Sinners & Saints (Sinners & Saints #1) (20 page)

           
“Yeah
a bitch that used to cut herself.”

           
Now
that hurts. Damn, that really hurts. Guilt washes over his eyes as he realizes
that he went there.

“Scars are always a price to pay for
the bullshit, right?” I say and his jaw twitches as he looks down.

           
“If
you excuse me, I have a plan to act on.” He starts to brush past me, but I step
in his way, my shoulder hitting his.

           
“Don’t,”
I plead.

           
“Get
out of my way, Juliet.”

           
“Don’t
do this.”

           
“You
really think you begging me is really going to change my mind?”

           
“No,
but maybe a wager will.”

           
“What,
another coin toss?”

           
“No,
a dare.”

           
He
huffs, amused.

           
“Kiss
me and you will see how important I am.” I say one of the first quotes I ever
read. It was written on a wall in London near my school. I thought it was one
of the most beautiful lines I ever read. The day I read it the idea of true
love awoken in me. I’ve been looking forward to it ever since.

           
“Seriously?
We’re quoting a woman who stuck her head in an oven?”

           
Damn, he knows Sylvia Plath too?

“Kiss me and if you feel something in
that kiss, if you feel just something… then I win.”

           
“You
are crazy.”

           
“Clearly…
but I’m willing to take a chance on you, Hugo, because…” I trail off.
What do I say?
Well, I guess I’ll just
say the first thing that comes to mind. “I might could fall in love with you.”

           
His
face completely disarms. That must be a first.

           
“Or
maybe I do love you, I don’t know,” I shrug, truthfully. “I have to be to do
this bloody shit, don’t you think? I think you’re a narcissistic, cowardice
arsehole hell bent on destroying humanity because you don’t want to just cry
your heart out like the rest of us, but I’ve always been attracted to rugby
players who wear polo shirts and colorful bowties so I suppose this is a step
up for me.”

           
“You
are clearly out of your fucking mind.” He chokes on the words.

           
“Your
face is clearly turning red.” I smirk at him.

He frowns. “Because you’re pissing me
off.”

“I’m sure you probably have gotten the
L word from a lot of girls but me… I’m different. I know I am. I see it in your
eyes. I annoy you because… you’re scared of me. I frighten you. My love
frightens you. Well here is some news for you… I’m petrified of you. Your pain
scares the shit out of me. But because of my feelings, I’m going to make a
sacrifice and let you kiss me. It probably won’t end well, given you are a
stubborn bastard, but it’s worth a shot and… I have a strong heart. I can take
it. So do it. I dare you. I won’t stick my head in the oven. I won’t cry after.
I’ll just go on with life. Like we’re meant to do when people hurt us because
you will probably hurt me after this. But I will go on… and maybe try again
tomorrow. So do it. Take what I am offering you. Take me.”

His eyes rake over my face and he looks
like he’s literally going to break. I’m a fucking fool for this but as Jane
Austen once said, ‘We are all fools in love’ and more of a fool I become once
he grabs me by the back of my neck and our lips touch. We collide hard, but
stay still. Our lips don’t move. Just the mere touch of each other sends us
adrift. The rapid air from his nostrils strikes me with force and I’m sure mine
is doing the same. I give in. My bottom lip trembles as I separate it from the
top, allowing my tongue to seep through them and break through his. His breath
shutters as he opens and slowly caresses his tongue against mine. His lips move
faster with hunger and urgency. I become in sync with them, tilting my head to
the side and allowing his tongue to dive in further. Our mouths are at war with
one another. The perfect battle at that. I’m trying to make him feel while he
is trying to prevent me from succeeding. I slide my hands around his neck,
grabbing hold of his hair and pressed my body against his. I can feel his hands
hesitate.
Don’t hesitate. Don’t ever
hesitate.
I moan into his mouth. Now his hand is on my waist.
 
