Sinners & Saints (Sinners & Saints #1) (18 page)

           
Now
I feel my jaw twitch and my heartbeat grows rapid.
 

           
“August
Mandrake is a brilliant human being with autism
—
a brain disorder that you people clearly don’t have time to
use all your easily accessed resources to find information about. He is
amazing, kind, and
—
like Cody
—
more of a man than you. And Hugo… well
he may be the devil, but he does have one thing that you
—
Denton, is it? He has the one thing you
never will have.”

           
“And
what is that?”

           
I
slowly smile. “My guess… the ability to make your girlfriend actually come.” I
look around at the girls and of course some of them smirk to themselves. “And
by the view of some of these lovely faces, I suggest that’s true… also he has
better taste in suits and hell, why not? He just looks better than you
completely.”

           
“You’re
a real bitch with a mouth. You should make it useful for sucking Mandrake’s
dick.”

           
“Now,
Denton.” We all look at the doorway to see Hugo. How long has he been standing
there? “We know that no one can suck me off like your girl, Sarah.”

           
“Fuck
you, Mandrake.”

           
“No,
fuck whoever created your suit,” he says walking over to the fireplace where
Denton stands.

           
“Your
father needs my dad’s company for a new investment. So you better think about
the next words that come from your mouth.”

           
Hugo
smirks to himself and nods. “It’s alright. What you said about us is true,” he
says, but I look down and see his hand lingering over the iron tools. “Jordana
is a know-it-all lesbian. Poppy’s a slut. Cody’s a lame virgin. I am a hot
shot. Except, I didn’t quite hear what you said about my brother.” He gazes at
the fire waiting for Denton’s response.

           
“He’s
a retard,” Denton laughs, but no one else does.
 

           
Hugo
chuckles, but it isn’t cheery. He looks at Denton and for the first time I see
him smiling. But it’s not a sweet smile. No, it’s more sinister than anything.
Denton, oblivious, looks around the room with his pride and ego still intact,
laughing, not noticing that now Hugo is grabbing one of the fork tools from the
fireplace set. Without any hesitation he swings the sharp end of the fork into
Denton’s leg.

           
“Fuucckk!”
Denton screams. He falls to the floor, grabbing hold of his wounded leg. It’s
only bleeding a little. The way he’s acting you would think his leg has been
cut off. “You motherfucker!”

           
“What
the hell, man?!” Nathanial begins to approach, but Hugo points the pointy end
at him.

           
“You
want to be able to row crew, don’t you Nathanial?” Nathanial steps back and
allows Hugo to calmly squat down, gently grabbing Denton by the collar of his
plaid jacket.

           
“Now,
I’m all for the insults, but I suggest you keep your comments to yourself. At
least wait until Juliet really pisses you off, and trust me she will. And as
for my brother, well you know to never speak of him again. Also, if I walk in
on your tainted speeches about anyone associated with me, I will start to
remember that time at St. Barts.”

           
Denton’s
face goes pale but not from the open wound. Hugo stands up and places the fork
back in place.

           
“Are
you ready to depart, Ms. Spears?” He extends his hand to me.

           
I’m
turned on. I’m not going to lie and I’m a little drunk. I mean that was crazy
what he did, but for Hugo to stand up for someone, it just confirms my
suspicions of some good in him.

“Why yes I am, Mr. Mandrake.” I place
my hand over his and he helps me up.

           
“Enjoy
the party everyone. Get home safely,” Hugo says.

12

HUGO

We get in the car and Juliet starts
laughing hysterically. I kind of want to laugh with her.

           
“That
was fucking brilliant!” She looks at me smiling. She smacks her lips once she
realizes I’m not amused. “Oh, come on. I know you want to smile. I’m
impressed.”
  

           
“I
was impressed with your responses to Denton and yes you were right with all of
them, especially the one about me.”

           
“I
was wondering if you heard. I must have pulled on your heart strings with my
defending of your honor,” she laughs.

           
“You
can’t pull on anything. Your action didn’t surprise me.”

           
She
sighs. “I guess it wouldn’t, but yours surely did.” I continue staring out the
window. I see her smile through the reflection of the window. “You defended
your brother…. A person who does not love assaulted someone because of what
they said about their brother… and his mates… and me?”

           
“My
brother is my blood. Like I said, it is a sense of obligation.”

           
“Then
why stick up for the rest of us?”

           
I
don’t answer. I usually don’t contradict myself like this. She has seriously
thrown me off my game.

