The Sainthood : A Dark High School Romance (The Complete Series)

by Siobhan Davis

  “Oh, I am proud. I’m very proud, because I’m clearly a much better lay than the high-and-mighty Harlow Westbrook.”

  “Shut your face, Tempest, or I’ll shut it for you,” Darrow hisses at his fuck buddy, looking like he’s seconds away from losing his shit.

  “Not my fault you can’t hold on to him,” she adds, taunting me further because she’s got fluff between her ears.

  Darrow loses it, slapping her across the face, and I wince as her head jerks back.

  “Real classy,” I deadpan, glaring at the asshole. I’m not a fan of Tempest. I actually cannot stand her, but no one deserves to be treated like that. If he had ever dared to lift a finger to me, I would have slapped him back and then tossed his abusive ass to the curb. But Tempest will cling to him like a limpet because she has zero self-respect and even less intelligence.

  “She’s no one,” he says, reaching for me. “A hole to fuck when I’m bored. It means nothing.”

  The desperate look really doesn’t suit Darrow, and I’m wondering how I’ve put up with him this long. He was a means to an end, and he’s outlived his usefulness. Now, I get to walk away like the injured party, and I can keep my secrets close to my chest. It’s neater this way. Tempest has done me a favor. Not that she’ll ever hear that from my lips.

  I snort, and they both pin eyes on me. “You two dumb fucks deserve one another.” I push off the door frame. “Enjoy my sloppy seconds.” Tempest glares at me, and from the way she’s clenching her knuckles, I know she’d love to take a pop at me. “I was done slumming it anyway.”

  “Lo, wait. C’mon. You know I love you.” Darrow makes a grab for me, and I promptly knee him in the nuts. He drops to the ground, cupping his dick, as he roars out in pain. I lift the vodka bottle, ready to pour it over his head, before I think better of it.

  I’m not wasting good Grey Goose vodka on that cheating slimeball.

  “Enjoy your ho, and lose my number.” I hold my head confidently as I walk off.

  “Thanks for the heads-up,” I say, blowing Bryant a kiss when I walk past Darrow’s crew, looking like I haven’t a care in the world.

  Bryant ditches the blonde and chases after me. “You deserved to know,” he says, falling into step beside me.

  I glance at him, knowing exactly why he did it. “Like I said, thanks.”

  “Wait.” He grabs my elbow, stalling me. “He was never right for you anyway.”

  My lips twitch. “And I suppose you are?”

  “You know I am.” He runs a hand over his shaved black scalp, his hazel eyes confirming everything I’ve suspected.

  “Yeah, that shit’s not happening, Bry. Go back to Blondie.” I don’t wait for his reply, shucking out of his hold and slipping through the back door into the house.

  Fuck that asshole Darrow. I really needed to fuck all this shit out of my system tonight. I hug the vodka bottle to my chest. Guess Mr. Grey Goose will just have to do the job instead.

  I’m halfway down the hallway toward the entrance lobby when he calls out to me. “Lo! Wait up!”

  I glance over my shoulder, spotting Darrow shoving his way through the crowd at the doorway to the ballroom. Ugh. I’m not in the mood to hear his cringeworthy excuses.

  I don’t have much of a morality code, but cheating is a hard pass for me.

  He’s burned his bridges, and I was done with him anyway, so there’s nothing he can say that will make me change my mind.

  I’m done fucking him, and I’m done talking to him.

  It’s not like there’s a shortage of hot guys in Lowell, and I’m finished experimenting in Prestwick.

  “Fuck my life,” I mutter, racing to the nearest door, yanking it open and darting inside. I lock the door from the inside. Exhaling heavily, I turn around, my breath faltering as I instantly realize my mistake.

  Or, perhaps, it’s fate meddling, and I’ve been led here tonight for a reason.

  Four pairs of eyes stare at me with varying expressions. The guys are seated around a circular table playing cards. Lighting is real low, the only illumination coming from two lamps, one on either side of the room. Smoke clouds swirl overhead. The smell of tobacco mixes with the heady scent of Mary J.

  The guy with the cropped dirty-blond hair swivels around in his chair, stretching his long jean-clad legs out in front of him, his gaze trekking over me with blatant interest. Piercing blue eyes penetrate mine, and I hold his intrusive gaze with one of my own.