The other hand that was gripping my neck
hard starts to slumber. Now it just gently lays there while the other hand digs
its fingers into the fabric of my shirt. His touch electrifies me. Definitely
not going to win this round. But to be totally honest, neither of us will. He
may walk away, but he will walk away still with the taste of me on his lips.

He pushes me to the wall, now covering
my mouth with his callousness. He rips me to shreds with his tongue and teeth
and I love every bit of it. I’ve kissed many guys in my life. Before I started
having sex, I was a kissing whore
—
can’t even
keep count of how many, but this one. This kiss is in the top five at least and
if Liam from Yorkshire weren’t so good, Hugo would be number one.

Oh fuck it!

He is number one. Liam’s kissing never
made me want to rip my clothes off, giving up any kind of dignity left in me.
Hugo is the bloody devil.
 

The kiss comes to a halt. Our foreheads
press together. My eyes still closed, my tongue crossing over my bottom lip
tasting what is left of Hugo. It tastes of the leftover cognac. It’s the best
taste in the world now to me.
 
I
think my blood pressure’s up too. And not to be vulgar, but I’m definitely wet.

I open my eyes. His still tightly
closed.
Open your eyes, Hugo.
I press
my fingertips on his lips, willing him to look at me. He opens them. One blue.
One green. I don’t think I will ever get tired of looking at that contrast. The
perfect ocean and I think I just took a dip in it. Now I want to drown in it.

           
“Well,”
I breathe out the words. “That… was gratifying.” I’m completely limp.

           
“It
was…” I didn’t expect him to agree. “But I’ve had better.”

           
And
there’s the bastard I know. He lets go and walks out. I lean the back of my
head against the wall and place my hand over my stomach that is swarming with
the metaphorical creatures I loathe. Fucking butterflies.

14

HUGO

Stand-up comedian George Carlin once
said that if there is a God, he is convinced he is a he. Because no woman could
ever fuck things up this badly.

I call bullshit on that. Women can fuck
things up badly. I’ve been surrounded by nitwits my entire life. I’ve been
surrounded by men capable of unintelligent comprehension and I have been
surrounded by women capable of deliberate destruction. Men don’t think before
they fuck up. They don’t do it on purpose. They’re dumbasses. Women, they do.
They’re not dumbasses. A woman could fuck things up badly. Jesus, I think my
rant is converting me to feminism.

My whole life women close to me have
fucked me up one way or another. My mother, of course, with her flying act.
Scarlett turning me into basically a vampire and now Juliet. She’s fucking me
up. Scarlett turning me into an asshole, I’m okay with that. I like being a
bloodsucker, but Juliet she’s just
—
I don’t
know! I don’t know what she’s doing to me.
That
kiss. That kiss. That fucking kiss!

“What do I owe this pleasure of
surprise?” I didn’t even realize I had arrived at Scarlett’s new condo. When
did the doorman even let me in? I’m all over the fucking place.

           
I
rush pass her and head straight for the bar. “Where is everyone?” I ask,
pouring myself a glass of… hmph, Remy Martin Black Pearl. Nice.

           
“My
future in-laws are out shopping and plotting my demise, I suppose.”

           
“Your
fiancé?” I pour her a glass.

           
“At
work.”

           
“Good.”
I down the drink.

           
“You
seem on edge,” she notices and I face her.

           
“I’m
quite excited actually.” I force a dry smile. “I am plotting to destroy
someone’s life.”

           
She
smiles sinisterly.

           
“My
father.”

           
“Well
this is a
very
pleasant surprise.
What brought this on?”

           
“Nothing,
it’s just that my usual debauchery is not enough anymore. I’m going to fuck his
wife.”

           
“Sounds
well cultivated.” Her dry sarcasm causes disdain.

           
“Whatever,
I just know that I need to destroy something and he is the one I want to
destroy.”

           
Scarlett
rolls her eyes, unimpressed. Suddenly her eyes drift. She’s thinking something.
Now she stares at me and grins.

           
“It’s
like I was made to have everything easy.” She says.

           
“What
are you talking about?”

