“Hey, asshole,” I shout at his retreating back. “Forgetting something?” I raise my cuffed hands.
He turns around, walking backward as he faces me, showcasing a wide grin. “I happen to like that look on you. Suck it up, princess.”
I hide my irritation, claiming a seat at the end of the bench, deciding I might as well settle in for the show.
I keep my eyes peeled, my gaze roaming the two gangs squaring off on the field, committing faces to memory. Both gangs have at least twenty supporters backing them up today, and I know, in the Saints’ case, that’s only the tip of the iceberg. The guys don’t typically handle the grunt work themselves. They have access to a large gang they can call on when needed, and most of those guys stick to the shadows.
It doesn’t take long for the violence to start, and I’m riveted as I watch the guys annihilate Finn’s pathetic little school gang with minimal effort.
Saint, Galen, and Caz are lethal. Pounding the enemy into a bloody pulp while barely raising a sweat. Theo is no lightweight either, and what he lacks in body mass and strength he makes up for in pure rage. It’s not difficult to see the broken, lost boy hiding beneath his bad boy façade.
Parker screams and shouts from the other sideline, but she’s too far away for me to hear what she’s saying. From the way she’s throwing her hands around and stomping her feet, I know she realizes she’s on the losing team. I wonder how long it’ll take her to switch sides and how Saint will react to that.
It’s all over in less than ten minutes, which has got to be some new kind of record.
Finn’s crew lies broken and beaten on the field as the Saints stand victorious. They stride toward me, looking like their shit’s the bomb, gloating as if it’s all in a day’s work.
And I suppose it is for them.
Saint lifts the hem of his shirt to wipe his brow, exposing the chiseled abs that are a regular feature in my dreams. His jeans hang low on his hips, and the V indents on either side of his body are clearly visible. My tongue longs to trace the curves and to dip lower, to wrap my lips around his cock and suck hard.
Saint grabs my chin painfully, lifting my head and stretching my neck as far as it will go. He swipes roughly at my mouth. “You had a little drool there.”
I move to swat his hand away, remembering at the last second that I’m still cuffed, and all I can manage is a feeble sideswipe that barely registers.
He smirks, whipping his head around to where Caz is propped against the entrance to the bleachers with his feet crossed at the ankles. “Nice touch.”
“I thought so,” he agrees, lighting up a cigarette. A smear of blood is spread across his brow, and the side of his shirt is ripped.
“Although I’d prefer if she was naked and cuffed to my bed,” Saint adds.
“I thought you don’t go back for seconds,” I coolly reply.
“We don’t,” Galen retorts. “And who said anything about sex?”
“We could add a few more scars to your body,” Saint suggests with a dark glint in his eye. A few guys chuckle as they walk by, heading up the steps.
“We’re known for our creative torture techniques,” Galen adds. “And I’ve already got a few new ideas in mind for you.”
I shrug. “If you’re trying to scare me, you’ll have to try a lot harder than that.” I stand, thrusting my shoulders out and refusing to be intimidated.
Most girls would probably be ashamed if they bore the scars I bear, but I’m not like most girls.
I wear my scars proudly.
It’s why I’ve never shied away from wearing belly tops or sleeveless shirts or bikinis, and the shocked stares I picked up during swim class never fazed me, because these scars prove I’m a survivor, so why the fuck would I hide them?
“We’ll see.” Galen folds his arms, pinning me with the usual venom, and I decide to test the waters.
“You can’t still be sore about what went down when we were kids? Or you always take rejection so personally?”
He shoves me back onto the bench, caging me in with his arms, pressing his body down on top of mine. One hand wraps around my throat, and he squeezes. I hold his gaze without flinching. “I will fucking end you, Westbrook. You can sit there acting all smug and innocent, but we know the truth.” He squeezes my throat harder, and he’s glaring at me with so much hatred in his eyes I wouldn’t put it past him to strangle me in front of an audience.
Saint pulls him back. “Not here.”
My breath oozes out in grateful relief, but I make no other sound, refusing to show emotion.
Saint glances up at the crowd who is loitering, watching us with bated breath. Over Galen’s shoulder, I spot Parker watching the altercation with beady eyes, taking it all in and mentally parking it for dissection later, no doubt.
