“This is how Saint processes,” Galen explains.
“And it’s better than him going after Sinner because who the fuck knows what he’ll do to him now he knows the truth,” Caz adds.
“Stop it!” I roar, losing the tenuous hold on my emotions. “Stop making excuses. Stop acting like this is okay, because it’s fucking not okay! Ugh!” I pound my fist on the table repeatedly until Theo bravely intervenes.
“We know you’re worried, and it’s not that we’re unconcerned,” he says, uncurling my clenched fist.
“It’s just what Saint does,” Galen adds.
Drawing a deep breath, I try to calm down. “I understand it. I do, because that’s what I usually do too, but things are different now. He has me, and he doesn’t need to be alone with his destructive thoughts.” I never should’ve let him leave by himself. I should’ve listened to my gut. I knew it was a bad idea.
“I can’t believe your mom has known all this time and she said nothing,” Caz says, deliberately sidestepping the topic. He tosses a couple more logs on the fire, fanning fresh flames.
“It’s clear Alisha knows a lot more than we realized,” Theo adds, kissing my knuckles before sitting back down in front of his tablet.
“Whether she remembers is debatable.” Galen kicks his socked feet up on the couch when he realizes I’m too wound up to sit still.
Even after a lengthy run around the grounds, I’m still a mass of restless energy, and I won’t relax until I know Saint is okay. This edgy, anxious feeling is disconcerting and new. I don’t think the guys get it—this is as much about me, as it is about Saint.
Saint’s pain is my pain.
I share in his frustration and his rage. My heart hurts in sympathy, my soul is bruised, and my mind is clouded with disappointment and uncertainty. I’ve never loved any man—besides my dad, and that was a different kind of love—before I met my guys, so these reactions, these emotions, are different for me too, and I hate feeling so helpless, so powerless, to support him in his time of need.
“And I’m not defending her,” Galen continues. “I’m fucking pissed. At Sinner. At her. At my dad, because presumably he was there too, but she’s fucked in the head. Drugs have fried her brain. Most times, she talks gibberish, and I never know whether to believe what comes out of her mouth.”
“Or maybe she blocked it out because it was too painful,” I suggest.
I know I’ve buried shit rather than face up to it in the past. Before I realized that is how tormentors continue hurting their victims. The only way to take back power, to regain control over your life, is to face your demons head-on. Alisha has spent her life denying the things she’s been witness to and the things she’s done. She’s weak, and it’s no surprise she’s turned to alcohol and drugs to blot reality and fuel her addictions.
“Or she realized the truth would only hurt Saint more,” Theo suggests, setting his tablet down.
“In her own fucked-up way, she thought she was protecting him,” Caz adds, running with Theo’s train of thought.
“She doesn’t know the meaning of the word.” Galen roughly exhales. Resting his head back on the arm of the couch, he closes his eyes. I know this is hard for him too. It’s one thing for Alisha to hurt him. Quite another to hurt his cousin.
“It doesn’t matter now,” I say, because the time for talking is over. “We can’t change the past. But we can deal with the here and now, and I’m done waiting.” I snatch up the keys to my Lexus and head toward the door. “I’m getting my husband. You can come with or stay here, but I’m not twiddling my thumbs a second longer. Saint needs me. Needs us. Whether he knows it or not.”
Still wearing my yoga pants and running top, which is no protection from the elements, I snag a hoodie from the hooks by the door, sliding my arms inside the long sleeves. Saint’s scent swirls around me as I zip up his hoodie, rolling the sleeves up until my hands are poking out. The guys trail me as I step out into the icy-cold night air, and no words are spoken as we pile into the Lexus and hightail it out of there.
_______________
The bar is busy for a Monday night, packed to the rafters with bikers, laborers, and scantily clad women of all ages. Molly’s is located on the other side of Prestwick from the grungy biker bar Darrow favors, which is a blessing, because if I ran into my asshole ex tonight, in the mood I’m in, I’d probably slit his throat.
Disregarding the eyeballs glued to my body, I push my way through the people crowding the bar, searching for Saint’s head. My lips curl into a possessive snarl when I finally spot him sitting on a stool at the end of the bar with a bottle of JD and several empty glasses in front of him.
