Ruthless Saints: A Dark College Bully Romance (Heirs of Havoc) by Vanessa Winters

Author:Vanessa Winters [Winters, Vanessa]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-07-04T18:30:00+00:00

16

Jude

Brooklyn and I stayed out all night. Driving around in some shitty car I would’ve never paid attention to otherwise after picking up a bottle of whiskey she had at her place—because there was no way we could walk into a bar in this town without Margeaux or Lila finding out—we spent the night talking. She dropped me off right as the first rays of the sun began to rise. And I didn’t know what kind of witchcraft that girl had, but I fell asleep smiling.

When I got out of bed that morning, it was the most well-rested I had ever felt in my life. No dreams, no nightmares, no desperation to grab for a cigarette as soon as I opened my eyes. I stretched and thought about what we could do together today. What we might be able to get into. And while I didn’t understand the type of hold this girl had on me, I knew I had to be in her presence today. I had to taste her, touch her, and smell her. I had to see her.

And I wanted nothing else in my life.

I had never felt like this before. Not with anyone. I had been with dozens of different women, and none of them held a candle to what Brooklyn did to me. And these women were the cream of the crop: beautiful, smart, appealing women. I mean, shit, I slept with a pop star when she was filming a music video at our campus, snorting cocaine off my iron-flat abs. That was nothing, nothing compared to this.

I wanted more, too.

She had me questioning everything I knew. Everything I had learned about women and how they reacted to me, she went against. There wasn’t anything about her that I didn’t find lovely, and there wasn’t a damn feature on her body that I didn’t find to be the sexiest I’d ever come across. From the light freckles scattered across her shoulders to the beauty mark she had just south of her pouty lower lip, there wasn’t a part of her my tongue didn’t want to touch. And it was exciting. Her fire, her passion, her absolute inability to back down from a challenge was like nothing I had ever experienced. Every person I had ever grown up with prided themselves on being detached, cool above all else. Brooklyn was so emotional it was almost scary. She cared about everything, and she didn’t care who knew it.

I craved more of that.

I sat up in bed and swung my naked legs over the side. With my hair a disheveled mess and my morning breath wreaking of stale whiskey, I reached for my bedside table. As I sat on the edge of my California king-sized, four-poster bed, I slid the article out of my nightstand and folded the paper over until I stared at nothing but her words. My eyes traced her byline. My fingertips danced across her words. And as I looked at it with an unjudgmental eye, I understood why people were drawn to her words.

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