Page 53 of The Tenth Circle
“Maybe.” He pulls me close by tucking the gun under my chin. “But I bet I could strike a few of yours too.”
I sneak a hand behind my back, readying myself for the larger stun gun covered by my leggings. “Go ahead, shoot me. Hurt me. I know how much you want to.”
Saint rears his head, and a flicker of surprise, maybe even offense, softens the features of his face. Reminding me once again of his ability to be a decent human.
It does nothing to feed those pesky flames inside me.
Because I’m not looking for revenge on the decent human, I’m looking for revenge on the piece of shit—and Saint doesn’t get to choose which version of him suffers the consequences.
Given these irritating factors, I cross my arms in front of me, swayed by little need for another concealed weapon. “Don’t get soft on me now, Letterman. You didn’t even get to come.”
Like the flick of a wand, Saint’s softness goes poof, and in its place is a grin one would only expect from a Cheshire cat.
“You’re right, Jimi.” His fingers walk their way along the length of my abdomen. “But I recall a time I didn’t let you come either.”
Those words bring the world around me to a screeching halt, and my heart sinks like a ship in my chest.
After months…months…of making me sweat, Saint choosesnow, when I’m furious at him, to finally speak the truth.
“What are you…” My words trail off along with my train of thought. I’m so flustered and dizzy I don’t even realize Saint’s got his hand between my legs until he squeezes my inner thigh.
“Don’t look so surprised, Jimi. We both know this is what you wanted.” With his lips brushing my ear, he adds, “Me before you…admitting I was the one in the closet that day. Touching, tasting your sweet pussy.”
The callous nature of his tone sends me reeling into a whirlwind of shame, rage, and extreme regret. For both allowing him to touch me that wayandwanting to hear him say he did.
I thought having Saint admit it first would help me sidestep the embarrassment, but—judging by how he’s already dangling the truth over my head like a bone—I can tell it was a grave mistake to not let this sleeping dog lie.
Accepting the fact my revenge took a dreary turn, I slap away Saint’s hand, along with the stun gun we both know he won’t be using.
“Yeah, and I wish I never let you.”
“Let me?” Saint questions with sheer mockery. “Baby, you were straight up begging me for more.”
I let out an incredulous laugh, hoping it sounds convincing because he’s right. I wanted so much more from him that day, and a part of me, albeit the stupid one, still does.
Saint’s entire being is infectious, but I'd rather die from his virus than dare to treat it.
“Sorry, Charlie. You must have me confused with one of your whores. My guess? The redheaded one.”
Once again, I feel the shift in Saint the moment it happens.
Some call it instinct, others a gut feeling.
I’ve chosen to call this keen sense of awareness my Psycho Intuition. I’ve all but mastered it the past seven months. But even masters learn their lessons, which is why I can feel the hurt from what Saint says next before I hear it.
"Yeah, well, my money’s on the one who let me finger fuck her in a closet.”
And there it is.
The catalyst. Saint’s true point of no return.
The cruelty in his rebuttal plays on repeat in my head, allowing for the flames to grow and spread through me like wildfire, heating the surface of my skin in seconds.
I scream silently through the pain, flames not easing up until I’m seared open from the inside out, with nothing left but my mouth to try and burn him.
So, I do. I use my words like a blow torch, knowing full well the quickest road to Saint’s heart, and how it’s been paved by someone else.
And thissomeone elsejust so happened to show up on the same night he hurt Stevenson.
