Saint

“You can ignore me all you want,” he says. “But that’s not going to save you. Nothing will save you now, cunt.”

When he calls me the c-word, my stomach twists and knots with hatred. I want to hurt him. Make him feel as low as he made that girl feel. As he’s trying to make me feel.

Entitled pieces of shit like this guy get away with everything, and it’s not fair. He deserves punishment. He deserves humiliation.

He deserves pain.

“Fuck, you’re not worth my time,” he snaps before I can hurl an insult back at him, and I feel him turn away from me. He’s given up. Is leaving me alone.

I should let him go.

I know that I should let him walk away and put this whole thing behind me.

But I can’t.

I just fucking can’t.

There’s an apple on the table next to me. I pick it up, and without thinking my actions through, turn on my heel and launch it at the back of his head. He lurches forward a step at the impact, and the apple falls to the tile floor with a bruising thump.

The entire hall falls deathly silent.

All eyes bounce between me and him. In that moment, I realize who he was heading toward when he gave me the verbal middle finger.

Gabe Carlson and William Halloway.

They’re both glaring at me as though they want to attack me, too, and my heart thumps madly as the reality of my situation sets in. Dread unfurls in my belly as I put two-and-one together in my head.

I’ve just fucked up in a major way, and I don’t know if I can dig myself out of this deep of shit.

Slowly, the blond boy twists around to stare at me, wrath and disbelief staining his gaze. Gabe and Liam flank him, all three setting their sights on me as if preparing to unleash holy hell.

I know who the blond guy is without anyone needing to tell me.

The third “god” that Alondra mentioned.

Satan himself.

Saint-Fucking-Angelle.