Sinners & Saints (Sinners & Saints #1) (4 page)

Poppy’s room is filled with pink. Pink
couch, pink bed, pink curtains, pink carpet, and just pink everything. She’s
also wearing a diamond necklace with a pink diamond as the charm. I’m sure that
cost a mill. We waste no time and continue to the next room with Poppy joining
us.

“Yo, blue balls!” Jordana loudly jokes
with the boy sitting at his desk on his laptop.

“Can you please stop calling me that?”
he says frustrated, looking up from his screen. “Oh, hi, you must be Juliet
Spears.” He gets up and stretches out his hand for me to shake.

I greet him and look around his room. It
consists of pictures of cars and artifacts from Egypt and Africa and a samurai
sword mounted on his wall. I then study Cody. He’s very tall, mocha skin,
scrawny, his hair shaved on the sides with a bit of hair at the top. He has the
face of a child, really
—
a really
cute boy. He has that sweet, assuring smile you don’t get every day. You can
tell there’s still pureness within him. I wouldn’t be shocked if he were still
a virgin.

“Cody is our resident saint,” Jordana
says lying down on his bed.

“This house is full of ignorance, just
to warn you,” Cody says, rolling his eyes and sitting at the foot of his bed.
He ushers his hand towards it. “You can sit.” I sit on the edge and Poppy jumps
on it next to Jordana. They all stare at me for a moment, trying to read me
probably. Poppy stares at my outfit, twirling her strawberry blonde hair. All I
have on is a white shirt, my gold nameplate necklace, jeans, and sandals. Call
me crazy, but I think Cody and Jordana are both staring at my tits, which I
lack, so maybe they just think I’m abnormal or maybe Jordana likes the
ladies.
 

“So what’s everyone’s story?” I ask
them. I’m curious to quickly know the people I will be living with and I want
to stop the awkward silence.

When meeting people of wealth, sometimes
we are used to stating the first thing when it comes to us, which is what type
of money we come from. It just comes naturally in our minds because we think
when other people of wealth ask us, they are fishing for our credentials.
Everyone is in competition when it comes to wealth. They want to know who is
richer. Who comes from old money and who is fresh off the bloody new boat? I’ve
always encountered people like this and I don’t want to encounter it here.

As each of my new housemates list their
credentials to me in a typical rich kid fashion, I take mental notes.

Jordana Abbott

Parents: Bruce Abbott and Billie Jean
Abbott. (Divorced but still sleeping with each

other, according to her.)

Bruce Abbott’s Occupation: Eleven time
Grammy award winning producer and

cofounder of Hypnotic Records, one of the
top record labels in America.

Billie Jean Abbott’s Occupation: Former
model, author of seven bestsellers on

feminism, marriage, self-help books for
women, and my personal favorite,

Men Come
from Shit
(page turner, I swear).

Family Net Worth: $735 Million (parents
combined)

Cody Nichols

Parents: Jameson and Elaine Nichols

Jameson Nichols’ Occupation: owner of
one of the best hospitals in New York,

eight medical research labs, and three
pharmaceutical companies.

Elaine Nichol’s Occupation: ranked the 8
^th
best heart surgeon in America.

Ranked 22
^nd
best in the
world. Co-owner of the pharmaceutical companies with husband.

Family Net worth: $18.6 Billion

Poppy Montgomery

Parents: Richard and Lindsey Montgomery

Richard Montgomery’s Occupation:
self-made millionaire, CEO of Montgomery
 

Holdings.

Lindsey Montgomery’s Occupation: former
model, socialite.

Family Net Worth: $600 Million

Damn… I’m going to be living with
pretentious twats.

 
“Don’t worry, we’re not those type of
snobs.” Jordan notices my change of mood. “We only state the family net worth
because whoever is the richest family in the house has to buy the most rounds
of drinks when we go out.” Thank God.

I laugh if off. “Okay.”

 
“What does your dad do?” Poppy asks me.

“My dad is a member of parliament. He
serves under the Queen.”

“Oh my God, have you ever met her?!”
Poppy’s eyes light up at the possibility.

“Um, yeah, actually it’s a very
interesting story.”

“What happened?” Cody asks.

“I sort of asked her where she gets her
knickers from.”

“Knickers?” Jordana grins at me. “As in
underwear?”

“Yep… my mum almost fainted in
Buckingham Palace.”

Laughs erupt.

“Wait, what did she say?” Poppy asks.

“Nothing, she just laughed and winked at
me. She was very pleasant. I don’t understand what all the fuss was about. I
mean, that was a good question. Don’t you Americans ever wonder what kind of
undergarments your President and his first lady have on?”

They all looked at each other. “Yeah,”
they answered in unison.

“Thank you.”

“You are very direct.” Jordana’s amused
eyes squint at me as if I am unreal. “You have to be to ask the Queen of
England that.”

“Yah, my mum says my intolerance for
discretion is what keeps her blood pressure at an immense level.”

“How does your dad take it?” Cody asks.

 
“Quite well.
 
He’s the only man in the government that
doesn’t have a stick up his arse.”

“What about your mom?” Poppy asks.

“My mum’s family originally hails from
Sweden. She comes from money due to my grandfather. He created a diversified
trading company. One of the best in Europe.”

“What’s your mother’s maiden name?” Cody
asks.

“Nordstrand.”

“Hey,” Cody snaps his fingers. “My
grandparents actually did business with him.”

“Yeah, I don’t remember him much. I was
two when he died, but my
mormor
—
grandmother in Swedish
—
she always spoke so highly of him.
Actually, she was friends with Ms. Eleanor; that’s how I came to be here.”

