“The feeling is mutual,” Bryant agrees.
“But Lo is right,” Saint adds, and I almost fall over in shock. “You must earn our trust,” he continues.
“You can start by keeping our girl safe,” Caz says, as Lo rolls her eyes, muttering under her breath.
Bryant scrubs a hand over his jaw, eyeballing each of us. He nods, wetting his lips before he speaks. “Sinner wants me to identify the rat,” he admits.
“Can you?” Lo asks.
“I’ve heard nothing, but that’s not unusual. We’re only junior chapter and not privy to a lot of stuff. But I can press Darrow. He has an in with the president. He might find out.” Pressing Darrow is also our plan—an excuse for the lack of retaliation. But he won’t know it’s also Bryant’s endgame because he doesn’t know his number two is now a Sainthood spy, so our angle isn’t compromised.
“You get a name, you tell us first,” Saint says.
“Why?”
“The why isn’t important right now.”
Bryant looks to Lo, and she nods. Saint stiffens.
“Okay.” Bryant looks over his shoulder to where the truck is getting ready to leave. “We need to go.”
Caz grabs Lo to him, enveloping her in a bear hug. “Stay safe, badass.”
She grins. “You betcha, sexy.” She plants a kiss on him.
“If anything happens to Lo, I’m holding you accountable,” Saint says to Bryant because he just can’t resist going there.
Lo slaps his chest. “Just stop. I’m tiring of this.” She pecks his lips. “I can take care of myself. You stick to your end of the bargain.”
He swats her ass. “See you this weekend, princess.”
Lo turns to Theo, looking unsure. They stare at one another, and Theo looks equally unsure. Tentatively, they step toward each other, and he kisses her on the cheek. “Mind yourself, Lo.”
She nods, smiling, but it doesn’t meet her eyes. Her gaze whips around to me, and I straighten up, grimacing as red-hot pain whittles through me. “Meet me in the lobby,” she says, after a few beats of awkward silence, surprising me.
I open my mouth to ask why, but she’s already leaving, running alongside Bryant in the truck’s direction.
_______________
I’m sitting ona small black leather couch in the lobby area when Lo arrives. The guys are here too. She sets a white box down on the coffee table. “Take your shirt off,” she commands, not looking at me as she removes a few things from the box.
“What?” I splutter.
She bores a hole in my head. “Do it before I change my mind.”
With great difficulty, I remove my shirt, sweating with the exertion as splintering pain assaults my upper body. Cool fingers brush against mine as she helps lift it over my head.
Our eyes meet, and I drop my usual barrier, hoping she can see how sorry I am. I’m still confused over the past, and the lingering resentment I harbor toward her for the part she played, but I’m so fucking sorry for handing her to Darrow. It was a temporary lapse in judgment. I let that bastard manipulate me in a moment of weakness, and I’m better than that.
She deserves better than that.
And I don’t deserve any show of kindness.
Hurt and anger and uncertainty are etched upon her face.
“Lo, I—”
“Don’t speak!” Her harsh tone reminds me where we’re at, and I swallow my apology.
