His blatant drooling earns him a death stare from Saint, and he gulps, instantly stepping back and averting his gaze.
“Harlow is with us. Spread the word. I’ll gut anyone who even looks at her,” Saint coolly replies, his words dripping with intent.
“Ruben’s in the VIP area waiting for you,” the first bouncer says, his anxious gaze jumping between Saint and his colleague, trying to break the sudden tense atmosphere.
Saint nods. “Thanks, bro.” He eyeballs the other jerk. “You’re lucky Ruben vouched for you.”
“I’m sorry, man. It won’t happen again.”
He looks half scared out of his wits, and it’s a timely reminder of how much power The Sainthood have around these parts. If this burly bouncer is terrified, and all he did was ogle my tits, what the fuck would they do to me if they knew everything I’ve done?
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.