I could blurt it all out now, but I’d rather hold it in reserve to use at an optimal time.
“We know he took your virginity when you were fifteen,” Galen says, louder than necessary. “And that you’ve been whoring yourself out ever since.”
A few catcalls and giggles ring out from the jocks and cheerleaders table, but I ignore them. “Guilty as charged,” I admit. “Although I call it taking control of my sexuality. It’s the twenty-first century, Galen. Women have the same right to enjoy consensual sex as men. Your comment just confirms your ignorance and lack of intelligence.”
I lean back in my chair, cocking my head to the side and smiling at him. Out of the corner of my eye, I spot Saint struggling to contain a grin. I think he secretly loves it when I challenge any of them—no matter how he tries to portray it. “Continue peddling your particular brand of bullshit, and see if I care,” I tell Galen.
A throat clearing claims his attention before he can retaliate. I work hard to keep my emotions in check as I glance up at Parker. She’s wearing a tight red top that’s cut low at the front with her ample cleavage on full display. Her shapely hips are encased in a pair of skintight leather pants, and she’s forced her ugly feet into a pair of sky-high stilettos. Her makeup is so thick it looks like it’s been applied with a shovel, and her hair is so full of hairspray it doesn’t move when she shakes her head.
“Galen.” She purrs at him, sliding her tongue over her gloss-slicked lips. “Saint.” She turns her head to their leader, her gaze raking up and down his body as she unashamedly eye-fucks him in front of everyone.
My hands clench into fists of their own volition, and a burning sensation spreads across my chest. I struggle to stifle my unfamiliar feelings when Sariah kicks me under the table, cautioning me with her eyes.
I compose myself, schooling my features into a neutral expression, before anyone else notices.
“What can I do for you, Parker?” Saint asks in a pleasant tone I’ve never heard him use. I almost gawk at him but recover in time.
“Could I talk to you in private?”
Saint smirks, and his chair screeches as he stands. Galen, Theo, and Caz stand too. “Stay with the princess,” he commands Theo and Caz, taking Parker’s arm and moving her over to the far wall where there are fewer ears. Galen shoots me a mocking smile as he follows them.
“Yo, Finn,” Sariah hollers to the table behind us. “Your bitch is disrespecting you.”
“Shut your trap, Roark,” Finn shouts, digging his nails into the Formica tabletop so hard it’s bound to crack.
“Talk to my girl like that again,” Sean says, turning around in his seat to glare at Finn, “and I’ll permanently wire your jaw shut.”
“Bite me, asshole.” Finn flips Sean the bird, clearly aggravated at the lack of public respect. Seems someone is having a hard time handling the loss of power.
I watch Parker preen and pout, flirting up a storm with both Galen and Saint as they listen attentively to whatever she has to say. I glance at Finn again, and he’s seething, but he makes no move to retrieve his errant girlfriend, and that’s how I know this is a strategic play, and he’s definitely involved.
His face is a testament to the epic beatdown he secured last week, his skin every color under the rainbow. His left eye is still badly bruised, and his nose is swollen and covered in cuts, and he’s never looked so weak in every sense of the word.
Galen barks out a laugh, and I swing my gaze back around. Saint is smirking, Galen is chuckling, and Parker looks like the cat that got the cream. Her hands roam Saint’s chest, and his gaze flicks to mine for a nanosecond while she busies herself pressing her body up alongside Galen. She’s draping herself all over them, and both those assholes are letting her.
Caz chuckles, slurping noisily on his straw as he drinks his soda. “Jealous, princess?”
I snort. “Of that dumb bitch? Hardly.”
“Sure looks like it,” Theo adds, not lifting his eyes from his phone.
“Don’t pretend like you know me.” My tone is snippy, and Sariah quirks a brow. I know I’m letting them get to me, and it’s infuriating. But every time I’m in their company, they scramble my thoughts, crank my hormones to Richter-scale level, and seriously mess with my sanity. No one pushes my buttons more than The Sainthood, and it’s getting harder to hold onto my cold, emotionless state.
“I do know you,” he says, lifting his eyes to mine.
“No. You don’t.”
Parker’s high-pitched giggle assaults my eardrums, and I turn my head just in time to watch Saint squeeze her ass before sending her back to Finn. I grind my teeth so hard to contain the vitriol that begs to be unleashed it feels like I’ve given myself lockjaw.
“The princess doesn’t like Parker’s hands on you,” Caz tells Saint as he reclaims his seat beside me.
“Too bad she doesn’t call the shots,” Saint drawls, smirking as he clamps his hand down tight on my thigh.
“Listen up,” Galen shouts, jumping up on his chair. “Party at our place Saturday night.” A succession of pings rings out in the room, and everyone moves to check their cells. “Free booze and baggies. Invite only. Check your cellphones.”
Sariah checks her cell, opening the invite she’s received, cursing as she shoots daggers at Saint. “Momma Westbrook will never permit you to throw a party at her house.”
Truth. It’s Mom’s pride and joy. She’ll cut their balls off if they trash her house.
“What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.” Caz grins, winking at me.
“And she won’t be a Westbrook for much longer,” Saint adds with a sneer.
I wonder if she’s ever truly been a Westbrook. Has she been a Lennox all along?
“How are you planning on getting her out of the house?” I ask, idly tapping my fingernails off the tabletop as if I’m bored.
“She didn’t tell you?” Saint’s lips curve up. “Dad is whisking her away for a romantic weekend. We’ll have the whole place to ourselves Thursday to Sunday.” He slides his hand higher up my thigh, but at least, I’m clothed this time and I’m wearing underwear. He strokes his fingers at the apex of my thighs as he presses his hot mouth to my ear. “Think of all the fun we’ll have.”
Mom is up bright and early Thursday morning to cook breakfast for everyone before she and her obnoxious fiancé leave for their weekend of debauchery. Saint referred to it as a romantic weekend away, but I doubt Neo has a romantic bone in his body.
Tying women up and torturing them is more his style.
The eggs I’m chewing feel like sandpaper in my mouth as the thought lands in my mind, and I find myself fearing for Mom until I remember she’s a lying cow who invited a monster into her bed while it was still warm from my dad.
She’s on her own with this.
I shovel another forkful of eggs into my mouth to avoid engaging in the lively wedding conversation happening around the dining table.
Who knew teenage delinquents were so invested in wedding planning?
The four assholes are full of suggestions as they use fake charm to try to woo Mom to the dark side.