  His face is a masterpiece of epic proportion. Strong nose. Plump lips. Full, high cheekbones most girls would kill for. His wide ice-blue eyes are framed with a layer of thick black lashes. His chin is coated in a stylish layer of stubble. His left eyebrow is pierced, and tattoos covers his exposed arms and hands right to the tips of his fingers. It’s too dark to see them clearly, but it’s an impressive display of ink. His black T-shirt stretches across an impressive chest and bulging biceps, and he is drool-worthy in the extreme.

  He’s hot as fuck, but from the smug tilt of his lips, he knows it too.

  A throat clears, dragging my attention away from the guy who can only be Saint Lennox, leader of the junior chapter of The Sainthood. A guy as feared as he is desired.

  My eyes lock on Galen Lennox next. Where his cousin Saint’s gaze held curiosity as much as a threat, Galen is all cold, hard lines, his expression reeking of tension and disbelief. His jade-green eyes bore holes in the side of my head, and his ripped body is taut, on high alert, ready to strike at a second’s notice. Colored tats cover one arm, creeping up the side of his neck. He rubs his plush lips, narrowing his eyes suspiciously, as he dips his head, his brown faux hawk pointed in my direction like he’s wielding a weapon.

  I don’t respond well to threats of any kind, so I push off the door, straighten my spine, and walk toward the table as Darrow pounds his fists on the door outside. “Lo! Open this fucking door right now!”

  The guy with dark hair and intense brown eyes cocks a brow in amusement. He drums his fingers off the table, shooting a look at Saint. He’s built like a tank. Wide shoulders. Broad chest. Biceps bigger than my head. Muscular legs that snugly fit the dark jeans he’s wearing. His expression is the warmest. His gaze bounces from Saint to me to the door behind me. He must be Caz Evans—the muscle. Stories of his brutal strength are legendary around these parts. He’s killed men with his bare hands if they are to be believed.

  I stop in front of Saint, placing my hands on my hips, challenging him with a look. I feel the daggers Galen sends my way, but my focus is singular and locked on their leader. Saint’s notorious cool blue gaze meets mine, and a spark sizzles between us as we stare at one another up close for the very first time.

  The Arrows and The Sainthood are sworn enemies, and they don’t make a habit of socializing together, but I’m sure he’s heard of me. The same way Darrow would know if any of these guys were dating. Saint’s heated gaze burns through my skin, and fire blossoms in my chest. An ache spreads lower, my core pulsing as attraction, instant and fierce, slams into me.

  “Saint.”

  Our connection is broken at the sound of his husky voice, and my head whips around. My jaw clamps shut as our eyes meet. His expression conveys so much, but it’s too damn late. Pained hazel eyes latch onto mine, and the tsunami builds in intensity inside my chest.

  I pride myself on my ability to keep my emotions on lockdown, but this day is seriously fucking with my head. Between Dad, Darrow, and now stumbling across The Sainthood, this day couldn’t get much worse.

  Theo Smith is the fourth member of the gang and he’s also drop-dead gorgeous, but in a different way. His long sandy-blond hair falls to the nape of his neck, tucked behind his ears in a messy, bedhead style that is extremely sexy. He scrubs a hand along his stubbly jawline, holding my gaze, the unspoken plea obvious. For a tech wizard and financial mastermind who is known to be sharp as a tack and cool under pressure, he sure looks rattled now.

  He should be.

  Because he’s a liar and
a coward.

  And he knows I know.

  “Harlow Westbrook!” Darrow is close to breaking point if he’s using my full name now. “Open this fucking door, and stop being such a sensitive bitch.”

  I relax my jaw, loosening my features and planting an amused expression on my face, as I refocus on Saint. He stands, eyeing me with a calculating look that manages to be darkly sinister and drenched in lust at the same time. Shivers course all over my body, and I’m so aroused my panties are soaking.

  I’m close to six foot tall in these heels, and Saint still towers over me. I visualize his large frame covering mine in my mind’s eye, elevating my desire a notch higher. Heat from his body crashes into me, both soothing my ragged edges and tending the flames building to an inferno inside me. I place my half-empty vodka bottle on the table, planting my hands on my hips again. “Well?”

  I put it out there. I’m doing this. Now, the ball is in his court.