           
“Harper,
your step-grandfather,”

“I met him once. He called me Hugh.
He’s an asshole but a smart businessman.”

“Smart indeed. He’s coming out with a
new data security system. It’s set to change technology apparently and every
American capitalist wants it. It’s called Neolock and your dad is set to
invest. Patrick wants to but given your dad’s upper hand, well he had no chance
until now. Harper finds out that not only is his daughter sleeping with her
husband’s son but that her husband is cheating.”

           
“I
like where you’re leading me to, but everyone knows my dad cheats. Half the men
we know do. That’s not a big deal. He won’t let go of an investment for that.”

           
“It
is if your daughter is the most precious and valuable thing to you. She’s a
daddy’s girl. She’s an in denial poor little rich girl who doesn’t know how to
stand up for herself cliché. It’s the oldest tale of a socialite. She. Will.
Break. Patrick’s company ranks higher than your father’s
—
you know this. Once Harper sees how
your father took advantage of his little girl, he will drop them from the deal
and Patrick will get picked up. Especially when there are pictures involved.
Harper would rather drop a few million at least than see his little girl’s
naked body on every social network.”

           
“How
do you know he’ll just go for Patrick’s that quick?”

           
“I
have another mission for an old friend. He’s working on it. With two major
companies out, Harper is a smart man. He will choose the best. Townsend is the
best. The only other one is Fairchild and ever since he died, well no one has
been able to get that company up and running again.”

           
“What
did happen to William Fairchild before he died?”

           
“Last
I heard he let his nephew handle the New York office and two years ago he went
off to marry some girl he met at a bar. That’s when he was forty-one and the
girl was my age I heard. Six months later, death by testicular cancer. Right
before he died he was named the fourth richest hedge fund billionaire in
Forbes. Patrick was fifth.”

“You must’ve googled everything about
the Townsend family and the business after the first date.”

“Come on, Hugo, you know me better than
that,” she says, smiling. “I researched after the first moment I saw him.”

I chuckle. “Well, then… I guess we’re
back.”

           
“I
guess so.” She bites her lip and grabs me by my shirt, pulling me in for a
kiss.

What the
fuck?

           
“What’s
wrong?” she asks, noticing my lips barely moving against hers. I’m hesitating.
Why am I hesitating? Now the kiss between Juliet and I is being compared to
Scarlett. What is this?

           
“Nothing,”
I lie.

           
She
stares intuitively at me. “Don’t lie to me, Hugo. You never lie to me.” She
sounds a bit hurt. I feel guilty for that. Why am I feeling guilty? Why am I
lying?

           
“I’m
fine,” I lie again.

           
“Fucking
lie to me again, Hugo,” her tone rises.

           
“It’s
really not a big deal.” I turn away, looking at anything but Scarlett.
“Juliet,” I rub my chin, thinking. “She’s becoming more of a problem.”

           
“What
kind of problem?”

           
“A
problem that is… unfamiliar. Yeah, that’s the word for it.” I can face her now.
“She told me she might could fall in love with me.”

           
“What?”
Her face contorts in disbelief. “Please don’t tell me you believe that.”

           
“I
don’t know. She’s very unpredictable. She says what she wants and usually what
she says she means. I do think she’s fucking insane.”

           
Her
eyes narrow on me. “Did you sleep with her?”

           
“No,”
I pause before continuing, “but she did kiss me before I came over here.”

           
“Kissed
you,” she repeats slowly.

           
“Yes.
It was one of her clever games to try to get me to show emotion. She did it to
try to stop me from waging war on my father.”

           
“How
was it?” she asks sounding concerned.

           
“It
was good.” I act unbothered. “I won’t lie. I became a little unhinged by it,
but it is just a phase.” I walk closer and wrap my arms around her waist. “She
wants to be but… she will never mean anything to me.”

           
“If
she means nothing, then break her.”

           
“It’s
too risky, you know that. Don’t let your anger get the best of you. It will
blind you and because of that blindness you will become desperate. You taught
me that. It leads to reckless planning.”

