Defy (Sinners of Saint Book 2)

by L.J. Shen

  “The fuck do you care?” He tucked a cigarette between his lips, lighting it in class casually. “You keep tabs on all your flings?” he mumbled, the cigarette between his lips.

  Someone was bitter.

  “I need to talk to him,” I said, ignoring the jab.

  “Am I stopping you?”

  “Tell me where he is.”

  He shrugged. “I’m not his goddamned secretary. Call him.”

  “He won’t pick up,” I cried in annoyance.

  Vicious slid his thumb across his cheek with the hand that held his cigarette, deep in thought. “Yeah, he won’t.” His voice was chillingly flat. “He’s at my house. Sulking like a little bitch. I’d invite you over to cheer him up, but I’m not sure if you wanna give him a lippy rant for saving your ass or a blow job for fucking up.”

  “I need to talk to him.” The urgency in my voice scared me. The need to make this right was overwhelming. I just wanted us to work this out.

  “I’m not him.” Vicious’s lifeless eyes held mine, sucking me in. “I don’t do forgiveness, so if you hurt him again, the outcome will be devastating. To you.”

  Gulp. “I just want to fix this, Baron.”

  “My name is Vicious,” he growled.

  Goddammit. This kid.

  “Let me see him. I promise, my intentions are good.”

  The HotHoles’ brotherhood was almost touching, if it weren’t for the fact that these boys had way too much power. Over me. Over this town. Over everyone.

  Vicious tilted his head to the door, and I followed him to his brooding stone and brick mansion, my Ford stalking his Mercedes.

  It was the longest journey I ever had to take, other than my flight back home from New York and Julliard.

  But it was the shortest trip to insanity. My love was madness.

  And I was ready to fight for it.

  HE WAS IN THE POOL. In the goddamn fucking pool. Doing laps. His long, lean sculpted body shooting like an arrow from one end to the other. I stood over the edge, not sure if I wanted to jump his bones, apologize, or yell at him. When he raised his head from the azure waterline, dark blond locks raining water drops over his perfect face, my thighs clenched.

  “You look heartbroken,” I assessed sarcastically.

  He rested his arms on the tiles and flashed me his straight teeth. But this wasn’t a smile, it was a warning. “And you look like an animal out of its natural habitat. Missed me that much, Ms. G?”

  “You didn’t come to school today.” My voice was grave.

  “So? School year is practically over, and it’s not like you give a shit. I’m just a fling, remember? Your words.”

  Touché.

  When I arrived here, I wasn’t above begging. But now that I was in front of him, at Vicious’s house, an overwhelming need to protect myself took over again. I couldn’t ask him what his game was yesterday when we were at his mother’s office.

  “So, you’re all packed for Texas?” I changed the subject. He’s moving away to college, I reminded myself. This is over.

  He laughed, pushing himself upward and rising from the pool. His sculpted body shone under the sun, making him look like a Calvin Klein ad. He stood next to me, so close the scent of chlorine wafted into my nostrils.

  “Not yet.” He took a step in my direction. I stumbled back. He took another step closer, ignoring me.

  “I need to buy another suitcase.” His hand disappeared inside my curls. This time I leaned into his touch. Such a loser. Already a goner again.

  “I thought men traveled light.” I swallowed.

  “We do, but I’m sure you’ll be taking all kinds of girly shit with you when you move in with me.”

  Dumbfounded, I narrowed my eyes at him, fighting a grin.

  “Jaime,” I warned. From what, I wasn’t sure. I didn’t want it to be a prank. I realized as soon as he said the words that I wanted exactly what he’d just said. A lot. A new beginning. Away from All Saints High. With him.

  It didn’t make sense. It was wrong. It was going to lift a shit-ton of eyebrows. A college kid moving to another state with his twenty-six-year-old teacher? It had disaster written all over it. But I wanted this disaster. I wanted to bathe in it and love it and live it. To make this disaster my chaotic reality.

