“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.