CHAPTER 29
THE BOUNCERS OPEN the doors and we step inside the industrial-sized warehouse. Sultry beats reverberate around the space as multicolored lights stream over our heads. The large open-plan room is packed. A big crowd dances in the middle of the floor watched by groups centered around booths on either side. At the top of the room is a large bar, thronged with people. Overhead, on a circular balcony, a DJ spins the latest tunes.
Saint leads us through the room toward the bar. People jump out of our way, while others nod respectfully at the guys. A few fools eye me up and down, and Caz sucker punches each one of them until everyone understands I’m off-limits. It’s ridiculously alpha, and totally unnecessary, but I’m enjoying it.
Not sure what that says about me.
The sea of people at the bar part to let Caz through. He orders another round of shots for everyone but Galen. No money passes hands, and I wonder if that’s always the case.
We down our tequila shots, and then, we’re on the move again, rounding the bar. I take in our surroundings as we walk, observing everything and everyone. A bouncer guards an elevator at the back of the bar, but he moves aside to let us enter.
We pile in with Saint and me at the rear and the other three in front of us.
“These guys are dangerous assholes,” Saint explains. “Be careful.”
“That means keep your mouth shut and let us do the talking,” Galen clarifies, and I shove my middle finger up at his back. “I know you’re flipping me off,” he adds.
“Only because it’s most people’s reaction to you,” I retort.
He glances over his shoulder, grinning. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“Only you’d think it wasn’t,” I whisper, just as the door opens on the upper level.
Saint holds my hand firmly in his as we walk along the narrow hallway and enter the VIP area. It’s a decent-sized room with about twenty booths and its own private dance floor and bar. A glass window wraps around the front of the space, highlighting the main area below. It’s virtually empty except for the five guys in black and red leather cuts occupying one of the larger booths.
A tall guy with muscles to rival Caz’s ripped body stands and steps out of the booth to greet us. “Saint.” Cue more stupid manly—I say that with a healthy dose of sarcasm—greetings.
“Ruben. Thanks for meeting on short notice.”
Caz and Theo step up alongside me, while Galen flanks Saint on the other side. Ruben nods, his eyes flaring with interest when they land on me. He takes my free hand in his, and though I want his callused palm nowhere near my body, I don’t object, because I don’t want to ruffle any feathers.
All five Bulls are wearing pieces, and they’re doing nothing to disguise it either. “I don’t believe we’ve met. I’d never forget such a hot body,” Ruben says, raising my hand to his lips and planting a wet kiss on my knuckles.
What a sexist pig.
I bite back my distaste, offering him a tight smile. “Harlow Westbrook. Good to meet you.” I figure it’s fine to confirm my identity because A, Saint introduced me as Harlow downstairs and B, if what Dar said is true, and the Saints have put the word out that I’m under their protection, then everyone already knows who I am.
“Pleasure’s all mine.” Ruben roams his gaze up and down my body, his eyes lingering on the hickeys on my neck before lowering to my breasts. I meet his gaze full on, not backing down, shooting venom from my eyes while keeping a fake smile plastered on my face.
Saint subtly grips my hand tighter, but outwardly, he’s composed.
“Thought you guys didn’t do girlfriends,” a guy with a shaved head and bushy beard asks. He’s slouched against the back of the booth with one knee bent, his thighs spread in a vulgar manner.
“Thought we were here to discuss business not pussy,” Saint says, and I dig my nails into the underside of his palm.
Ruben chuckles, slapping Saint on the shoulder. “Let’s grab some shots and talk by the bar. I’m sure my guys can keep your woman entertained.”
Someone, pass me the puke bucket.
Saint pulls me into his arms, moving his mouth to my ear. “Stay close to Galen.” He swats me on the ass before letting me go, and it takes colossal willpower not to slap him back.
Galen instantly moves to my side, threading his fingers in mine and guiding me to the booth.
