“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.
“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.