Two girls are vying for his attention, one on either side of him. Saint is ignoring them, shoving the brunette’s hand off his arm when she tries to latch on, keeping his head down, his fingers gripping his drink so tight it’s a miracle the glass doesn’t smash. The woman with the bright blue hair thrusts her tits in Saint’s face, smirking at her friend over his head, as if it’s a competition and he’s the prize.
Charging my way through the people in my path, I have singular focus. Anger rises like a tidal wave inside me as I watch the woman smush Saint’s face into her chest before he even realizes what’s happening. A snarl rips from my mouth, and I lunge for her.
Grabbing a fistful of blue hair, I yank the bitch away from my husband, slamming her face into the counter and pressing my arm across the back of her neck to keep her in place. She cries out, and it’s music to my ears. “You fucking dare to touch my husband without his permission?” I press down on her head when she attempts to straighten up. Blood flows from her nose, and tears leak from her eyes as she whimpers in pain.
Saint tips his head up, fixing me with a look loaded with dark intensity. Raw aggression exudes from his every pore, and his sexy ass radiates danger by the bucketload.
It’s no wonder these women were drawn to him, and I doubt they are the first ones to hit on him tonight.
None of them stood a chance, because he’s fucking mine, and he has zero interest in other women.
I trust Saint completely, and I’m secure in his love. I feel the same about Theo, Galen, and Caz too, and I’m one hundred percent loyal to them in the same way. I know Saint being here is about suffocating his anger until he’s too drunk to act on it and nothing else.
“We didn’t know he was taken,” the other woman protests in a pouty tone, attempting to come to her friend’s aid.
Saint’s lips kick up a little, and his eyes command me to handle her. Keeping my gaze on the woman, I lean down, licking along the seam of Saint’s mouth with my tongue. He grabs my ass, and his eyes burn with lust. Turning the full extent of my hatred on the brunette, I straighten up, gnashing my teeth, preparing to put her in her place. “Tip for future reference. If a man has a ring on his wedding finger, it means he’s taken.” I tip my chin up, piercing her with a dark glare. “No one touches what’s mine.”
“You can do better than her,” she tells Saint, eyeing me with disdain, and I’m done playing nice. Slamming the blue-haired bitch’s head into the counter one more time—because I’m fucking pissed now—I release her, stomping toward the brunette to deal with her next. Thrusting my fist out, I hit her square on the nose, leveling her with a couple of quick, successive punches. She stumbles on her skyscraper heels, squealing like a pig as she tumbles to the floor, clutching her nose, and it’s enormously satisfying.
A bunch of guys rises from a table close by, eyes narrowing on me as they make a beeline for us. Most guys get off on bitch fights, but these ugly fuckers clearly have a different agenda. Either they’ve some beef with my guys or these women mean something to them—a sister perhaps.
“Fuck.” Caz grabs me back as Saint slides off his stool.
Theo slams a couple hundred-dollar bills down on the counter.
“We want no trouble,” Galen tells the bartender when he produces a sawed-off shotgun, pointing it in our direction. “You k
now who we are, and the women were out of line. They disrespected our wife.”
The bartender glances at my rings and nods at Galen before hiding the gun back under the counter. “We want no beef with The Sainthood,” he says, shooting a warning look at the guys circling us. “But it’s best you were on your way.”
I slide my arm around Saint’s waist as his arm encircles my shoulders, and he leans into me. “We’re out of here.”
“I like it when you’re jealous.” Saint’s breath is warm on my face, and I inhale the smoky sweet fumes of whiskey, wishing I’d gotten drunk with him.
“No one touches what belongs to me,” I supply, following Galen and Theo as they clear a path through the bar. Caz guards our rear, ensuring we’re not assaulted as we leave. Hostility trails us, and I welcome the frigid night air when we step outside. The sudden downpour, not so much.
Rain falls in dense sheets from the sky, pummeling my body like a thousand tiny stones pelting me at once. Wind lashes the rain, sending it in all directions, and my clothes are rapidly soaking. “Let’s get you into the car.” I tug on Saint’s arm when he stops suddenly.
