It’s after two a.m. when I eventually hear cars driving up the driveway. They are quiet as they trek up the stairs, disappearing into their bedrooms without talking.
I wait a couple minutes, fighting a sudden bout of nerves before I kick them aside.
I’m a goddamn queen, and if I fucked up, I will own that shit.
Pulling a light sweater on over my tank top and sleep shorts, I open and close the door softly, locking it behind me. I walk to Saint’s door, pick the lock, and enter his bedroom without invitation. This conversation needs to happen one on one, and I don’t want the others interfering so I can’t risk knocking and them hearing. Galen will lose his shit if he finds out what I’ve done, Theo will be disappointed, but I think Caz will be pleased I’m fessing up.
As for Saint, I’m not entirely sure how he’s going to react.
I close the door, scanning the empty room. The bathroom door is ajar, steam wafting out, the noise of water hitting off the tiles confirming he’s in the shower. For a brief second, I consider joining him. Sex might butter him up. But I dismiss it almost as quickly. I’m not going to manipulate his reaction. I will handle whatever crap he throws at me with my head held high.
I sit on the edge of his bed, stretching my bare legs out in front of me, while I wait for him to emerge.
He walks out of the bathroom five minutes later, materializing in a cloud of steam, water dripping down his chiseled abs, disappearing into the towel slung low around his hips. He sees me and stops, staring at me in that alluring way of his, as if he’s staring straight through to my soul. It takes huge amounts of willpower to avoid drooling over his gorgeous body, especially when he’s only wearing a teeny towel. I find myself jealous of the beads of water clinging to his tan skin, and that’s just pathetic.
I clear my throat and shake the haze from my brain, lifting my eyes to his stunning face. His jaw is clamped tight, a muscle flexing as tension swirls around us. “We need to talk,” I say, standing.
He walks right up to me, leaving only a miniscule gap between our bodies. “Yeah. We do.”
“I fucked up,” I blurt. “But I want to make it right.”
He walks to his dresser, with his back to me, and drops the towel. “I’m listening.” His voice is gruff, his naked ass delectable, and I’m having a hard time concentrating.
Get a fucking grip, Harlow!You’re acting like some hormone-crazed teenager. Note to snarky voice in my head—Iama hormone-crazed teenager.
Saint stares at me over his shoulder, his lips pulling into a knowing smirk. Asshole knows what he does to me. But at least, he’s not wound up too tight. Maybe this might be all right.
“Put some damn pants on and stop distracting me,” I hiss, finally dragging my eyes from his ass. I drop back down on the edge of the bed, focusing on the floor.
“Start talking, princess.” His tone brooks no argument.
So, I do, telling him everything about my deal with Darrow, how I planted the cameras in their rooms, and sent Dar a message with the coordinates of The Sainthood’s warehouse.
The mattress dips as he sits down beside me. Thankfully, he has sweats on, but those lick-worthy abs are all up in my face, newly testing my self-control. “Why are you telling me this?” he asks.
This is the real hard part. I look him straight in the eye. “Because it didn’t feel right to betray you.” I pause for a beat. “I don’t want to betray any of you.”
It’s the truth, but how do I separate them out from the larger organization who still must answer for their crimes?
And how much have the guys been privy to?
How involved are they?
These were some of the questions keeping me awake last night.
“So why did you?”
“I overheard you and Sinner talking last night.” This is embarrassing to admit, but I can’t hold back. “I was enraged when I heard you both joking about swapping me and my mom. I flipped and let my emotions get to me. Instead of stopping to cool down, I just went into my bedroom and messaged Dar. I’ve spent all day regretting it.”
He smooths a hand over the top of his head, dragging his fingers across the shorn blond locks, frowning. “Are you saying you only told Darrow last night? Not on Sunday when you heard our conversation?”
“Yeah, it was last night. Why?”
He pinches his lips, looking deep in thought, and I wait him out. “Because The Arrows started making plans on Monday. We caught a couple of their guys scoping out the location in the dead of night.”
“They already knew?” My brow creases. “How?”
He stands and paces. “I don’t know. We thought you’d told him. That you’d fallen for our trap.”