           
“I
think you’re being a pussy,” she says adamantly. I let go and back away from
her.

           
“I
am not being a pussy, Scarlett. This girl… is easy and risky at the same time.
I don’t have time for her to get attached. She has no filter.”

           
“You
have no filter. So what is it?” She notices I’m keeping something and I can
continue keeping it. I will keep it. “She showed me scars of hers. She used to
be a cutter.” This is low even for me. I just told Scarlett about the
consequences of desperation and yet here I am desperate. I’ve never been
desperate before in my life. Well that was a lie. I was once, but that no
longer was the case once Scarlett the hunger of my cravings. I craved freedom
from morality. Freedom to not give a fuck. This is me. So why can’t I stop
myself from regretting telling this information about Juliet to the one person
who would use it to destroy her if she crosses her?

           
Scarlett’s
amused. “I haven’t heard that term since Odette Hill.” She laughs a little. She
hasn’t heard that term since Odette Hill because I never told her about Lydia.
Never told anyone until last night. “I knew she wasn’t as tough as she claims
to be.”

           
“On
the contrary, she is.” I’m defending her.

           
“How
can she be? I guarantee you if word gets out about that, she would die.”

           
I
say nothing. Scarlett looks me in the eye. My veracity washes over her face.
God, my eyes tell a lot apparently.

           
“You
admire her, don’t you?”

           
“I
oddly respect her but other than that, I only pity her,” I say with conviction
forcing myself to believe it.

           
“Fine
then stay away from her. Don’t let her distract you. If she tries, spit that
bullshit in her face each time. At some point she is bound to give up.”
Scarlett sighs. Juliet’s no threat to her.
 
She glances at her watch. “Patrick will
be back soon and I need to go see someone.”

           
“Who?”

           
“You
don’t want to know.”

           
What
the hell does that mean?

JULIET

 
“Come along girls.” Jordana, Poppy, and I
follow Ms. Eleanor across the street. We are heading into Rockefeller Plaza.
She is guiding us with her old fashion white umbrella over her head. She’s
wearing an all white dress with ruffles and white-laced gloves. She looks like
a southern belle while we all match our usual personalities. Poppy in a pink,
fluffy short skirt, tan wedges, white silk shirt that hangs off her bony
shoulders, and white sunglasses that bring out her strawberry blonde hair.
Jordana’s outfit is all black. Sexy and divine as usual. Black pants and a
black sheer top that clearly reveals her black bra. Her jet-black ray bans
match well with her cinnamon hair. To me, she kind of resembles a young Anna
Wintour. I’m in a long green maxi dress with my gold nameplate necklace that I
always wear and yellow gold diamond bracelet that was given to me by my
mormor.
I always fiddle with it when I’m
in deep thought and right now I am thinking deeply about the kiss I shared with
Hugo. I can still taste and feel his lips on me and the bewitching outcome I
have endured has become some type of drug to me. I know it’s bad, but I want
it. I need it. I crave more.
 

“Here we have a classic piece from
Pierre Decree.” She brought us to a private auction at Christies where the
finest of china, furniture, and art are being bid on. “We will start the bid at
forty thousand dollars. Do I have forty thousand?”

           
Ms.
Eleanor’s arm with paddle in hand rises immediately for the painting filled
with rainbow colors in the form of swirls. The auctioneer points to her and
people around look at us, some of them knowing her, with disapproving looks.
They probably don’t even care about the painting; they just want to challenge
her.

           
“This
happens every time,” Jordana says once the bid for the painting reaches one
hundred thousand.
 
“That woman
betting against her is Mrs. Grabale. She has a grudge against Ms. Eleanor.”

           
“Why?”

           
“Her
first husband became Ms. Eleanor’s second husband.”

           
I
snicker, shaking my head. “That’s like my Aunt Kathy. The husband of every
woman in my family’s social circle has been hers at some point.” I make a face,
remembering. “Even in our family. She dated my dad when they were at
university.”