Defy (Sinners of Saint, #0.5)

by L.J. Shen

“I would always rather be happy than dignified.” —Charlotte Brontë, Jane Eyre

Originally, the anchor symbol was not used by those on the water, but by people on land. During the early years of Christianity, Christians were under heavy persecution by the Romans. To show their religion to other practicing Christians under the watchful eye of the ruling people, they would wear anchor jewelry or even tattoo anchors on themselves. The anchor was seen as a symbol of strength as anchors hold down ships even in the stormiest of weather. It was also a popular symbol because of its close resemblance to the cross. Anchors were also used to mark safe houses for those seeking refuge from persecution.

My name is Melody Greene, and I did something bad because it made me feel good. Here is why it was totally worth it.

“Is mine until school ends. I will eat it, fuck it, play with it, and sleep in it if I want to. And I want to. I wanna do all those things to you.”

“We’re going to be exclusive. If I catch you spreading those toned legs for anyone else, he’s gonna regret he was born with a dick.” Oh yeah? Was he going to resist all the temptation that was swarming around him like bad BO at Coachella? As if reading my mind, he added, “My cock will only have two homes. Your mouth and your pussy. Ass, too, if you’re feeling adventurous.”

Booze and eighteen-year-old jocks who are hung like a horse made this girl hella happy.

“You’re it. You’re so. Fucking. It. Smart, sassy, and witty, and unimpressed with all the wealth and bullshit drama around you. You have no idea how hot you are. Which makes you even hotter. This is fucking happening, baby. We’re happening.”

Dean Cole had his elbows on his desk, leaning forward, drinking her words like they were oxygen. And Vicious? He looked at her like she was his.

So lost. So confused. So fucking mine. Owning someone has never felt this good.

If Vicious was the evil one, and Dean was the stoner one, and Trent was the lost, beautiful soul searching for its mate, Jaime was the cement that glued them together. He was the guy you could always count on. And I was starting to count on him too.

“Men with big cocks have fragile hearts. You know the saying: big cock, big heart. Well, I’m proof it’s true.”

Because I think about you before I think about myself. Always remember that, Little Ballerina. Always.

“Truth or dare?” he asks out of nowhere. “Truth. Brave people always choose the truth.” I grin. “Is it true that you’ll always be mine?” He lowers his mouth to my ear, his warm breath tickling my skin. “It’s a truth. And sometimes, when you piss me off, it’s a dare. But it’s my life, and you’re a part of it. Always and forever,” I say. “Always and forever,” he repeats, and I hold on to my anchor, squeezing it—and my real-life anchor—hard.