Defy (Sinners of Saint ) - L.J. KB. Vicious (Sinners of Saint #1) - L.J. KB. Ruckus (Sinners of Saint #2) - L.J. PDF[EPUB] Vicious (Sinners of Saint) PDF EPUB site By L.J. Shen Vicious ( Sinners of Saint) PDF, Read Online Vicious (Sinners of Saint). Vicious: She is a starving artist. Pretty and evasive like cherry blossom. File; Original TitleVicious (Sinners of.

Vicious Lj Shen Epub

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We were supposed to be best friends. But turned out to be worst enemies Penn They say revenge is a dish best served cold. I'd had four. L J Shen - [Sinners of Saint 01] - Vicious (epub). Dokument: epub ( KB) VICIOUS Edited by: Karen Dale Harris, Vanessa Leret Bridges Cover Model. Scandalous (Sinners of Saint #4) by L.J. Shen. Dokument: epub ( KB). 1, 2, 3, 4, 5. 12 ocen, średnia ocena 3. Pobierz plik *.epub .. L J Shen - [Sinners of Saint 01] - Vicious (epub) wyświetleń. KB · L J Shen.

Soaring floor-to-ceiling, walnut shelves full of hardbacks lined the walls. I felt a pang in my chest because I somehow knew there wasn't any way I'd ever be allowed in there again.

His eyes narrowed. They felt like the sight of a rifle aimed at me. The fact that we were about the same age somehow made everything about the situation worse. I ducked my head, my cheeks flaming with enough heat to burn down the whole house. I frantically shook my head no , but that was a lie.

Pretty Reckless by L.J. Shen

I'd always been a terrible liar. I was looking for her. I'd never been a scaredy-cat. I was always the brave one. But I didn't feel so brave at that moment. After all, I wasn't supposed to be there, in his house, and I definitely wasn't supposed to be listening to their argument.

The young man took a step closer, and I took a step back.

His eyes were dead, but his lips were red, full, and very much alive. This guy is going to break my heart if I let him. The voice came from somewhere inside my head, and the thought stunned me because it made no sense at all.

I'd never fallen in love before, and I was too anxious to even register his eye color or hairstyle, let alone the notion of ever having any feelings for the guy. He smelled delicious-a masculine spice of boy-man, sweet sweat, sour hormones, and the faint trace of clean laundry, one of my mama's many chores.

Y'all can too. I withdrew it quickly, embarrassment flaming my cheeks again. Next time I find you anywhere inside my house, bring a body bag because you won't be leaving alive. I choked on my breath. My gaze bolted to the older man, and our eyes locked. He shook his head and grinned in a way that made me want to fold into myself and disappear. Blood dripped from his lip onto his leather boot-black like his worn MC jacket.

What was he doing in a place like this, anyway? He just stared at me, making no move to clean up the blood. I turned around and ran, feeling the bile burning in my throat, threatening to spill over.

Needless to say, Rosie had to make do without her medicine that week and my parents were paid not a minute earlier than when they were scheduled to. Today, when I walked through the kitchen and climbed the stairs, I had no choice. I knocked on Vicious's bedroom door.

His room was on the second floor at the end of the wide curved hallway, the door facing the floating stone staircase of the cave-like mansion. I'd never been near Vicious's room, and I wished I could keep it that way. Unfortunately, my calculus book had been stolen. Whoever broke into my locker had wiped it clean of my stuff and left garbage inside.

Empty soda cans, cleaning supplies, and condom wrappers spilled out the minute I opened the locker door.

Just another not-so-clever, yet effective, way for the students at All Saints High to remind me that I was nothing but the cheap help around here. By that point, I was so used to it I barely reddened at all. When all eyes in the hallway darted to me, snickers and chuckles rising out of every throat, I tilted my chin up and marched straight to my next class. All Saints High was a school full of spoiled, over-privileged sinners.

A school where if you failed to dress or act a certain way, you didn't belong. Rosie blended in better than I did, thank the Lord.

But with a Southern drawl, off-beat style, and one of the most popular guys at school-that being Vicious Spencer-hating my guts, I didn't fit in. What made it worse was that I didn't want to fit in. These kids didn't impress me. They weren't kind or welcoming or even very smart.

They didn't possess any of the qualities I looked for in friends. But I needed my textbook badly if I ever wanted to escape this place.

I knocked three times on the mahogany door of Vicious's bedroom. Rolling my lower lip between my fingers, I tried to suck in as much oxygen as I could, but it did nothing to calm the throbbing pulse in my neck. Please don't be there,,, Please don't be an ass,,, Please,,, A soft noise seeped from the crack under the door, and my body tensed.

Joao Antonio Marques Cover Designer: If he loved her, he couldn't leave. If he spoke, he couldn't listen. If he fought, he couldn't win. They're one of the rare monogamous animals, and engage in an eight-hour courtship dance which, among other things, includes swimming side by side and changing colors.

They're romantic, elegant, and fragile. Just like love. They remind us that love is meant to be wild, just like the ocean. Plural-gluttonies 1: In my opinion, anyway. And my opinion was the one that mattered in that moment, under the unforgiving sun of SoCal on a May afternoon on Todos Santos' promenade, when I was in desperate need of some cash.