  “Mel,” he answered, smiling. “Truth or dare?”

  “Truth.” I bit my lower lip, peeking at him from under my lashes. If Vicious saw this, he would have probably puked.

  My breaths were coming in shallow pants. My heart was in my throat. I hadn’t felt this alive since the last time I was on stage. I was going to say it, and fuck the world and what it’d think about me.

  I placed my hands on top of his, still nestled in my hair, holding me still. “The truth is…I love you.”

  There was a hint of a satisfied smile, but it was quick. Like I was still in trouble. I felt like the scolded student.

  He nodded, his wet hair dripping on my face as he hooked an arm around my neck and jerked me into his face. “See? Was that so hard? Still in one piece, aren’t you, baby girl?” He raised an eyebrow at me in a smart-ass expression, and it was sexy as fuck. “I love you, too, Mel. Fucking crazy about you, actually. Now pack up.” He bit my lip playfully, smacking my ass at the exact same time.

  “Excuse me?” I laughed. “What? Where? How? When? School’s not even over yet.”

  There were four more days left of school. And I still hadn’t said yes to moving to a whole other state with him.

  “Yeah, but you have a job interview at a ballet academy in Austin tomorrow. Don’t wanna be late, yeah? Bad first impression and all.”

  Jaime knew. He knew I pocketed this dream in the back of my jeans, but still danced every day in front of the mirror. That I carried it in my heart like a little souvenir, and that I wanted the memory to become something real, now more than ever.

  Just then, a horn honked in the distance, and I heard Vicious grit behind his fancy Mercedes steering wheel. “Tell her to move her ass, or I’m sending you both to the airport in a cab.”

  These high school kids.

  They had planned it all along.

  They outsmarted Mrs. Followhill and me.

  I laughed, collapsing into my boyfriend’s arms. “Damn you.”

  Two years later…

  “YOU FORGOT THE MILK.”

  “You forgot your underwear.”

  I frown, pushing down my black tights. “I’m wearing underwear.”

  “Exactly.” Jaime pushes me to bed in one effortless movement.

  I collapse onto our flimsy mattress. He follows, crushing on top of me, covering my face and neck with wet, hot kisses. Breathless giggles escape my mouth while his fingers push my tights away.

  “I’ll buy some on my way back from my shift,” Jaime growls into my ribcage.

  My shirt is already tossed aside, and he is sucking on my nipple so hard my skull prickles in pleasure. I sigh and rake my fingers through his tousled blond hair. He’s been taking shifts at a local Starbucks after class. His parents cut him off after we announced we were moving in together. Tough luck. With my work at the ballet academy, his school and Starbucks job, and everything else on our plate, we have very little time to give two shits about what other people think or say.

  “Can you get some fruit as well? We’re out of bananas.”

  “There’s one banana you can eat whenever you want, and it’s right here.” He takes my hand, guiding it to his cock.

  I roll my eyes. Yup, still a typical twenty-year-old. I’m twenty-eight now, and you’d think I’d be obsessing over marriage and babies. But I’m not. All I think about is him. How it worked out so fabulously. It’s our beautiful chaos, and we wouldn’t have it any other way.

  “I might take a bite later,” I tease.

  He winces. “Fine, I’ll get you your stupid fruit, woman.”

  His tongue travels down from my stomach to my now bare pussy, and he halts, his nose rubbing circles against my clit. “Oh, I
think you have something here. Like a scratch or a spot or something.” His hand dives between my legs, and when it rises back up, there’s a small black velvet box in his hand.

  I stop breathing altogether.

  He licks his lips, offering a lazy smile. “I probably should warn you, it’s not an engagement ring. I’m waiting to turn twenty-one so the trust fund my grandparents have under my name will kick in. I’ll be richer and Starbucks-free. You deserve something incredible. But in the meantime, here’s something to make you remember your high school fling from two years ago.”

  With shaky fingers, I open the velvet box and inside rests a necklace. With a charm. A golden anchor. This anchor symbolizing so many things.

