The Hatesick Diaries (St. Mary’s Rebels #5) Read Online Saffron A. Kent

Categories Genre: Angst, Contemporary, New Adult, Romance, Sports, Virgin Tags Authors: Series: St. Mary’s Rebels Series by Saffron A. Kent

Total pages in book: 185
Estimated words: 191421 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 957(@200wpm)___ 766(@250wpm)___ 638(@300wpm)

vEcho Adler hates Reign Davidson. He’s the reason the love of her life left her all alone and broken hearted two years ago.

So it should be easy to stay away.

It should be easy to not dream about his dark and mean eyes, or his cruel but sexy smirks. It should be easy to not think about the guy who ruined her happily ever after.

Only it’s not.

Sometimes his intense stares make her heart race, and those smirks of his make her breathless.

But it needs to stop.

Because she has a mission: to get back together with her ex-boyfriend. And Echo will be damned if she keeps dreaming about Reign.

The guy who not only makes her sick with hate but who also happens to be her ex’s best friend.

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************


Six years ago. Bardstown

He’s a criminal.

He has to be.

First, he’s wearing all black: black jeans and a black hoodie with the hood up. In summer, no less.

And second, he’s very carefully and cautiously laying out a string on the ground.

It’s a very long string too.

It at least circles around the thick bushes that border this massive back yard, and goes well into the woods behind that back yard. Where I’m currently standing behind the thick trunk of a tree and watching him secretly.

Or more like watching his back, because he’s facing away from me, walking backward.

When he’s come far enough I guess, he stops and kneels on the ground, completely blocking my view.

I can’t see what he’s doing.

Why he’s bent over that string.

Whatever it is though, it can’t be good.

It might even be dangerous.

The prudent thing to do — prudent means practical; also known as feasible, realistic, sensible, matter of fact — is to turn around and run. To get away from him. Especially when no one knows that I’m here, wandering around the woods in the middle of the night, and not up in my bedroom, sleeping like I should be.

In my defense, tonight is special.

Plus I couldn’t sleep in my new bed, in the new house, in a new place.

We — my parents and I — only arrived here last week, see.

Both of them got a new job and so we packed up and left our old apartment in Brooklyn and came to Bardstown to start a new life. As opposed to Brooklyn, everything is super open here: our big two-story house; these woods that I’m taking an impromptu walk in; the back yard beyond it, the giant manor beyond the back yard.

But I’m not going to lie, I miss Brooklyn. I miss my friends, my old school, even our old rundown apartment that had more leaks and squeaky floorboards than not. But it’s okay. My mom always says that you make sacrifices for people you love. That this is what love is.

To compromise. To make adjustments and to be good to the people you love.

So I’m happy as long as my parents are happy.

Except for this.

I’m not happy about this, whatever it is that this boy is doing.

I mean, if he’s really doing something bad then shouldn’t I confront him? Shouldn’t I stop him? I’m new here, yes, but these are my woods now. This is my house, my property and estate.

Well, not technically.

We only live here, but…

“I know you’re there.”

My thoughts come to a screeching halt at those words.

His words.

He said them, right?

Yes, he did.

Even though he hasn’t turned around or stopped doing whatever it is that he’s doing.

What is he doing though?

“I can hear you fucking thinking from over there.”

This time, I have no confusion as to who spoke because his shoulders tense up and his arms jerk, as if his entire body is speaking along with his lips.

Or more like snapping at me.

Which gets my back up and I dig my fingers into the trunk. “I’m not fucking thinking.”

At this, he finally stops and straightens up, cocking his head to the side slightly as if paying attention to me. The only thing he doesn’t do is turn around as he says, “What?”

I know he can’t see me but still I lift my chin as I reply, “I’m just thinking. Period. No fucking.”

Okay, that sounded so much better and smarter in my head, I swear.

Also, not funny.

But apparently it is because it makes him chuckle in response, his shoulders moving again.

And this time I notice that they’re broad.

Probably because he’s straightened up now and isn’t hunched over that string of his. In fact, his shoulders are broader than any guy’s shoulders in my class, either at my old school or the new.

“No fucking, huh,” he drawls. “Well, there’s a lot to unpack there, in that statement. But I don’t think you wanna go there.” I frown as to what he means but he keeps going. “So instead, why don’t you tell me what you’re just thinking about?”