Vicious (Sinners of Saint Book 1)

IT WAS TIME I CAME face to face with Jo.

I needed to. Not because of closure or to talk about it or some psychological bullshit, but because I needed to deal with what she’d done. She’d tricked my father. She’d sent her brother to kill my mother. And now she’d revealed her true, shitty personality again by firing Emilia’s folks.

This had to stop.

It had to stop a long time ago, but now I didn’t have time to stew in my anger for her anymore. I had to act.

My plan wasn’t sophisticated. It wasn’t brilliant. It was actually borderline stupid. But it was the only one I had at this point.

I hoped Jo wasn’t there when I got to town, because it would’ve made things a lot easier, but I knew that more than likely, she was there and waiting for me.

The flight to San Diego passed quickly. I had so much shit to catch up on, seeing as I’d slept through the majority of the day two days ago—hence my lateness to Emilia’s commute home. At least I saw the complete and utter relief on her face when I finally made it, albeit ten minutes late when she was already at the door.

Our private driver, Cliff, was no longer at my disposal, seeing as my father no longer owned the car, so I took a cab to Todos Santos and called Dean on my way there. We were still cold to each other, but being the new majority shareholder of FHH—something neither Jaime nor Trent liked one bit—had made Dean fucking agreeable for a change. He was no longer falsely heartbroken over his ex-girlfriend, and if I didn’t know better, I’d think he actually loved the LA life.

“Where’s a good Mexican place to eat in this city?” he muttered when he picked up the phone, then yawned. It was seven in the morning. Jesus fuck.

“Pink Taco. Listen, I need a favor.”

“Another one?” Dean groaned.

I could practically hear him rolling his eyes on the other end of the line, and it grated on my nerves. I could also practically hear another woman in my bed moaning for him to lower his voice.

And then another one.

Two. Goddammit, Dean.

“Spit it out.” He sighed.

“I’ll be at your place tonight, ten or later. We’ll party all night. You’re throwing a big-ass party at my condo, and you must invite a ton of people. I’m talking at least fifty.”

“And why the fuck?”

“Dean,” I warned. I hated it when he asked questions. He never asked the right ones. “Just do it.”

“Fine, asswipe.”

I hung up the phone just as I entered the estate. The codes were the same. Jo hadn’t bothered changing them for some reason. She didn’t think I’d come back. Naturally. She didn’t know I was privy to what they did to my mom. I think she just assumed I hated her because she was competition. Unfortunately for her, it wasn’t the truth.

My first stop was at Emilia’s parents at the servants’ apartment. I knocked on their door and walked right in. They were packing. Her mom, Charlene, shoved their tacky tablecloths and family pictures into a box while her dad swept the floor. Like fucking Jo deserved them cleaning their house before they left.

“You need to come with me,” I told them. I didn’t ask them how they were doing because the answer was fucking obvious, and I didn’t offer my apology because it wasn’t my fault Josephine was a nasty piece of work. Instead, I offered solutions. Fast ones. “I booked you a room at a hotel and rented a space for your stuff in a self-storage warehouse outside of town. Come on, the taxi’s waiting.”

Emilia’s mom was the first to react to me. She stopped what she was doing, walked silently to where I stood and slapped me across the face. Hard. I guess she did what both her daughters tried to at some point, so I had this coming.

I cocked my head to the side and watched her. Tears streamed down her face freely. Such a change from Emilia, who always held back. Even though Emilia looked like a young Jo, she looked nothing like either of her parents.

Charlene looked tired and worn out.

“What have you done to my daughter?” Her voice shook.

I looked her in the eye. “I did to her exactly what she did to me, but I promise you, I will take care of her from now on. That is, if she’ll let me.”

It was Emilia’s father’s turn to join the conversation, and my heart stopped when I watched him walking over to me. I’d never cared what any girl’s parents thought about me. Ever. But there was something about this guy that made me want to beg him to give me a second chance.

His brows were furrowed and his eyes twitched. “I never liked you,” he said simply.

I nodded. “Can’t blame you.”

“I don’t want you near my daughter, Baron. You’re not good for her.”

“See, this is where I beg to differ.” I strode deeper into their living room and picked up two of the big suitcases. Moving back to the door, I motioned with my head for them to follow me. “I’m going to sort out the Jo situation and secure you two another job, but in the meantime, you’ll have to respect her wishes and vacate the premises.”

It was an order they didn’t have much choice except to obey. They followed me across the pebbled walkway in the front garden to the taxi waiting outside the gate. I tipped the driver two hundred bucks to check them in, because the LeBlanc couple had never checked into a hotel before, which was again, a painful reminder of how humble Emilia’s upbringing was, and how she still didn’t give a fuck about my wealth.

After I made sure the LeBlancs were on their way to The Vineyard, Todos Santos’s best five-star hotel, I strolled into the mansion that used to be mine like I still owned the place. The house was open, meaning Josephine was there. I went straight to the kitchen, and when I didn’t find her there, I checked the pool.

She was tanning, lying on a sunbed, wearing a huge pair of designer shades and a skimpy bikini that screamed I’m still young. And lied.

I paced quietly in her direction and took a seat next to her. I was still wearing my suit. It was early morning and the sun was not even fully out, not to mention that it was mid-March, but I remembered Jo talking with her society friends about how a natural tan always beats the machines and tanning creams. She’d freeze her ass outside for a glimpse of a sunray.

“You think this is going to defrost your cold heart?” I asked evenly.

I guess her eyes were closed because the minute I started speaking, she jumped and almost hit the sunshade behind us. She scooted to a sitting position, yanking the shades from her face and scowling at me. “What are you doing here? I’m calling the police!”