  The burnt yacht that ripped us apart.

  The necklace that brought us back together.

  The missing piece I left behind.

  My eyes glide up, piercing him with uncontained love. I’m so in love. So completely out-of-my-mind crazy about this boy who grew up to be a man and has given up so many things to be with me. College party life. Football. Things that were his very essence of being two years ago.

  “Help me?” I motion with the necklace between my fingers.

  He grunts at my request for him to unglue his tongue from my inner thigh, but rises to face me. Taking the necklace from my hand, he brushes my hair aside.

  “Truth or dare?” he asks out of nowhere.

  “Truth. Brave people always choose the truth.” I grin.

  “Is it true that you’ll always be mine?” He lowers his mouth to my ear, his warm breath tickling my skin.

  “It’s a truth. And sometimes, when you piss me off, it’s a dare. But it’s my life, and you’re a part of it. Always and forever,” I say.

  “Always and forever,” he repeats, and I hold on to my anchor, squeezing it—and my real-life anchor—hard.

  The angst. The fear. The part where I let myself go and fall in love with who should’ve been the wrong person but who turned out to be right, so right…it’s all behind us now.

  In the end, it was worth it. Every small piece of who made us who we are today.

  Stronger.

  Happier.

  Wholer.

  Six Years Later…

  Jaime

  “Why the anchor?”

  I probably should have asked that eight years ago, when we first met, but I just couldn’t bring myself to it. I considered it pillow talk, and I was feeling pretty fucking frightened as it was about stalking my Lit teacher.

  I’m watching my wife, Melody Followhill, intently, as she rests her feet on top of the coffee table while leaning back on our new couch. The sofa and the table are the only pieces of furniture in our new Kensington apartment—or ‘flat’, as they call it here in London. I said I’d take her to Europe, and I did. The fact I knocked her up here is just a bonus.

  You’re welcome, Mel.

  “Why the anchor?” she parrots me, grinning as she rubs her thirty-six-week belly, staring at it lovingly as if she can already see our newborn daughter. “Because sometimes, it’s nice to feel like there’s someone who can save you.”

  “Who gave you that necklace?” I shoot. The urgency of my questions startles me. I’ve lasted eight years without asking her that, and suddenly, that’s all I want to know about. Melody leans into me, placing her head on my chest. I brush her brown hair from her face and kiss her temple. When she talks, warmth fills my chest.

  “I bought it for myself. I was at JFK airport, just about to board the plane back to California after breaking my leg. I wanted something to believe in. More like – someone to believe in. I had no one. My parents were supportive and sad for me, but they didn’t understand. Not really. My friends were scattered all around the country, chasing their own college dreams, creating new, sweet memories. And there I was. Alone. I needed someone. I saw this necklace at a store. I don’t even remember the name. They sold hoodies saying “I Love New York” for ridiculous prices. It cost me a lot, but I remember thinking to myself – I need this. I’m going to get this.”

  I look down, staring at her eyes, and I’m amazed. Amazed that this woman is mine. After all we’ve been through—and maybe precisely because of that.

  She is funny and strong. So fucking talented, sarcastic and smart. But at the same time, she is real. And vulnerable. And mine. God, damn, so fucking mine.

  “You don’t need it anymore.” I finger the anchor necklace I gave her when I was in college. “You have me.”

  “I need both,” she smiles, kissing my pecs through my shirt.

  She is wrong.

  She doesn’t need anybody.

  She can conquer the world, in her sensible shoes and knee-length dresses, not giving a damn about what anyone thinks.

  I take her hand, kiss her palm and guide it to my raging erection. I’m always hard for this woman. Always.

  “You mean the three of us?” I grin into her lips, and she clutches my jeans, a little too hard for my liking.

  “You know what I need?” she asks, and for some reason, there’s sweat coating her beautiful forehead. I cock one eyebrow.

