Page 52 of The Tenth Circle
“C’mon, Jimi, you should know better by now.”
“And why the fuck is that?”
“Because of how much we’re alike.”
“We arenothingalike.”
“Go ahead and keep lying to yourself, but I know the truth. It’s written all over the murder in your eyes.” Saint bites his bottom lip suggestively. “Seeing you like this turns me on, not gonna lie.”
I amnothinglike him.
I don’t deliberately try to hurt people, threaten, or make a mockery of someone just for kicks.
Use my status as a means to do despicable things.
I’m not perfect on any scale, but I don’t pretend to be either. Your girl knows full well she’s got flaws, some of which are worse than others.
And, since I’m doing the honest thing, I won’t lie and say there aren’t flames burning steadily inside me, always one harsh insult shy of striking hot. They’ve come fixed like a thermostat, set long before I had the ability to feel the heat.
There’s a strong sense of power that comes from knowing the damage I can cause—my flaw lies in the need to have all of it.
So, yeah, I harbor some darkness.
That doesn’t make us the same.
Because, unlike Saint, my punishment always fits the crime.
Like right now, as I raise my knee with a jerk, striking him in the nuts.
You bet your ass he reacts this time, because not even a royal cock can withstand the force of a dick-shot.
Choking out a breath, he hunches over, and without removing the gun I follow suit. Then, with a saccharine sweet smile, I tell him, “And seeingyoulikethisturns me on…not gonna lie.”
“Cheap shot, Jimi and you know it,” Saint replies, voice strangled.
“Yeah, well, I learn from the best.”
A dose of anger twists his face when he peers at me. “You really think that pussy is innocent?”
Compared to the rest of the jerks in this school, Stevenson is hands down one of the kindest, and it boggles my mind how the worst of the worst thinks he’s in a position to judge anyone.
With a shove to fix him upright, I say, “Damn straight. I mean…what did Stevenson ever do to you? Other than fuck the only girl in school you can’t?”
Saint’s bright eyes darken, a regular indicator of his changing mood, along with the creeping chill drifting from him.
They put me on edge, but not enough to back down.
Because, like his fellow Royal Heathens, Saint may have a nasty mean streak, but he’s done a lot of protecting his friends from bad shit this year.
Even me.
Which is why, despite the temperature swings, I don’t believe Saint would ever truly hurt me.
Which is also why I won’t allow fear of chance to outweigh my anger. Or the need for revenge.
“What’s the matter, Letterman? I strike a nerve?”
In one smooth movement Saint reaches for the stun gun, yanking it from my hand to turn the tables.