Theo takes Ruben’s vacated space on one side, at the end, beside three unfriendly assholes, and Caz slides in beside the bald bearded dude on the other side. A guy with long, greasy strawberry-blond hair sits on Baldy’s other side, ogling me shamelessly as Galen takes the last seat at the end, pulling me down on his lap.
“That sharing rumor is true, huh?” Baldy says, grinning as he passes the guys a beer. He’s got two gold crowns in place of his front teeth, and I briefly wonder if that’s by choice or someone knocked them the fuck out of his ugly head.
He doesn’t offer me a drink.
Chauvinistic asshole.
But Galen gives me his, and I’m pleasantly surprised he’s taking his designated driver duties seriously. I don’t think most gang members give a shit about driving drunk.
“We’re not in the habit of discussing our private lives,” Galen says, circling his arms around my waist.
“You’re that bitch from the video,” a guy with dark skin and dark hair says, smirking as if he’s recalling it scene by scene in his head.
“Watch your fucking mouth, and show some respect,” Theo says.
“Hoodrats don’t earn respect around here,” he replies, making a point of settling his gun down on top of the table.
“Harlow isn’t a fucking hoodrat. She’s our girl,” Caz barks. Galen stiffens behind me, and Theo shows no emotion.
“Isn’t she Lennox’s stepsister?” Baldy asks, glugging his beer.
“You guys gossip worse than girls,” I say, done with playing the silent, obedient type. “And I’m sitting right here. You don’t need to talk about me as if I’m invisible.”
“So, is it true, sweetheart?” Baldy asks. “You banging your stepbrother?”
“Every fucking chance I get.” I smirk, bringing the bottle to my lips as laughter erupts around the table.
Saint and Ruben interrupt their conversation at the bar to look in our direction, and I blow them a cheeky kiss.
“What about the rest of these assholes?” the dark-haired guy asks. “You banging them too?”
“A girl has to keep some of the mystery alive,” I tease, winking as I deflect answering his question.
The tension lifts a little after that, and the guys shoot the shit while things look intense over at the bar.
After a few minutes, I watch as Saint hands over the brown paper envelope with the gun and the bullets, and they get up, slapping each other on the back. I drain my beer, watching Saint stalk toward me. He grips my hips and lifts me off Galen’s lap, tucking me in under his arm.
“The Bulls won’t forget this, brother.” Ruben nods at Saint, and he returns the gesture. “Later, friends.”
We go back the way we came, and when we step into the elevator, I turn to face Saint. “What happened?”
“It’s handled. They will deal with Finn and Parker.”
I stretch up and put my mouth to his ear, unsure if there is a camera in here. “Do they know we blew up the meth house?”
He nods, tugging at his ear. “They don’t give a shit about that. Their involvement with McKenzie was on the sex trafficking side. His death has fucked stuff up with their contacts and jeopardized their supply.”
I’m even more grateful the douche is dead now.
We emerge on the dance floor, and one of my favorite songs is blaring from the speakers. “I want to dance,” I shout in Saint’s ear.
“This is enemy territory,” he shouts back. “We’re not staying.” He tugs on my hand, leading me away from the dance floor, but I grab the front of his jacket, pinning him with my best doe-eyed pleading look.
<
br /> “One dance. Just this song.” I bat my eyelashes. “Pretty please.”
He lets loose a string of colorful expletives before gesturing to the guys and leading me out onto the dance floor. I immediately let loose, swaying my hips in time to the beat of the music and throwing my head back as my hands roam my body. Heat surrounds me from behind when Saint presses up against me. His hands take over from mine, sweeping all over my body as the other guys surround us, keeping prying eyes away. Caz pushes up against my front, his body moving in sync with mine as I find myself locked in another Caz-Saint sandwich.
Behind me, Saint brushes my hair to one side, gliding his lips up and down the side of my exposed neck, and I just know he’s appreciating his artwork. He rocks his hard-on against my ass, and I whimper. Caz grips my hips, grinding against me, and then, his lips descend in a punishing kiss I feel all the way to the tips of my toes.