“I want to walk.”
“You’ll get fucking pneumonia in this weather.” I pull the hoodie up over my head, shivering as biting wind knocks into me. “Come on.” I curl my hand around his elbow, but he shakes his head, pushing me away.
“I need to walk this off.” Grabbing my face in his slippery hands, he plants a whiskey-tinged kiss on my lips. “Stop worrying. I’ll be fine.”
Theo pulls the car keys from my pocket, running toward the Lexus with Galen and Caz in pursuit.
“No.” I grab Saint’s wrists when he attempts to pull away. I didn’t come out here to leave empty-handed. “You don’t get to tell me that. That’s not how this works.” I point between us. “I’m your wife. I’m entitled to my concern.”
“I don’t fucking want it or need it!” he roars, as wind and rain batter his face.
“Tough fucking shit.” I shove my face in his. “You don’t get a choice. That’s not how love works.”
“Neither does forcing me to do shit I don’t want to do. Leave, Harlow. Go home. I’ll see you later.”
He walks off, and I grab hold of his shirt, yanking him back.
His nostrils flare as he swings around, staggering a little. Balling his hands into fists at his side, he clenches his jaw. Rain has plastered his shirt and jeans to his body as the skies open, liberally dumping water on top of us. Fighting a shiver, I tuck my hands in under the sleeves of Saint’s hoodie, craving warmth. His chest heaves as we stand there glowering at one another before he forcibly relaxes his fists, taking a step back. “I don’t want to hurt you, and I’m still too fucking mad. Just go home, Lo. Please.”
His face contorts in pain, crumpling in desperation, and my heart bleeds for him. He’s so used to doing this alone he doesn’t know how to react when support is offered.
Without waiting for my reply, he sprints off in the direction of the woods behind the bar, and I immediately give chase, because fuck this bullshit.
He’s not dealing with this alone.
Period.
The others don’t attempt to stop me, because they know it would make no difference. Saint needs to understand he’s not an island anymore. I’ve given him enough space to get out of his head, and it hasn’t worked. He’s seriously delusional if he thinks I’m leaving him now.
He can hate me.
Scream at me.
Lose his temper.
I don’t care.
He can do whatever he needs to do to work through his emotions, but he doesn’t get to shut me out, and the sooner he realizes this is the way things are going to be from now on, the better it’ll be for all of us.
CHAPTER 36
I RUN AFTER him, slipping in the mud as rain hammers me from all sides. Cursing my stupidity at racing off without changing into more suitable clothing, I focus on staying upright as Saint disappears into the forest in front of me. Wind whips the hood off my head as I give chase, plastering stray strands of hair—that have come loose from my ponytail—to my brow.
Anguished shouting greets my ears when I dip under the shelter of the trees, welcoming the slight reprieve from Mother Nature. Rain still spills between the gaps in the branches, and tiny rivulets flow underfoot as I walk toward Saint, but the blanket of trees offers some respite. His fists pummel the bark of a tree while he roars and curses.
Slowing my pace, I observe from a few feet back, watching him take his aggression out on the poor tree with a pain in my heart. The skin rips across his knuckles, but still he continues to pound away, lifting his leg and kicking the bark when that’s not enough.
I step up beside him, pulling his hand back. “Stop. You’re hurting yourself.”
“I don’t fucking care!” he yells, yanking his arm free of my hold.
Swiping hair out of my eyes, I level him with a stern look. “Look at me!” I grab his arm before he makes contact with the broken bark. “You need to vent. I get that. But you vent with me.” Grabbing his hand, I place it over my heart. “You own part of this, and every time you hurt yourself, you hurt me.” He tries to wrestle his hand away, but I don’t let him, gripping his wrist tight, forcing his hand lower until he’s cupping my breast through the hoodie. “Take me. Right here. Let me help you work it out.”
Grabbing the nape of my neck with his free hand, he yanks me toward him, forcing my head back at an awkward angle. “You want me to fuck my anger out, queenie? Is that what you’re saying?”
“Yes.” There’s no hesitation in my voice.