  “I need you to drive me to the hospital. My water just broke.”

  “I knew you were hard for me.” I lick her neck, and she punches my arm. Hard.

  “Jaime!”

  “Okay, okay, I’ll grab your bag.”

  Fifteen hours later, Melody and I welcome our first daughter, Daria Sophia Followhill. My parents are boarding a plane from San Diego to see her. They’re excited. Mel’s parents are coming, too, at the end of the month.

  My father still doesn’t know about mom and coach Rowland. I never told him. There was never much point.

  He doesn’t love her, and she doesn’t love him.

  They have so much money. So many means. And here I am, with a wife and a new baby, still cut-off from their fortune because of the choices I took.

  And I’m happy, because I don’t need money. I have my girls, and that’s enough.

  It. Is. Everything.

  THE END

  A list of people who I am forever grateful for and love more than life itself:

  Sunny Borek

  Kristina Lindsey

  Karen Dale Harris

  Ellie McLove

  Stacey Blake

  Letitia Hasser

  Brittany Hale

  Sabrina Shalalashvilli

  Becca Zsurkan

  Avivit Egev

  Sher Mason

  Sheena Taylor

  Lin Tahel Cohen

  Amy Halter

  Paige Jennifer

  Ilor Tsabar

  Vanessa Serrano

  Erika Budd Panfile

  Galit Hadar Shmariyaho

  Jessica Meade

  Kristen Reads

  Karin Boukzam

  Ella Fox

  Ava Harrison

  Tanaka Kangara

  Julia E. Lis

  Bernadett Lankovitz

  Kerissa Blake

  And Tamar Hazan.

  I would also like to take this opportunity to thank my Sassy Sparrows group, and to my family, for being thoughtful and understanding. Truly, I couldn’t be more grateful.

  To the wonderful bloggers who continue sharing and supporting my work. I cherish you and your amazing contribution to the indie community. And, as always, to you, readers, for taking a chance on me.

  Thank you, thank you, thank you (I find my own acknowledgements speech quite underwhelming, but it’s not as bad as Tom Hiddleton’s Golden Globes speech, so there’s that),

  Love you all, more than you can ever imagine,

  L.J.

  xoxo

  Tyed

  Sparrow

  Blood to Dust

  Blood to Dust

  Sinners of Saint:

  #0.5 – Defy

  #1 – Vicious

  #2 – Ruckus (coming out Spring 2017)

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  Before you leave: here is a sneak peek to Vicious (Sinners of Saint #1). Vicious is now available, so make sure to grab it if you like the first chapter!

  MY GRANDMAMA ONCE TOLD ME that love and hate are the same feelings experienced under different circumstances. The passion is the same. The pain is the same. That weird thing that bubbles in your chest? Same. I didn’t believe her until I met Baron Spencer and he became my nightmare.

  Then my nightmare became my reality.

  I thought I’d escaped him. I was even stupid enough to think he’d forgotten I ever existed.

  But when he came back, he hit harder than I ever thought possible.

  And just like a domino—I fell.

  Ten Years Ago

  I’d only been inside the mansion once before, when my family first came to Todos Santos. That was two months ago. That day, I stood rooted in place on the same ironwood flooring that never creaked.

  That first time, Mama had elbowed my ribs. “You know this is the toughest floor in the world?”

  She failed to mention it belonged to the man with the toughest heart in the world.

  I couldn’t for the life of me understand why people with so much money would spend it on such a depressing house. Ten bedrooms. Thirteen bathrooms. An indoor gym and a dramatic staircase. The best amenities money could buy…and except for the tennis court and sixty-five-foot pool, they were all in black.

  Black choked out every pleasant feeling you might possibly have as soon as you walked through the big iron-studded doors. The interior designer must’ve been a medieval vampire, judging from the cold, lifeless colors and the giant iron chandeliers hanging from the ceilings. Even the floor was so dark that it looked like I was hovering over an abyss, a fraction of a second from falling into nothingness.