The second the song is over, it’s like the spell has been broken, and both guys step away with smug smirks. My hands clench into fists, and I’m tempted to punch the bastards. Saint leads me off the dance floor and out through the door with the others trailing us.
I take turns making out with Caz and Saint in the back seat on the way home, and I feel Galen’s envious eyes burning holes in my back, so I’m confident a little repeat of our foursome is on the cards when we get home.
But Saint makes it abundantly clear that’s not going to happen, locking my bedroom door behind us before any of his friends get ideas.
We need to talk about his possessiveness sometime soon, because he can’t monopolize me. I like the group dynamic, and I want to explore it more.
I’m into the other guys too.
Well, maybe not Theo, because there are extenuating circumstances, but definitely Caz, and the love-hate chemistry Galen and I have going on is every bit as hot as it is annoying.
We strip our clothes off without speaking a word, falling into bed in a tangle of lips, tongues, arms, and legs, and when he enters me, something alters between us.
He fucks me hard and relentlessly, with the same savage ruthlessness I’m used to, but his eyes never stray from my face, and he showers me with kisses, unable to hold back, clearly feeling the connection burning between us the way I do.
When we come together, staring into each other’s eyes, our hearts beating in sync, our souls fusing, I realize I’m fucked in more ways than one.
CHAPTER 30
I HIBERNATE IN my room on Sunday morning, surviving on a stale protein bar and a warm bottle of water I found in the drawer of my bedside table, because I’m too chicken to risk going downstairs.
I’m freaking the fuck out after what went down last night.
And I’m not talking about sharing airspace with The Bulls knowing I’m the one who killed their guy.
That danger pales into insignificance in comparison to the danger of losing my heart.
Saint doesn’t come near me, and he was gone again this morning when I woke, so either he’s busy with crew shit or he’s freaking out too.
After a shower, I change into skinny jeans and my old Paramore T-shirt and sit down in front of my iPad.
I spend a couple hours reviewing the files Diesel sent me on Dad’s car accident, conducting some initial investigation. The police report was written by a cop who was conveniently gunned down on the street a month later, in an unsolved case, and the CSI tech report on the car was written by a new recruit who has since quit and moved overseas. I can’t find anything in his background I could use for blackmail purposes. The guy seems squeaky clean, and I’m guessing he must have been intimidated into falsifying the report.
It looks like Lincoln was right, and this is a dead end. I’m not sure where I go from here. A heavy weight presses down on my chest, but I refuse to adopt a defeatist attitude. The Sainthood is smart, but everyone slips up. I will find evidence they murdered my dad. I won’t give up trying.
I log on to the cloud surveillance app next, scanning through the most recent camera footage from the guys’ bedrooms, out of habit more than anything else. I’m not expecting to find anything, so I bolt upright in the chair when I stumble across a conversation from earlier today that took place in Galen’s room.
“We need to head out,” Saint says. “Sinner’s getting nervous. The Arrows have increased their efforts, and he wants to move the supplies from Landing’s Lane until the risk has passed. He’s secured a new temporary warehouse by the docks in Prestwick. It’ll be handy for the shipments coming in this weekend.”
“That shit’ll take forever to load.” Caz groans.
“Not with every member helping out,” Saint adds, slapping him on the back. “C’mon. The sooner we get there the quicker we get the job done.”
The conversation ends, and they leave. I shut off the footage and sit back to think, tapping a finger off my chin.
I’ve already come to the conclusion the guys have some other place they go to, to manage business, because they never discuss shit in their bedrooms. It’s got to be the same place they crash sometimes. I wasn’t expecting to get anything from the cameras, and, honestly, I’ve only kept them live because I enjoy watching Caz jerk himself off every night.
So, why are they, all of a sudden, talking business here?
Could this be a setup?
It’s not unfathomable to think they’re on to me, no matter how careful I’ve been.
I mull it over for ages, debating the pros and cons, before I decide to Google Landing’s Lane. It’s an old abandoned army base straddling the borders between Prestwick and Fenton. I attempt to locate visuals on Google maps, but there are none, which is hugely interesting. If that is where The Sainthood stows their supplies, it makes sense it can’t be found. I’d expect them to protect it from prying eyes.
