

Her eyes harden. “You know why I did that.”

Of course. Because she’s a mom, and every mom dreams about giving their daughters a magical life.

Enter a cheap suited wannabe mafioso who stole Mom’s heart…along with her dream of a big happy family when she had me.

It turns out my father wasn’t exactly just a “wannabe” gangster—he was actually part of the mafia. Not a crazy huge part, but enough to take a fall for those who were.

Well, are . And he is , not was.

I don’t know.

Doubt being in prison takes the mobster out of a Sicilian.

Vincenzo Pecorino. The father I never met and the man my mother loved but never married. Thank fuck for the second because I’m pretty sure his last name is a type of cheese.

“I do…” I sigh, hating the remorse that always comes with being a brat to her. “Sorry, that was a dick move.”

Auntie Pop reaches over to squeeze my hand, then winks.

The doom and gloom passes, so we go back to lighter topics of conversation, and are deep into reality T.V. when our waitress breezes over to the table, arms folded as she introduces herself. We all share our greetings and she moves on to taking our order.

The chick, whose name is Ryan, nods along with Mom and Auntie’s extremely complicated substitutions and takes it all in without writing anything down.

Mom switches out her burger bun with lettuce. Extra onions, but only if they’re red. No pickles and a dash of mayo.

Auntie wants a goat cheese salad with no goat cheese and extra blue. I refuse to even question the perplexity of that one.

Nevertheless, Ryan smiles, not showing an ounce of annoyance with their outrageous requests, then focuses on me.

“And you, babe?”

“I’ll just take a cheeseburger and french fries.”

“You got it. Drink?”

“Pepsi, please.”

With a wink she spins around and prances back into the restaurant. I don’t know how waitresses in Manhattan do that shit, stowing away so much information all the way to the line and unleashing it on a bunch of chefs.

Shit. Bex would be terrible at this job.

Archer on the other hand…

A flash of russet red catches my eye to the right, where a small gate separates us from the sidewalk. There strolls the man in question, grin already bright with his notice of me.

“Yo, Hen!” he shouts with a wave, even though we’re barely ten feet away.

There is no escaping the students of Riverside.

But at least I like this one.

Archer’s climbing over the partition as if there aren't two tables filled with people in front of it, and before I know it he’s sliding into the chair next to me.

“Hey, Miss Montgomery.” He offers another wave before his eyes widen on auntie. “And the other Miss Montgomery.”

Auntie snickers low. “Nice to meet you Archer, we’ve heard so much about you.”

Lies.

“I hope only good things.” Archer nudges my shoulder, and I manage a playful eye roll.

“Like sixty-forty.”

“Stop it, Hendrix,” Mom scolds before calling over the waitress. “Archer, you must join us for lunch.”

As if he didn’t just make himself comfortable and guzzle half my water.

“Quit it.” I slap his arm, making water spill down his chin. “I don’t need your germs.”

He places the glass in front of me, wiping his chin with the back of his hand. “I’m healthy as an ox, milady. Don’t you worry.”

I drag out a breath just as Ryan reappears.

Archer mouths off his request, which is similar to mine except he opted for the pizza burger, then leans back in his chair.

“Well, shit, Miss M’s, you guys look almost identical.”

“They are identical, you dumbass.”

“Yet somehow I’m still better looking,” Auntie Pop quips, and Mom waves off her sister’s antics to strike up conversation.

“So I heard you guys had a pool party yesterday.” She takes a sip of water. “How was it?”

Archer stretches an arm around my shoulders, squeezing me into his side. “We had a great time.”

His poker face is a million times better than mine, so I’ll leave the bullshitting to him. We both know damn well it was anything but a great time.

“Were you guys responsible with drinking?” Auntie chimes in, stern.

Mom looks at her, appalled. “Seriously, Poppy?”

“What? Don’t be in denial, June. We both know what happens at teenage parties and it’s better to be open about it than leave them to their own devices.”

She’s not wrong, but Mom still looks as though she’d rather not get any images. “I hope you both were responsible with all the things.”

“Totally responsible, Miss M.” Another squeeze from Archer. “I’ll always take care of your girl.”

Mom’s eyes turn into stars with that comment.

As they should, because I have no doubt he truly means it.

“You are a wonderful young man, Archer.”

“Eh, I try.”

More lies, because kindness comes second nature to him.

This time it’s me who does the squeezing. “Don’t be modest, asshole.”

Archer hits me with his signature gorgeous smile.

Because there is no denying he’s gorgeous. Not in the way Saint is, but in a genuine, handsome, well rounded way. His facial structure is carved from the same mold as the Royal Heathens, but Archer’s isn’t tarnished with bad intentions like theirs.

There’s a light to him I hope nobody ever snuffs out.

He blows out a breath. “Well, fine. I’m fucking awesome then!”

Mom and Auntie raise their glasses, then I follow, cheering silently to having the only decent guy in school as a friend.

Before I knew it lunch was over and we returned to Riverside.

Thankfully Archer stuck around my dorm as we waited for Bex’s return from her mom’s condo a few blocks away.

We spent time talking about the classes we hate and the impending homecoming week just on the horizon—including a half hour of him convincing me to join him at the homecoming game.

I just finished caving when Bex strolled in holding a pile of books she wouldn’t put down until Archer and I forced her to.

It worked, because it’s an hour later and we’re huddled on her bed watching Netflix and stuffing our faces with snacks.

“Do we really have to watch this?” Bex whines, referring to the show Archer’s doppelganger stars in. “We are legit living in our very own fucked up high school.”

“That’s what makes the show more interesting.” Archer shrugs. “It’s relatable.”

This seems to appease Bex, because she scoots closer and plucks the popcorn out of the bucket Archer’s holding. “So who do you think each of us would be in Riverdale ?”

We both pin her with a look.

“Okay, fine.” She laughs. “Hen and I.”

“Well, I’d like to say Veronica and Betty,” Archer answers casually, making me snort through a mouthful of Doritos.

“Ha! Fat chance, bucko.”

“What? Throuples are a thing now.”

This is true, and I make it a point to be inclusive.

“Alright, fine, I’ll be the Veronica to your Archie.”

Bex gags. “You two enjoy that. I want to be couple, throuple, even quatrrouple free for as long as I can.”