  The attraction is mutual. He’s doing nothing to hide he wants me as much as I clearly want him.

  Saint takes a step closer, and his chest brushes against my body, sending a fresh wave of desire cascading through my limbs. “If we do this—”

  “I know. This isn’t my first rodeo.” I know nothing in this life is free. You ask for a favor. You pay the pied piper. Sex is the usual currency. It’s the way of the world we inhabit.

  A muscle pops in his jaw as he grips my chin tight, tugging my head up. “Don’t fucking interrupt me.”

  “Or what? Let me guess. You’ll punish me?” He can’t know that rough sex is my favorite, and punishment is rarely a punishment. Not after the things I endured at thirteen. It will take a lot to break me this time.

  He stares deep into my eyes, bringing his face in so close we are sharing the same air. “You’d like that.”

  I don’t like that he can read me so easily. Not when I’ve spent years erecting walls to keep men like him out. But forewarned is forearmed. And it’s no surprise Saint Lennox is a master at breaking down walls and uncovering truths. He isn’t the brains behind the operation for no reason. My eyes respond affirmatively, and my body hums in anticipation.

  “It won’t just be me,” he adds, carefully watching my face for my reaction. “We’re a package deal.”

  I’ve heard rumors to that effect, and it only adds to the appeal.

  Butterflies invade my chest, and my body throbs with raw need. I wet my dry lips, gulping as a surge of adrenaline sluices through my veins. I know what’s on the table. What they will do and the price I must pay. If he thinks this is a dealbreaker, he’s so wrong. This is exactly what I need to get through the rest of this hellish day.

  “Do it,” I say, my voice resonating with confidence, my face showcasing my eagerness.

  Saint’s eyes darken to the point where they’re almost smoldering.

  He wants this.

  It’s a done deal.

  “Saint. We should talk about this.” Displeasure underscores Galen’s tone, and if he fucks this up for me, I’ll fuck him up.

  “The decision is made.” Saint turns his head, daring his cousin to argue.

  Galen rubs the back of his neck, nodding tersely.

  What Saint says is law.

  Everyone knows it.

  “Lo! I’m not playing games. Open the door, or I’m fucking breaking it open,” Darrow roars, his patience reserves all gone as he shoves his body weight at the door, rattling it.

  Saint drops my chin, grabs my hand, and pulls me toward the door. He eyeballs me with his hand curled around the handle. “Last chance to back out.”

  “I’m not backing out.” I press into his side, wrapping my arms around his neck and draping myself all over him, enjoying the flurry of shivers racing along my skin the instant I touch him. “I’m all in.”

  Respect flashes in his eyes, but it’s so brief I’m not sure I didn’t imagine it.

  Slinging his arm around my waist, he holds me close and opens the door, facing my new ex. “Darrow Knight,” Saint drawls, sliding his hand to my hip. “To what do we owe this pleasure?” Derision drips from his tone and his expression as he rubs circles on my hip with his long, inked fingers.

  Darrow’s face darkens like thunder, his gaze jumping between Saint and me. The top button on his jeans is undone, he’s bare chested, and his sneakers are unlaced. I’m betting Tempest wasn’t too pleased to see him flee so fast in pursuit of me. “Get the fuck out of the room, Lo.” Darrow grabs hold of one of my arms, pulling it away from Saint’s neck.

  “Fuck you, Dar,” I say as Saint pries Darrow’s meaty fingers off my flesh, reeling me back into his body. “I’ve never answered to you, and I’m not about to start now.”

  “You don’t want to do this, babe.” He folds his arms across his chest, leveling me with a warning look. “You’re overreacting.”

  I laugh. “You appear to be suffering delusions of grandeur. Let me help clear it up for you.” I shuck out of Saint’s embrace, prodding Darrow in the chest as I force him back. “I. Don’t. Care. You were just someone to fuck when I was bored.” I love turning his own words back on him.

  He slaps my finger away, and Saint steps up behind me, sliding his arms around my waist, pulling me back into his warm body. “You’ve overstayed your welcome.” Saint’s voice could cut glass.

  Galen steps up on my other side. “Get your crew, and get the fuck out of my house.”

  “You touch her… You know what this means.” Darrow clenches his fists and puffs out his chest.