“Oh, yeah she mentioned that. From what
I hear, your grandmother and Ms. Eleanor used to party hard,” Jordana says.

“I’m sure of it,” I laugh. “But she died
two years ago. I miss her greatly.”

“Sorry to hear that,” Cody says with
sincerity along with Poppy and Jordana. “And I’m not telling you my family’s
net worth,” I add.

“No worries, Google just informed me,”
Jordana announces while looking at her phone.

“The only reason why we know ours is
because of Google. No one just keeps track,” Cody tells me. “Well, I hope not.”

“Northstrand is $5.4 billion. Her
father’s family is $6.7 million. We got ourselves another billionaire.” I begin
to laugh as Jordana insists we continue with the tour. We leave out of Cody’s
room.

 
“So is it you Cody or is someone else
still the richest?” I ask as my eyes drift to the stairway in the corner of the
hall leading to what I assume is the third floor. “And what’s up there?”

“Oh, well the richest people in the
house,” Jordana answers, “Hugo and August live up there.”

“Who?”

“Hugo and August Mandrake. They’re brothers.
Identical twins, actually.”

“Except, August is autistic,” Poppy says
with a sad expression on her face.

“Oh,” I say, staring at the stairwell.
I’m curious about it. It seems dark and mysterious, the dark path that leads up
to their rooms. I look forward to meeting them.
 

“Let’s go to the living room and take
advantage of Eleanor’s liquor cabinet,” Poppy hops clapping her hands together.
I follow them only taking one last glance back at the staircase.

HUGO

“Wassup Hugo,” I’m greeted by Nina.
She’s answering the door in nothing but mismatching bra and underwear. Her bra
is blue and satin while her underwear is purple, red, and pink stripes. Very
annoying when girls do that. It almost makes me not want to have sex with them…
almost.
 

“Hello Nina. Is David in?”

She pops her gum. The sound is loud and
sharp, igniting my frustration with basically the human race. “Bob Marley is in
the back.”

I pass through Nina and head to the back
of the brownstone where David is. I walk in on him snorting a line with his brown
dreads tied up.

“Hugo!!” David raises his hands up in
the air in a dancing manner. “My good friend! My friend that sees everything.”

“I see we are having a good morning.” I
sit down on the couch next to him.

“Ah, yes a wonderful morning my brotha.”
David goes back to his coke. I look around the room where there are a dozen Marley
posters and a Jamaican flag surrounding us. The room filled with black
furniture and walls, with marijuana plants in each corner of the room set on
top of white Greek marble stands. David Westonburg is a 25-year-old druggy that
thinks he’s a Rastafarian. He always goes through changes of identity. In high
school he went through an Orthodox Jewish phase because of his mother’s new husband
who was a famous rabbi. He even took the last name. After they divorced, he
became an atheist until he traveled overseas to go find himself. On his journey
he stumbled upon a group of Jamaicans who changed his life forever, so he says.
Ever since then he has lived by the words of the greats, which to him is Bob
Marley and God. Sometimes he confuses them for the same person.

“You want some?” he asks, wiping the
leftover white powder from his nose.

“It’s too early for me,” I say pulling
out my credit card. He’s the only drug dealer I know who takes cash and credit.
I respect him for that.

“Okay brotha, but it’s good shit.”

“Well, I am here to purchase.”

“What do you need?”

“Ten grams of green, white widow, cherry
and mango kush, six eight balls, and twenty molly’s.”

He bobbles his head and rolls his
shoulders in excitement. “Okey dokey. Nina!”

Nina walks in still in her mismatching
bra and panties and still popping gum, most likely the same piece as before.

“What do you want?” her thick Bronx
accent quickly comes with attitude.

“Go fetch the green and powder, please?
Ten grams, white widow, cherry and mango kush, six eight balls.” She rolls her eyes
and leaves as he pulls out the colonial treasure jewelry box that is filled
with molly. David met Nina at a club three years ago and as much as they talk
shit to each other and fight like crazy, they can’t get enough of each other. I
don’t understand it. I guess it’s the delusion of love.

“So what have you been up to, man?” He
sets the coke aside and grabs his bong. At this rate in his drug intake, I
expect David’s life expectancy to peak at twenty-nine.

“Oh, you know the usual debauchery and
menacing in our good natured society.”

“That’s right, man.” He lights up the
bong and inhales the smoke. “Don’t ever let the man conform you,” he chokes
out. “Live life beautifully.”

“Is that what you’re doing, David?” He
passes the bong to me. I wasn’t going to take a hit, but why the hell not.

He sits back on his couch, stretching
his arms and sighs. “Hell yeah. I’m good where I’m at, man. I’m happy.” The way
he says it, I almost believe him. Then again maybe he is happy with his
pointless existence.

“The greatness of a man is not in how
much wealth he acquires, but in his integrity and his ability to affect those
around him positively.”

I puff out the smoke from the bong.
“Words of Marley, himself.”

“Hell yeah!” He slaps his knee.

“And that’s what you do? Affect people
positively?”

“Indeed, my good man.” He points to his
heart. “Through this.” Points to his head. “And this.” He smiles and points to
the drugs on the table. “And thiiiiis.”

“Wow, David. Everyone should aspire to
be like you.” He laughs at my dry sarcasm.

“Herb is the healing of a nation.
Alcohol is the destruction.” Words of Bob Marley again, I’m sure. “That’s why I
don’t drink.”

           
“I
don’t think Marley referenced cocaine and pills in his words of wisdom, David.”

           
David’s
smile tightens. He squints his eyes and stares off, taking my words into
consideration. He starts to frown. “You’re probably right, man.” He tilts his
head to the side. “I should probably stop selling cocaine and pills, huh?”