The hand around my breast squeezes, and he slams me back against the tree. “You want me to hurt you?”
“If that’s what you need,” I calmly reply, dropping my hand between us and grabbing his erection through his jeans.
His eyes flash manically, and the grip on my neck tightens to the point of pain. He arches my head back farther, kneading my tit through the hoodie. “No.” The word contains finality, and he pulls back, his hands leaving my body bereft. “I won’t do that to you. I can’t hurt you. Not like this.”
If this was any other scenario, I’d tell him I’m proud of how far he’s come, but that sentiment has no place in this moment. Taking a risk, I close the gap between us, slapping him across the face. “You don’t tell me no. Not now. Not ever. And you don’t get to fucking push me away.” I rip at the button of his jeans as he stares at me in shock. “You hurt, I hurt. That’s the way it’s always been from the moment we met and our connection flared to life,” I remind him, shoving my hand down the front of his boxers, wrapping my fingers around his hard cock. Stretching up, I crush my lips against his, forcing my tongue into his mouth. When he doesn’t kiss me back, I rip my lips from his mouth and pull my hand from his boxers.
“I love you.” I grip his chin. “I. Love. You.” I peer into his eyes, beseeching him to let my love in. “I know your head is going in a million different directions, and I know you’re used to dealing with shit on your own, but you don’t have to do that anymore. I’m your wife, and your pain is my pain.” I unzip the sodden hoodie, throwing it to the wet forest floor, ripping my training top and sports bra off next. “Pain and I are acquainted on an intimate level,” I add, kicking off my sneakers next.
Saint stands transfixed, watching me like I’m some foreign creature he’s never encountered before.
Warmth blossoms in my chest as the truth of those words finds a home inside me. I should be cold, because a storm is raging around us, but there’s a different storm raging inside us, and it’s more powerful, more destructive, more vivid, consuming us in an inferno of flames, heating every part of me. My skin itches with a craving to touch, and from the way Saint shudders, I know he’s feeling it too.
He’s just too fucking stubborn and too angry to admit it.
“Give in to it with me.” I shove my yoga pants down my legs, bracing one hand against the tree as I yank them off my feet. Str
aightening up, I push my chest out and bare my soul, standing before him completely naked with rain bouncing off my pale, scarred skin, begging him to let go and give in to his instincts. “Lean on me and know that you never have to face anything alone again.”
“Lo,” he croaks, his voice cracking along with his resolve.
“I’m right here,” I whisper, placing my hand on his heart. “I’m here for you. Always,” I add on a whisper, feeling that truth sink beneath my flesh, lodging bone-deep.
Any lingering concern evaporates as Saint lunges at me like a wild beast set free from captivity. His arms band around me as he hauls me against his body, and his lips descend like the thunderous crash of a stormy wave. Our mouths collide in a frenzied kiss, and our tongues battle for control as we ravish one another while the storm outside continues to swirl around us.
One hand trails up my spine, tugging on my ponytail, arching my neck. Biting down on my lower lip, Saint rocks his hips against mine, and I claw at his shirt, ripping it apart with my hands, buttons flying everywhere. His lips graze my jawline, nipping, sucking, and biting, while I shove the wet material off his chest and move my attention to his jeans. A primitive moan escapes my throat as his teeth break the skin along the column of my neck. He bites and sucks, leaving a trail of pleasure-pain in his wake, and I arch my neck farther, granting him greater access, forgetting about his jeans, as I lose myself to his punishing touches.
His hand is still wrapped firmly around my waist, but as he dips me back, he loses his footing and we fall. Twisting around, he bears the brunt of the impact while I land unceremoniously on top of him. “Are you—”
His mouth suctions on mine, trapping my words inside. Three fingers spear inside my pussy, and I scream into his mouth at the sudden intrusion. I attempt to sit up, to pull his jeans down so I can free his dick, but my foot sinks into the soft mud, and I lose my balance, toppling off him, landing sideways in the muddy sludge. His fingers slide out of me, and I mourn their loss. Using my elbows, I push up on my knees, helping him to pull the sopping-wet denim down to his knees.
The Sainthood : A Dark High School Romance (The Complete Series) Page 82