  “You’ve crashed and burned, man.” Caz blows smoke into Darrow’s face. “Now, get lost.”

  Darrow’s face turns an unhealthy shade of red. “Whore.” He narrows his eyes to slits. “I was fucking done with you anyway.”

  “Yeah, that’s why you’re chasing after her, pounding on our door like some fucking pussy,” Saint replies. “You’re a mess, man.”

  “I hope she’s worth it,” he barks before storming off.

  “I’ll grab a few minions and escort The Arrows off the premises,” Caz says, stubbing out his cigarette on the floor. He tosses a grin in my direction. “Don’t start without me.” He waggles his brows before walking off after Darrow.

  “I need a fucking drink,” Galen growls, shoving my shoulder as he pushes past me into the room. Saint steers me back inside, eyeing his cousin with a laser-sharp gaze he should be concerned about.

  Obviously, the cousins don’t tell each other everything.

  Theo closes the door after Caz, attempting eye contact with me, but I ignore him, giving him a taste of his own medicine.

  Galen chugs straight from a bottle of bourbon on the table, drinking it like it’s soda. Saint drops into a seat across the table from his cousin, pulling me down on his lap. I remove my school jacket, hanging it on the back of the chair.

  Saint zeros in on my chest, smacking his lips and smirking. “Nice rack.” He palms my breasts through my white shirt, and my nipples instantly pebble. He pulls on my tits, roughly kneading them through my clothing, until my nipples are so hard they’re straining against my flimsy lace bra and the thin material of my shirt.

  Theo kicks his feet up on the table, lighting a blunt and bringing it to his lips. Galen scowls, his gaze riveted to Saint’s hands, and it’s almost comical. Snatching my vodka bottle, I knock back a few mouthfuls before swiveling on Saint’s lap until I’m straddling him. His hands drop to my waist, and he quirks a brow, waiting for me to make the next move.

  I put the bottle on the table and bend down, boldly pressing my mouth to Saint’s. His lips instantly part, and I pass some of the vodka from my mouth to his. His eyes pierce mine as we swallow, our mouths still lined up, and I could get lost in those dangerous icy depths if I’m not careful.

  He swoops in before I can retract, claiming my lips in a searing-hot kiss that curls my toes. Although, calling it a kiss isn’t doing it justice, because it’s more like a claiming.

  Saint devours my mouth. His tongue swirling
around mine. His lips punishing as he takes what he wants with no apology. And I return his ardor, pressing bruising kisses against his lips as my hands sweep over the velvety-soft hair on his head. His hands slide under my uniform skirt, his large palms flattening against the bare cheeks of my ass. He’s already hard underneath me, and I grind against him, desperate to feel him inside me. To lose myself before my head starts reminding me my world has upended.

  “I thought we were waiting for Caz.”

  Saint rips his mouth from mine, fixing an arrogant look over my shoulder at his cousin. “This is me waiting.” He squeezes my ass cheeks, and I bite down on my lower lip to stifle a moan. “I’m getting our girl warmed up.”

  I place my hands on his shoulder and lean down, licking a path up the side of his neck and along his bristly jawline.

  A deep rumble erupts from his chest. “Girl, you’ve got balls.” He removes his hands from my butt, holding my face tight, examining me with clear amusement.

  “Her name is Harlow.” Theo’s voice is clipped, but none of us miss the soft edge.

  Saint keeps a hold of my face as he turns his attention to his friend. “Something you want to tell me, dude?”

  “Everyone knows who Harlow Westbrook is. She’s—”

  I yank out of Saint’s grip, twisting around so I’m facing Theo, and he stops speaking mid-sentence. “You really don’t want to go there.” My eyes dare him to test me.

  “Interesting.” Saint holds my hips, dragging my butt back and forth across his crotch. “But it can wait. I’m horny as fuck.” He lifts me off him, temporarily setting my feet on the ground.

  In a lightning-fast move, he swipes the contents of the table away with a sweep of his hand. I predict the move at the last second, snatching my vodka before it becomes a casualty. Galen’s reactions are equally fast, and he rescues his bourbon before it joins the cards, chips, money, and a few bottles of beer on the floor. Saint lifts me again, placing me on the edge of the table. “Lie back.” His eyes blaze with lust, and my panties are fucking drenched, yet he’s barely touched me.