           
“Alright,”
she says. “I know what the silence means. It means the essential somewhat
beautiful moment is over and you’re back to casting out all the feelings that
make you furious and scared.”

           
“Look,”
My tone is sharp and I face her. “Can you let go of the psychological
evaluation bullshit for once?”

           
“Sure,”
she says still smiling. “I’ll just stick with my industrious smile to brighten
you.”

           
I
roll my eyes and look away again. A minute passes before she breaks the silence
again.

           
“What
happened in St. Barts?” Of course Nancy Drew over here has to ask the ultimate
question.

           
“Denton
has a sister. She’s in Italy now because everyone thinks she is studying art
there when really she’s there to find peace.”

           
“Peace
for what?”

           
“I
took her virginity. She used to cut herself. She came to me and asked me to
have sex with her. She had these scars on her stomach. The next day she cut the
scars too deep on the beach… on purpose, of course. She made sure to tell
Denton to provide a letter to me. She thanked me for making her feel beautiful.
How I did that? I have no clue.”

           
“Yes,
you do,” she says and I can’t help but look at her. I’m not ready to see her
reaction. Her eyes seem frightened and tears are forming. I don’t understand.

           
“Okay,
fine. I was gentle and I provided her with sex,” I say to her.

           
“No,
for fucks sake, no.” She’s mad. I haven’t really seen her angry before. I also
see pain. A lot of it. “She chose you because no matter how much of a bastard
you are… you wouldn’t gloat about what you saw. You made her feel beautiful
because of your ability to show no emotion. When you saw her scars, you didn’t
react. You probably even caressed them… stared at her as you did, ultimately
telling her that it was okay. She chose you because of your lack of care. The
one moment where your negligence did someone justice.”

           
How
does she know these things? How does she know so much about everyone? Why the
hell does she have to be right? That night with Lydia, I did feel the need to
be kind just once to someone. I never told anyone this. Why am I telling her
part of it?

           
“Would
you have told if Denton went any further?” she asks.

           
“Eye
for an eye,” I say adamantly and look back out the window.

           
Truthfully,
thinking about it now, I don’t know what I would do. Good thing a lot of people
I know are predictable. Juliet, though? She isn’t.

           
Once
we reach home the silence and change in mood between us is apparent.

           
“Everyone
must be sleep,” she says, kicking off her heels in the living room and heading
to the mini bar. “Sit and drink with me?” She seems different now. Something is
bothering her and it feels as if she’s itching to get it out.

           
I
never turn down a drink, so I will drink with her. We knock back shots, she
more than I. I watch as she runs through her thoughts, looking down at the
almost empty bottle of vodka.

           
I
stare at her for a few more minutes until she finally looks up at me.

“Let’s
play a game.” She says.

I
sigh, rolling my eyes. “Fine. I am deeply bored right now, so your pointless
persistence should amuse me.”

           
“Alright
then. We will play the show me game.”

           
“Rules.”

           
“Nope.
No rules.” She thinks about it. “Well no, let’s put some rules out there. No
asking to see me naked.”

           
I
want to smile.

           
“Okay,
I’ll start so you can get an idea of it,” she says.

           
“Go
ahead.”

           
“Show
me…” She trails off thinking. “Show me the thing you lack of.”

           
Really?
I decide to go ahead and just
play along with her. I place my hand on my chest where my heart was or the lack
thereof.

           
“Shocker.”
Her brow jumps. “Although the exciting response would have been if you pointed
down below.”

           
“Then
tell me to show you my best attribute.”

           
“Sexy.”
She arches her brow, biting her lip. “Anyway, your turn.”

           
“Show
me your greatest accomplishment.”

           
She
grins and points to her teeth.

           
“Really?”

           
“Damn
right! I had to wear braces for most of my adolescence to achieve these babies.
And don’t even pretend that you don’t believe that rude stereotype that British
people have bad teeth. You already voiced your opinion.”

           
“It’s
not a stereotype—most of you do.”

           
“Piss
off.” She playfully snaps and it’s exciting to see her like this. It makes her
look sexier. “Show me your greatest fear.”

           
“You
do realize that this game has its limitations, right?”

           
“Yes,
but if you’re creative, you can improvise.”

           
I
hesitate. “You have to tell the truth,” she urges.

           
I
point to my head.

           
“What
does that mean?”

           
“My
greatest fear is that I will end my life with my brains splattered on the
ground like my mother and brother.”

           
Her
eyes broaden. “Mate, you are seriously dark and twisted.”

           
Nothing
new told to me. “I kind of fancy it though,” she says and by the look on her
face, she means it.