I think the intel must be real, so I reach for my burner cell, pulling my knees into my chest as I tap out a message to Darrow. My finger hovers over the send button as I contemplate the enormity of this decision.
There is a lot resting on this, and it’s not black or white. It’s littered with gray areas.
Darrow can’t be trusted to keep our deal a secret. I’ve known that all along. He’ll love nothing more than letting the Saints know I was the one who betrayed them. It’s the ultimate payback.
When I entered into the agreement with him, I didn’t care because I didn’t give a shit about what the guys thought of me. If this goes down, it’ll mean war between the rival gangs. I want that to happen, need it to happen, because it’ll distract The Sainthood long enough to enable me to dig deeper. To locate the evidence I need to get justice. For Dad, and for me.
I’ve no doubt they’ll want revenge, but with a gang war to preoccupy them, along with the impending wedding, I figure it buys me some time. I wasn’t planning on being here when their time came to seek vengeance, because I’d have my new identity and I’d disappear. But now, that’s in limbo too.
I stare at the message, conflicted over what to do.
My gut urges caution.
If I go ahead with it, I know The Arrows will wage a full-blown war against The Sainthood. Blood will be spilled, and an increase in gang violence will be the new norm. And when Sinner finds out how it went down, he won’t just be gunning for my ass; he’ll be after the guys too for letting a woman gain the upper hand.
So fucking what? I don’t owe any of them anything. Especially not Saint. Just ’cause he’s given me a few mind-bending orgasms doesn’t mean he gets a free pass.
Stop lying to yourself.
I put the cell down on the dresser, resting my head on top of my knees, biting down hard on my lip and drawing blood.
If I do this, and the guys find out, they’ll hate me forever. Especially Saint.
Why does that statement almost induce a panic attack?
I shouldn’t care.
I don’t care.
They deserve everything coming to them.
I pick up the cell again, moving my finger to the send
button, hovering over it as I continue my internal debate, but I can’t do it. I can’t push the button.
Because I do care.
Fuck.
They have come to mean something to me.
See? This is why I don’t do feelings. All they do is fuck with your head and your heart and turn you into an overanalytical obsessive fool. And that’s when I’m most likely to make a mistake, because I don’t have a clear head.
But it’s more than that.
It’s about self-preservation too, and I can’t be hasty.
I need to put more thought into this, so I switch off the cell and replace it in the hidden panel of my Prada backpack. Then, I slip my feet into my Vans, grab my black hoodie, and head out to the hospital.
_______________
Monday rolls around, and it’s super weird driving to school without my bestie in the passenger seat beside me.
It seems the school board is taking the situation seriously, and they’ve been busy over the weekend. Security cameras are now mounted in the hallways, and they’ve added some new staff to the security team. A couple of mean-looking dudes patrol the halls, their eyes taking everything in.
The rumor mill is in overdrive, especially when Finn and Parker are no-shows, and gossip is rife about The Bulls gunning for their asses.
Couldn’t happen to two more deserving people, and I have zero remorse for the fact they’ll pay for my crime. I couldn’t give two fucks whether they live or die.
Beth is in my English lit class, and I wait until the teach has arrived before entering the room. I purposely head toward Beth’s seat, glaring at the girl sitting behind her until she gets up and moves. Then I spend the full forty minutes sending daggers at Beth’s back, breathing down her neck, kicking the back of her chair, and poking her with my pen.
She’s stiff as a board, and quiet as a mouse, enduring my torment, because I’m sure she’s freaking the hell out.
Finn and Parker are MIA, the school is scheduling interviews with students to try to uncover the truth, and, although there’s no proof, because the guys have sent the freshman into hiding—preferring to seek justice the vigilante way—if it comes out, she is most likely facing an aggravated assault charge. She’ll do time.
The Sainthood : A Dark High School Romance (The Complete Series) Page 25