Vicious (Sinners of Saint #1)by L.J. Shen
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Synopsis:
Emilia
They say love and hate are the same feelings experienced under different circumstances, and it’s true.The man who comes to me in my dreams also haunts me in my nightmares. He is a brilliant lawyer. A skilled criminal. A beautiful liar. A bully and a savior, a monster and a lover.
Ten years ago, he made me run away from the small town where we lived. Now, he came for me in New York, and he isn’t leaving until he takes me with him.
Vicious
She is a starving artist. Pretty and evasive like cherry blossom. Ten years ago, she barged into my life unannounced and turned everything upside down. She paid the price.
Emilia LeBlanc is completely off-limits, my best friend’s ex-girlfriend. The woman who knows my darkest secret, and the daughter of the cheap Help we hired to take care of our estate. That should deter me from chasing her, but it doesn’t. So she hates me. Big fucking deal. She better get used to me.
You were always mine.
Not so long ago a friend insisted I read The Kiss Thief. I’d been ignoring it with good reason (that reason being that I’m always always always let down by contemporary NA, it seems), but decided why not? I trust my friend. Thus began my journey through a book I didn’t think I could possibly love, leading to a curiosity that couldn’t be satiated until I got my hands on another of this author’s books-Is this woman my NA soulmate?
My Grandma once told me that love and hate are the same feelings experienced under different circumstances.
Turns out? This woman is a wizard, and I am under her spell. I was extremely sick with a savage head cold my Little gave me, and I generally can’t read when such occasions occur. The words are fuzzy, my brain doesn’t compute quick enough, feels are lost when they would have slayed me any other normal day. But. BUT. Somehow, even though the words didn’t go to my brain fast enough, this story broke through the fog and STILL gave me feels that were unparalleled to any NA I’ve read in recent memory. THAT is the work of something larger than myself, and I love this author for it. Bravo for being the first and ONLY author to write a book that broke through a sickness induced word coma.
I shook my head quickly. “I’m just not sure how you can be both nice and compassionate and a terrible asshole all at the same time,” I muttered.
He smiled. “It’s a hard job, but someone’s gotta do it.”
I loved The Kiss Thief-more than was safe for my own health-but when I picked up this book? It sang to my soul and dragged me down into the watery grave of obsession, because I literally could not get enough of each word spoken on every page. It was like there weren’t enough words, yet they were all so perfect no more could be said. Which is the best kind of predicament to be in, naturally, for a book DEVOURER such as me. But now, of course, I’ve spiraled into a void I can’t get out of, because literally no other book is going to compare now. Like, ugh.
The bottom line was I hated him. I hated him so much it made me sick to my stomach that I loved the way he looked, on and off the field. Hated my shallowness, my foolishness, at loving the way his square, hard jaw ticked when he fought a smile. I hated that I loved the smart, witty things that came out of his mouth when he spoke in class. Hated that he was a cynical realist while I was a hopeless idealist, and still, I loved every thought he uttered aloud. And I hated that once a week, every week, my heart did crazy things in my chest because I suspected he might be him.
I have to say that this book is way more trigger-happy for people than TKT ever was, which is why I told my friend to probably stay away from this one. What ignites my passion and hunger would surely repulse any sane human being-or, at least, my said friend. Vicious was…well….freaking vicious. He was crueler, less sane, and way colder to reach his goals. And, if I think about it, der??? It shocked me at first, but then I remembered something-Senator Wolfe Keaton was underhanded and dirty, sure, but he was, above all else, a good standing and well-liked politician of the public’s eye. OBVIOUSLY these two characters differ, seeing as Barron (Vicious) was just, well, a spoiled, self-entitled, destructive both physically and mentally, partying rich boy brat.
Vicious was right. I was a liar.
Because I told myself I could do casual.
When there was nothing casual about what I felt for him. Not even one bit.
Clearly a misguided (and yes, I’ll go there-misunderstood) soul, I couldn’t help but fall for him, now could I? This book gave me the closest/strongest vibes that reminded me of one of my favorite books of all time (Yes, I have issues), Punk 57, that I’ve had in a while. They’re nothing alike, yet, the back and forth, the anger, the savageness, the filthy, hot, dirty sex scenes. Come on. I’m a f****** goner, ya know? I’m TRASH for these types of books (not the sex, I just mean the enemies to lovers mixed with the story line and heat), and they are just so few and far between. And, while I loved TKT, that was technically older-ish, whereas this was, too, but we got that HS vibe as well, that underlying layer of why things were the way they were between these two, and I am so here for it. All of it. Even the bad, dirty, nasty. Because of it, even.
I love possessive dickheads in books. I do. I’m sorry. I’m a failure to womankind, surely, but I. Do. Not. Care. It’s alarmingly hot, okay?
Mine.
You’re mine.
You were always mine.
Because she was mine.
Yes to this? All of it? Can I read more of it? And I’m a sucker for it. No shame in my game, and judge as you will, cuz this chick ain’t a changin’.
But, besides all of this, I suppose this is a more ‘sophisticated’ (baha this book as sophisticated) way of me being able to enjoy YA without being considered kind of weird. It’s a past and present deal, which I generally loathe, yet it was done so frikkin’ well that, after my initial disappointment, I totally forgot because the book took me out of my own body and into their skewed version of the world, and I fell so in love none of my peeves mattered. I loved this book, wholly, and I now would not change one thing about it because-be still my beating heart-I consumed it and would re-read it in a second just to get the same feels again.
I realize that this isn’t necessarily realistic-it’s not-and that if a girl were in this situation, she obviously would need to RUN AND RUN FAST…but isn’t that what fiction is? A fantasy? A way to escape the world? No, I would not want a Barron Spencer chasing after me-he’s batshit crazy, okay-but to read about it? To just immerse myself into a nonexistent world? I dig it. It’s fun. It’s addicting as hell. And it’s shameful. But it’s my guilty pleasure read-I hardly read any of these all year long, tending to fall prey to my YA fantasies-and I am entitled to it now and again. No, I don’t think it’s a good book to let my daughter-or any young girl, for that matter-read. But it’s simple. I won’t suggest she read it. There. It’s easy, honestly-monitor what your kid reads as much as you can, and teach them what’s right and what’s wrong. It’s all we can do-the book won’t cease to exist no matter how much some people may will it , so as long as I do the best as I can for my children, then I may as well enjoy what this author has to offer-and it’s pure gold.
Yet here he was, in my house, in my room, near my bed. Even if he’d come here just to threaten me some more, he’d still made the trip. I got to him.
He was in my veins.
But I’d managed to crawl under his skin.
Now that that’s out of the way-this woman writes the hottest intimate scenes ever. At least, the hottest I’ve read in a while. And the ones from this book? They made me a total and utter mess. It was sick and depraved and I do not give one crap about it. It’s been a long time since I’ve been affected by a book in such a manner, and I’m almost (but not really) ashamed to admit…this one got to me. And I’m not even one to generally enjoy these scenes, because they scarcely measure up. But this woman? Wow. That’s all I can say without sounding like a total pervert lol.
All in all this book had it’s ups and downs, I suppose (for some), but I never once lost enjoyment, even through my hazy fog days. I looked forward to it every minute of the day I wasn’t reading it and didn’t want to put it down until I absolutely had to. To say this book gave me life when I was down and out would be an understatement, so I’ll go as far as to say it brought me back to life. There. BOOM. I said it. It made me unsick, and if that’s not worth a read, I don’t know what is.
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So. Fucking. Good.
RTC
