Scandalous (Sinners of Saint, #3)

by L.J. Shen

and hummed absentmindedly when a Justin Bieber played on the radio (which, some would say, was tragic in itself.)

“We’ll pour the FroYo on top of the spaghetti and eat it in front of Stranger Things.

this 4 year old watches stranger things help lmao

I may be a thief, but you, Mr. Rexroth, are a liar.”

I’m not asking your underage ass on a Chuck E. Cheese date.

I wanted to show her that the world was a beautiful, frightening place worth experiencing. That peasants could be crowned kings if they worked hard enough, and how her daddy was living proof of that.

Whatever we were, we were toxic. A lullaby on a thoroughly scratched record that keeps hiccupping again and again on the line that you hate.

“Jordan? Why the fuck are you not referring to your dad as Dad?” Because he isn’t. “European education,” I explained, clearing my throat. “European, my ass. Never bullshit a bullshitter, ring a bell?”

There was nothing on the iPad she could benefit from, unless she had the interests and hobbies of a four-year-old. The iPad belonged to Luna. The only repugnant evidence Edie had access to were pictures of animals and food items and some kiddie apps.

At the end of the day, life was not a game of chess. Life was fucking Jenga.

I was the one who had to tackle the real emergencies. Like taking Luna to the pediatrician when a rash broke out all over her body, or when she got stung by a bee, or when she had a fucking breakdown in the middle of Target and cried on the floor for twenty minutes straight because some douchebag hit his dog in front of her in the parking lot and her heart broke along with the dog’s back leg.

Has anyone ever told you you’re funny?” “No,” I grumbled. “That’s because you aren’t. What you are is seriously annoying.”

Her hair was braided sloppily—probably by her dad—and I loved that he tried, even as I made a mental note to redo it.

aww

Sonya? I had one question, but it wasn’t related to Luna. It was, holy-shit-are-you-actually-screwing-your-kid’s-therapist?

He looked up, assessing me, before smirking. “By the way, I have more nanny cams in this place than your porking buddy Bane has tats, piercings, and STDs combined, so stay out of my shit,” he hissed it low so his daughter couldn’t possibly hear it.

Because sometimes, our favorite things are the ones that make us cry.”

Trent’s laptop sat on the dining table across the room. I knew it wasn’t an afterthought. He wanted me to see it. Wanted me to touch it. It was a test, and I was about to fail it—jeopardizing my father’s plan—to try to pacify Luna.

“Me, too.” Throaty. Small. Breathy, like wind caressing waves at dawn. Floored, I blinked away my surprise. Luna had spoken. To me!

“Holy shit!” Her voice pitched high, and she was up in a second, yanking her earbuds out and slamming them against her backpack. “You have to stop sneaking up on me like Pervy McCreepson, dude. What are you doing here?”

“Who is giving you trouble?” Who the fuck am I going to need to end? “Why do you need to come up with this kind of money?” Nothing.

“I’m going to give you the twelve thousand dollars a month, no questions asked, and in return, you will stop stealing shit from me and sniffing around my business.”

never underestimate a broken person. We’re unpredictable, because once you’re broken—what’s one more crack?”

I was angry. I was frantic. I was desperate. I was vengeful. …And I realized that now, I was no longer any of those things.

I gravitated toward him like he was the sun. A beautiful pleasure conceived by nature that could very well kill you if you got too close. He looked at me like I was the moon. Pale and lonely and so far away.

“No. You’re my Delilah, Edie, and I’m your Samson. You want to ruin me, destroy me, strip me of my power, and betray me. I should stay away from you, but I want you too fucking much. And when it’s all over, when all that’s left of us is sweaty flesh and shattered minds and torn hearts, you will remember me as the man who made you cry, and I’ll remember you as the girl I had to break to stay afloat.”

Trent Rexroth wasn’t a crush. He was the very thing that’d end up crushing me if I wasn’t careful.

That night, I watched Edie for far too long. That night, I’d changed. That night, I didn’t take anything from Edie Van Der Zee. For the first time in years—I gave something of myself. Worst part? I’d never be able to retrieve it. It was hers. Forever.

A GREAT BIG WORLD HAS this song, “Say Something”. It’s supposed to be a love song, but for me, it would always be the song I cried to when I got on a bus from San Diego to Todos Santos, with my headphones plugged securely into my ears to silence the rest of the world after Theo threw the punch at me.

i love that song

I stopped, turning around to face her. “Hey, remember when we first met? You were coked out of your ass, and shortly after the whole pregnancy revelation I had to throw you into rehab so you could get better and not fill my kid with enough drugs to grow a second head. And that was before I knew your side piece is the lord of drugs. Care to piss in a cup for me, Valenciana, dear?”

The ocean is her drug. She is mine.