Leaning against the white railing separating the bustling boardwalk from the shimmering ocean and dazzling yachts, I people-watched. I judged them. The way they drank their organic, ten-buck smoothies and glided on custom-made multi-colored skateboards signed by Tony Hawk. I judged them, knowing full well they couldn't do the same to me. I was in hiding. Veiled beneath a thick black hoodie, my hands shoved deep inside my pockets. I wore black skinny jeans, an old pair of unlaced Dr.

Martens, and a tattered JanSport backpack held together with safety pins. I looked androgynous. I moved like a ghost.

I felt like a hoax. And today, I was about to do something that'd make living with myself harder. As with any dangerous game, there were rules to abide by: I thrived on the rich, targeting the prototypes of my parents. The women with the Gucci bags and the men in the Brunello Cucinelli suits.

The ladies with the poodles peeking out from their studded Michael Kors handbags, and the gentlemen who looked like they were comfortable spending on a cigar what a normal person would put toward their monthly rent. Spotting potential victims at the promenade was embarrassingly easy. Todos Santos was the richest town in California, as of the census, and much to the old money's dismay, Nouveau Riches like my father had come settling on this piece of land, armed with monstrous, Italian-imported vehicles and enough jewelry to sink a battleship.

I shook my head, staring at the explosion of colors, scents and tan, half-clothed bodies. Focus, Edie, focus. A good hunter could smell it from miles away. My meal for the day had passed me briskly, unknowingly drawing attention to herself. She threw her head back, revealing a straight row of pearly whites.

A middle-aged, Chanel-wearing trophy wife, wrapped head-to-toe in the latest season's garments. I wasn't big on fashion, but my father loved spoiling his beloved mistresses with luxurious garbs and parading them around at social events, introducing them as his very personal assistants.

My mother would download these designer items herself in a desperate plea to resemble the younger women who entertained him. I knew wealth when I saw it. And this woman? She wasn't hungry. Not for food and not for love, the only two things that mattered. Little did she know, her money was going to download me love. Her soon-to-be empty wallet was going to fill my heart to the brim.

Think we can go there tomorrow? Maybe Dar will tag along," she drawled, puffing her chin-length platinum bob with her manicured hand.

Her back was already to me when I noticed her arm was linked with that of a tall, dark, and handsome type, at least twenty years her junior. Built like Robocop and dressed like a dapper David Beckham.

Was he her boy toy? Old friend? It made little-to-no difference to me. She was the perfect victim. Distracted, disordered, and overbearing; parting ways with her wallet would be merely an inconvenience for this lady.

She probably had a PA or some other form of poor, unfortunate soul on her payroll to deal with the consequences. Someone who would order new credit cards and issue a new driver's license and unburden her from the nuisance of bureaucracy. Someone like Camila. Stealing was much like walking a tight rope. The secret was in your poise and ability to not look into the abyss, or in my case, the victim's eyes.

I was lean, short, and nimble. I navigated through the throng of boisterous teenyboppers in bikinis and families licking ice cream, my eyes trained on the black and gold YSL bag dangling from her arm. Sounds became muffled, bodies and food trucks vanished from my vision, and all I saw was that bag and my goal. Recalling everything I'd learned from Bane, I inhaled deeply and lunged for the purse. I yanked it from her arm and made a beeline to one of the many alleyways slicing the shops and restaurants on the boardwalk.

I didn't look back. I ran blindly, desperately, furiously.

Tag: L.J. Shen

Tap, tap, tap, tap. My Docs were heavy against the sizzling concrete beneath me, but the consequences of not coming up with the money I needed sat heftier on my heart. The thick sound of girls laughing on the promenade evaporated as I put more space between me and my target.

I could have been one of them. I still can.

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Why am I doing this? Why can't I just let it go? One more corner to round and I'd be in my car, flipping the bag open and examining my treasure. Drunk on adrenaline and high on endorphins, a hysterical laugh bubbled from my throat.

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I hated mugging people. I hated the feeling that accompanied the act even more. But most of all-I hated myself. Click the spoiler below to find out more. The hero would say and think such wonderful things about the heroine that made this truly a romantic delight for all.

Or who could forget this amazing declaration "This was so on. If I was going to corrupt her morally, I needed more ammo.

She could wait. First, I needed to know when we were going to read the will. And when she leaves him because he is using her and oh let's not forget he is an asshole, he does this "Georgia We established that long before I touched you.

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There is the grovel! I kept telling myself, this grovel will make it all go away. It will make everything good. I will love my site again and will not yell at my poor children for no God darn good reason! However, for me this was not the case.I stared at my shoes-the tattered white Vans I doodled colorful flowers on to hide the fact that they were knock-offs-and swallowed, feeling insignificant even before he had belittled me.

Website optional. The enthralling story-line kept me at the edge of my seat from start to finish and with every chapter I wanted to know more how the crazy dynamic between the two main characters will progress. My fear was a storm. I was looking for her. I wanted to see it. I knocked on Vicious's bedroom door.