Loud clapping greets us as the lobby comes into view, and bile rises in my throat at the sight of Sinner.
He’s dressed in a tuxedo.
As if he’s attending a movie premiere or a high-society gala.
Behind him, his board members are in their Sainthood cuts, so they clearly didn’t get the memo.
Tension bleeds in the air as we walk down the last few steps. Heated eyes pin me in place and all the tiny hairs prickle the back of my neck. I’m glad I chose to wear my hair up in a high ponytail, because this house is suddenly as hot as a furnace, and little beads of sweat gather on the nape of my neck.
Sinner whistles, doing nothing to disguise his blatant ogling. “You have grown into a very sexy woman, Harlow. My son is a lucky man.” His wolfish grin does nothing to calm my growing trepidation, but I put a lid on it, forcing my body not to react to his sickening gaze and his disgusting words. I plaster a sociable smile on my face. “Thank you for the compliment.” I almost puke on the words.
“Allow me to escort the lady of the moment into our ballroom.” He offers me his arm, and I cling tighter to Saint’s arm, discreetly rubbing my necklace to activate the recording device.
“You mean my ballroom,” Galen says with a glare.
Sinner chuckles. “Let’s not split hairs, nephew. We both know you’d be living on the streets if I hadn’t intervened to save you and your mother.” He casts a glance around. “Speaking of the junkie whore, where is she?”
“Mom is not here,” Galen lies. “And don’t call her that.”
“Pity,” the bald dude with the ink on his face says, crudely grabbing his crotch. “I could use her mouth.”
“I wanted to stick my dick in her ass,” the dude with the scraggly beard says.
“Be patient, friends.” Sinner’s lips tug up. “There will be plenty of hot, young pussy available tonight. And lots of nice, tight ass. Just how I like it.”
I know exactly which young girls he’s referring to, and I fucking hope Diesel and the team intervene before it gets to that part of the night, because I will slaughter every single one of those sick perverts before letting them lay a hand on those poor women. “You’re disgusting pigs.” I dig my nails into Saint’s arm and mentally count to ten in my head.
“You just don’t know what it’s like to be with real men,” Sinner says, yanking me from Saint’s grip.
“And you don’t know the English language,” Saint hisses, yanking me back. “She’s my wife. Our wife. And we’re not sharing her.” Saint pushes his face up in his father’s. “I don’t know how to state it more clearly.”
“Oh, I got the message loud and clear last time, son.” Sinner grabs Saint’s chin, but I push him off.
“Don’t fucking touch him.”
Sinner laughs. “You’re all so uptight.” He throws his hands around. “It’s a time for celebration. We’re the Kings of the world.” He hoots, and his cronies join in, whooping and hollering, and the urge to murder them all in cold blood is riding me hard.
One of the hired staff mans the front door, letting more Sainthood members inside. So far, I haven’t spotted a single woman, and my unease grows.
“You’re the belle of the ball, my dear,” Sinner adds. “Enjoy your moment. You’ve earned it.” He flashes me that obnoxious shit-eating grin of his, and a nasty shiver rockets up my spine.
Dread blossoms to life in my chest, because there’s no mistaking the double meaning.
CHAPTER 44
BRY IS ONE of the last to arrive, and he plops into the vacant seat at our table. “This looks cozy,” he murmurs, surveying the room with sharp eyes. “And like an ambush.”
“Thanks for that, Captain Obvious,” Saint says, slowly raising the beer bottle to his lips.
Not drinking would look suspicious as fuck, but we’re wary Sinner may have spiked our drinks. So, the guys have switched out the beers in the bucket in the middle of the table, and we’re only sipping our drinks, giving the illusion we’re getting drunk along with the degenerates, when we have every intention of remaining sober. We need clear heads to beat Sinner at his game tonight.
“I was wondering how long it’d take you to revert to form, nephew.” Bry plucks a bottle from the bucket with a smug grin, leaning back in his chair.
“Stop it,” I hiss, subtly glaring at them. “I know we’re all on edge, but sniping at one another will only distract us. Save your venom for the person who truly deserves it.”
A muscle pops in Saint’s jaw, and I drape myself around his taut body, kissing him until I feel him relax underneath me. When we break apart, Sinner is staring at us in a way that unnerves me. But I plaster a fake smile on my face, settling back in my chair, raising my bottle in mock salute to the devil.
“There are no women here,” Bry murmurs.
“Why do you think I’m so pissed?” Saint grits out, tearing strips off the label on his bottle.
Galen fixes his cousin with a fierce look. “He’s not touching Lo. And you need to get your shit together.”
Galen is right. It’s unusual to see Saint like this, but I know it’s because he’s worried for me. He’s not used to having to protect someone and it’s throwing him off his game.
Sinner taps a fork on the side of his glass, claiming everyone’s attention. The room instantly mutes. “Welcome, close friends and family.” He drills a look in our direction. “Thank you all for being here tonight. Please take your seats and let the celebration begin.”
Waiters descend on the room, delivering mountains of food. Sinner sits at a long table in front of the window, lording over proceedings, like he’s American royalty. I snort at the thought, because I bet the asshole truly believes his shit doesn’t stink. The seats on either side of Sinner are empty, which is weird, because I didn’t expect him to serve dinner if he’s still waiting on some guests.
Out of the corner of my eye, I spy Theo sending a pre-prepared message on his cell to Diesel under the table, and he must have deactivated the security system too. He’s clearly not waiting around, and I’m glad. There’s comfort in knowing we’ll have a team of highly-skilled government operatives outside to wade in when shit goes down.
We move food around our plates, without eating—because we wouldn’t put it past Sinner to spike our food too—and I will Sinner to hurry the fuck up and get on with it.
After the tables have been cleared and more alcohol is dispensed, Sinner calls the room to order. “I’d like to make a toast.” He watches Baldy and Scraggly Beard exit the ballroom into the house, and I don’t miss the wicked gleam in his eye.
I shift uncomfortably in my seat, bile swimming up my throat, as trepidation starts mounting.
Saint and Galen share a silent communication across the table. “Go after them,” Saint says, and Galen rises, striding across the room, his long legs eating up the distance in no time.
“Nephew.” Sinner calls out after him, but Galen ignores him, making a beeline for the double doors. Sinner jerks his chin at the two men standing on either side of the entrance, and they shut the doors, blocking Galen’s exit with their arms crossed and menacing smiles on their faces.