She could call the police, but really? On her stepson? It wasn’t breaking and entering. And I wasn’t aggressive in any way.

Yet.

I leaned back on my sunbed and crossed my legs, staring at the kidney-shaped pool. Jo loved swimming in it. I wondered if she would still be keen on using it if she knew how many teenagers fucked in it during my badass high school parties for four years in a row.

“I thought you said you wanted to do dinners and wine more often,” I said, my tone still calm.

Water mattresses floated on the surface of the massive pool like weightless ballerinas, different colors, shapes and sizes, and it all reminded me of a Bret Easton Ellis book. The rich assholes. The bitchy stepmom. It was all so fucked up to the core. Not that I was making excuses, but I really did have a miniscule chance at turning out differently than I had.

“You didn’t come here to spend time with me, and no matter what you have to ask, the answer is no. I don’t want them on my property anymore. They’re too old for the job, anyway.” Josephine lifted a glass of ice water and brought the straw to her lips, her movements ladylike and gentle.

It was funny hearing this from her. Emilia’s parents were the exact same age as Jo. The only difference was the LeBlancs actually worked for a living. They weren’t the useless ones. She was.

“That’s fine. Charlene is going to cook for me in LA, and Paul needed to retire two years ago.” I still needed to find a place for them to live, but otherwise, I doubted Dean would have a problem. “I actually came here to let you in on a secret.” I offered her a smile.

She stopped sucking on her straw and arched an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“I know what you and Daryl did. I know what my dad agreed to do. Know how my mother died. I. Know. Everything.”

It was beautiful to see her face whitening and her teeth chattering when the weather and my cold words finally caught up with her body. The glass shattered on the tiles, tiny ice cubes flying everywhere. She opened her mouth, no doubt about to deny the accusation—

“Please, Josephine. No more bullshit. The only reason I spared you from justice all this time was because I didn’t deserve to get dragged through all this shit along with you.” Besides, the plan was always to make sure Josephine would be left with nothing to live for, too.

And it almost happened.

No husband.

No brother.

No family.

No nothing.

Except money.

“I was weighing my options in New York, trying to figure out what I want to do about the whole situation. Well, I think I finally made up my mind.” My voice was so light, but her expression darkened.

Everything was strained and wrinkled. She stared at me in complete horror and shock, clutching the tough canvas of the sunbed. “Baron…” Her Botoxed lips quivered. “I don’t know what makes you think I had anything to do with your mother’s death—”

“Don’t lie to me.” I blinked once, watching her intently, then shook my head. “I heard your conversation with my dad. Heard the little heart-to-heart you had with him. You’re pretty convincing, aren’t you? Well, you’ve never fooled me. It was a matter of when to strike, not if.”

“You misunderstood. I promise you I will rehire the LeBlancs, and you and I should talk about the will. It wasn’t fair that you father left everything to me. We can reach a financial settlement. I can…”

I tuned her out. She thought it was about the money. How sad was her life? I leaned forward, taking her face in my hands. Gentle. Her breath hitched. Her eyes widened. I was close to her. Leaning into her. Our knees brushing together. Bile bubbled up my throat when I smiled at her serenely. Sickly. Acting like the psychopath she always thought I was.

And maybe I was a psychopath. Maybe she was the person who made me one.

“Jo?” I asked, my voice soft. “Do yourself a favor. Leave this house tonight. I would also advise against sharing this conversation with anyone. You were brave, Jo. So brave to tell my father that Marie was better off dead than alive in her condition. I’d like to see how brave you are if I go to the police. It’s true you might even still get away with having her murdered. But are you willing to take that chance?

“Now, get back to your precious tan,” I patted her cheek, getting up from my seat. “Who knows? It just might be your last.”

Ever since I was a kid, I’d had dreams, vivid dreams, about burning down my father’s mansion. I just knew it had to be done. I knew it would soothe the pain, make it go away. Not all of it, but enough for me to live. After I grew up, I even believed that it was the root of my sleeping problems. I just wanted the place to cease to exist, along with my memories of Daryl hitting me, Jo and Dad’s conversation, and everything else.

But the Spencer mansion sprawled over 12,000 square feet. It was huge and made of bricks, not exactly the easiest thing to set on fire.

Still—you never know until you tried, right?

The servant’s apartment was only about a hundred feet from the main house, not too far away, and while Jo came in and out of the main kitchen several times a day, she’d never even knocked on the LeBlancs’ door once. So, after I said goodbye to a shocked Jo, I went back there.

I walked into Emilia’s room, nonchalant as ever. I hummed Kravinsky’s “Nightcall” because it finally dawned on me, albeit out of nowhere, that Emilia liked the song because it was about me. I collected everything I thought she’d miss. Framed pictures. Mementos from high school. Her favorite boots. Tucking everything that wasn’t already packed by her parents and shoving it into a box.

I spent the next three hours carrying all of the LeBlancs boxes to an SUV in the garage and making three trips to the storage warehouse outside of town.

Emilia’s box, though, I kept for myself.

All that time, I saw Jo through the vast French doors of the mansion’s kitchen. Pacing, tossing back glass after glass of wine, and losing her shit. Then, when I was finally done, I turned on the gas burners of the stove in the pool house—all four of them—and left.

I wouldn’t do the burning down myself. I needed an alibi. But it was going to happen. Finally.

If Jo decided to stay in the house and burn down with it, that was her problem, not mine.

I’d warned her.

Now I had one more mission before I went back to New York—win the LeBlanc couple over.