Instead of the signature tees they usually wear to school, they are all wearing fitted shirts with skinny jeans.
Saint’s shirt is rolled up to his elbows, showcasing his muscled arms and the heavy ink on this skin.
Galen has the top few buttons of his shirt open, highlighting the colorful tats creeping up his chest and onto his neck.
Caz’s shirt is stretched so tight across his back and shoulders it looks like it’s two sizes too small.
Theo is wearing a gray shirt that hugs his lean abs, and he’s made an effort with his hair. Instead of the usually messy blond waves, he has it slicked back and tucked behind his ears.
They scrub up well even when they’re only making minimal effort, and I fucking hate how much my libido notices these guys.
I caution my hormones to calm the fuck down as I inspect my reflection in the mirror, deciding to roll with this.
I already look like trailer park trash with my ripped dress exposing the scars on my stomach and upper arms, so I might as well make the most of it.
Instead of the smooth, sleek hairstyle I was originally going for, I use a shit ton of volumizing product on my hair until I resemble something from the eighties with my puffed-out back-combed look. I apply thick eyeliner to my smoky eyes, finishing with a couple layers of heavy mascara. Full red lips complete the look, and I can’t help grinning at my reflection.
“What’s that smile for?” Saint asks, not even pretending he hasn’t been watching me intently.
“Mom is going to flip out.” I stand, smoothing a hand down the front of my dress, as I grab my purse.
Galen glowers, and it’s getting old. “Continue scowling like that and it might stick,” I taunt, sauntering toward him. I brush my fingers along his brow, smoothing the lines out, and he slaps my hand away. “It’d be a pity to ruin such a pretty face.” He glowers harder, and I laugh.
Man, it’s way too easy to wind Galen Lennox up.
And, so far, The Sainthood’s intimidation tactics lack substance and sophistication.
I should have known that wouldn’t last too long.
CHAPTER 9
I wander around the crowded downstairs of our house, counting down the minutes until I can slip away. Mom’s face was a picture when she saw the state of me. The old me would’ve felt guilty, but I have zero guilt anymore and zero respect for my mom. She raged at Neo for his harsh treatment of me for all of five seconds before she forgave him. And she’s let the assholes move in here and treat the place as if they already own it.
Dad must be turning in his grave.
Although I could kill for a proper drink, I pour myself a large soda, steering clear of the obvious gang members and the four jerks clinging to their coattails. There is no way even a drop of alcohol is passing these lips when there are so many dangerous men in my house. I need to keep my wits about me. While I recognize some of them, there are a lot of faces I haven’t come across before, so I take a few photos on the sly when no one is watching.
Neo introduces me to a few scary-looking dudes, and I don’t like the way their eyes roam my body or the curiosity that alights in their eyes when my identity is confirmed. But dudes are suckers for a pretty face and a show of skin, and I use it to my advantage—flirting and laughing with them, extracting some key details like their names and how long they’ve been members. All intel which I file away to decipher later.
The entire time I’m talking to the outlaw dicks, Saint’s gaze drills holes in my back. I don’t need to turn around to know all four initiates are watching me, but Saint’s intensity is almost physical in the way I feel his eyes scorching a path over my body. I flirt outrageously, knowing it’s most likely pushing Saint’s buttons, and I’m only surprised he doesn’t yank me away.
I’m guessing he’s behaving tonight under Daddy’s watchful eye, because Neo is also watching proceedings carefully, and his eyes work the room like a pro.
I can see where Saint gets it from. That cunning ability to observe all and know all. He’s clearly learned it from Sinner.
Mom mustn’t like the way they’re looking at me either because she finds an excuse to extract me from the conversation, pulling me over to her work colleagues instead.
Mom’s business associates are giving Neo’s crew a wide berth, and the atmosphere is awkward in the extreme, the conversation stilted and tense. From the looks being shared around the room, I know I’m not the only one who thinks Mom’s lost the plot.
It’s like two opposing worlds colliding, and I’ve no idea how Mom plans to make this all work. When news gets out about her new gangland affiliations, I think she’ll lose a lot of clients. Being connected to The Sainthood is bad for business no matter how you look at it.
My cell pings with a text from Sariah, wondering how much longer I’ll be, and it’s a welcome distraction. I tap out a quick reply as I slip out of the living room and walk the empty hallway toward the downstairs bathroom.
Leaving soon.
The cell is suddenly ripped from my hand, and I’m pulled sideways into Dad’s study. Neo shoves me into the chair in front of Dad’s mahogany desk—the one passed down from his father in his will. Watching the asshole lean against the edge of the desk with my phone in his possession has my blood boiling for several reasons.
“Planning on ditching already?” he asks, reading the message from Sariah before scrolling through my phone like he has every right.
“Give that back.” I thrust out my hand, pinning the full weight of my animosity on him.
“Shut up,” he snaps without looking at me. He sifts through my messages, and all the tiny hairs lift on the back of my neck when he opens the photo files, deleting every single picture I took tonight. Lucky I already saved copies to the cloud and wiped the activity from my log. I move to stand, but he pushes me back into the chair, planting one firm hand on my thigh, keeping me in place. He puts my phone down on the desk and leans in close to me.
Bile swims up my throat at the malice burning in his eyes.
“I’ve been watching you for some time, Harlow.” His words send shards of fear slicing through me. “And I’ve got to admit, I’m impressed.”
I bottle my fear, schooling a neutral expression on my face. “Am I supposed to be grateful?”
He tightens his grip on my thigh, and his eyes drop to my bare skin for a brief moment.
A new layer of panic simmers underneath the surface.
“I’m not easily impressed, and it doesn’t often hold, so you have a choice here.” He leans down closer, putting his face all up in mine, and even though my natural instinct is to spit in his face, knee him in the balls, and get the fuck out of Dodge, I hold myself still, keeping a lid on my mounting fear. “Cooperate and live your best life,” he says as he moves his hand up under the hem of my dress.
I grab hold of his wrist, stalling his upward trajectory, because that shit is not happening. “And if I don’t?”
“Then mommy dearest pays the price.”
My stomach plummets. I might be pissed at Mom now, but I don’t want him hurting her because of me. I dig my nails into the underside of his wrist as he attempts to move his hand up to my bare pussy. I’ve never regretted my stupid decision to go sans underwear more than I do right now. “I knew this was bullshit. That you don’t love her.”