           
I
grin and she gasps. Fuck. She has received a positive reaction from me, and my
blushing exposes that said effect. I have to fire back.

           
“Show
me the ugliest part of you,” I ask

           
I
don’t even know where I’m going with this. Knowing her, she’ll probably be
sarcastic and say her whole body or something.

           
Her
face stills for a moment. She suddenly stands up. She bites her lip and pulls
her hair back behind her ears. She’s nervous. She raises her skirt, slowly to
the top of her thighs. I could be turned on right now, but I’m not and it’s not
because she’s ugly. It’s because something else is getting my attention… and
empathy. The inside of her left thigh consists of several straight jagged
lines. Perfect lines just like the ones in one of August’s mazes. My heart is
beating faster and my empathy is growing. This is why the tale of Lydia
affected her so. It’s personal. Tragic beauty. Everyone has one. This is
Juliet’s.

She
drops the skirt back down. For the first time, her face shows sorrow and
regret.

           
“I
guess I wanted to test my theory. I’ve never shown anyone that… well except my
therapist.” She starts picking at her fingernails. “I’ve kind of been dying to
tell someone about that. Once you told me about Denton’s sister, well… I
figured you. A person who doesn’t have feelings.” She uses air quotes when
referring to my lack of feelings. “Because you don’t care, right? You don’t
care that I used to do this?”

           
I
don’t answer. I only continue staring at her. I’m being ambushed. If Scarlett
were here, she would laugh. That’s the same thing I thought when Lydia showed
me hers, but I could never laugh just like I can’t laugh now or berate them.
Lydia, I pitied her. Juliet… I want to hold her. I am not disgusted in her
scars but in awe. God, if you do exist, what the hell have you’ve done to me?

           
“I’m
gonna go to bed now,” she barely whispers. She stumbles a bit. She’s drunk but
picks herself up and heads to her room. I clench my fists, seething out all the
need to go after her, all the right words to say to her. Her scars are not ugly
nor is she. They are only a reflection of the beautiful human being she is.
I’ve never met a beautiful human being before. Never wanted to.

JULIET

I’m crazy. No literally, I think I’m
insane. I have to be, right? To do what I just did, I have to be.

 
When Hugo told me the story about that
girl every memory I had of bringing harm to myself appeared. It’s my dark door.
The door that hides every vile thing I want to forget. Funny thing,
self-inflicted harm is the only thing behind that door. I wanted to forget it
and in return I would embrace the past sins. That’s how much it pains me to
remember, but I just told Hugo of all people. I saw a way to open that door and
place into another one. His. I figured his door was more willing to let it in.
Is that selfish? Maybe it’s stupid, but I still feel the weight being lifted
off my shoulders.

I see the light on in the kitchen as I
reach the stairs. I follow it to see if anyone is in there.

Ms. Eleanor is. She’s humming to
herself a melody I am not familiar with. She seems in a daze. No wonder why
—
she’s smoking a joint that’s inserted
in her black cigarette holder. She looks and smiles at me.

“Juliet, darling, are you alright?” she
asks me.

“Yes, I’m okay.” I wipe my wet eyes.
“Just tired. Are you okay?”

“Yes, as fine as one should be in this
devilish world.” She ashes the joint and passes it my way. I smile at her,
grabbing hold of the cigarette holder with my fingers and taking a few puffs.
This will help me sleep.

“Thank you.” I pass it back and proceed
to my room.

 
“Juliet,” Ms. Eleanor stops me. A look of
concern shows on her face. “Be careful playing games with dark hearts, my dear.
Cupid’s arrow for them is only made up of broken ones. A perfect arrow has the
power to pierce love’s gift without a worry on one’s soul, but a broken arrow
is unpredictable. It’s never sharp enough to go deep within the flesh or the
feathers are never equipped enough to provide a less discouraging flight. Never
truly do they make a kill with one shot.”

I soak in her words. I understand what
she’s saying. It’s frightening to hear, but instead of running away from it, I
ask the important question of the night.

“What if instead of Cupid, the hunter
shoots the arrow?”

She smiles softly. “Then I hope your
pull on the bow is vigorous.”

I smile and head to my room. God, there
are too many bloody emotions running through me tonight. I feel almost as if I
can’t breathe.

I unzip my dress and let it fall to the
ground once I get inside my room. I look at myself through the tall mirror. I
specifically stare at the scars on my thigh. I still can’t believe I showed
them to Hugo. I keep doing things out of the ordinary. Yep, I’m as crazy as
they are. Then maybe that’s why fate brought me here.