I usher them forward, stopping in front of the framed nudes of me now hanging on the wall. “Ta-da.” I stretch my arms out, turning around so I can see the expressions on their faces.
“Holy fucking shit!” Galen exclaims, stepping in closer. He runs his fingers over the glass in the place where his name is printed in mock graffiti.
“I got one for each of you,” I explain. “That’s why the poses are different, and I wrote a personal message for each of you.” It’s not lengthy as I didn’t want to detract from the sexy photo, but I wanted to individualize them.
“The photographer better have been a woman,” Saint growls, his gaze skimming across all four photographs.
I roll my eyes. He’s utterly predictable, but it’s reassuring in a way. “I didn’t want you up on a murder charge, so, yes, it was a woman.”
“These are beautiful, Lo.” Theo pulls me under his arm, pressing a kiss to my temple.
“They’re perfect,” Saint agrees. “You look like a fucking queen.”
Warmth blooms on my cheeks. “Well, I couldn’t look at those Godawful tacky posters with their airbrushed bodies and plastic tits any longer.”
“Massive improvement,” Caz says, pecking my lips. “Thanks, queenie. I love mine.” His eyes glint mischievously. “Now I have something to jerk off to when you’re not around.”
“That’s an added bonus,” I agree, smirking. “Just try not to get cum on the glass.”
“We’ll have to cover them if Granddad is dropping by,” Saint says. “Unless you’re happy for me to slice his head off his shoulders.”
I’m tempted to argue, just to push his buttons, but I think better of it. These photos remind me of the best day of my life, and they are for my guys’ eyes only.
It doesn’t matter that Diesel has seen me naked.
These are not for his viewing.
“I’ll get something we can throw over them for when he visits,” I agree.
We shower and get changed, preparing to leave for the meeting at Sainthood HQ. The guys are wearing their leather cuts over black shirts and black jeans. I dress in black skinny jeans and my scuffed boots with a tight black and red T-shirt on top. I zip up my black hoodie and tie my hair into a high ponytail. We all tuck our guns in our jeans, and I strap my knife to the outside of my thigh.
“Don’t forget this,” Theo says, approaching me with the necklace Diesel gave me. He fastens it around my neck.
“Thanks. You still have the recording of my initiation meeting safe and close at hand, right?”
He nods. “I’ve backed it up to a couple places, and I have a password-protected file on my phone. When we need it, I can pull it up in seconds.”
“Good.” I exhale heavily. Sinner will lose his mind when he realizes we have incriminating evidence on him and the board. Especially when the commissioner gets “taken down.” That recording proves they set it for me as a task and that the motive behind his assassination came from them. We’re holding this in reserve to pull out when we need it.
“Okay.” Saint stands in front of us, folding his arms. “These meetings are usually a shitshow,” he explains. “An opportunity for Sinner to lord his power over us. I’m not going to tell you what to do, only stay sharp and be smart. Let’s not antagonize him in front of other junior chapter members because he won’t take kindly to that.”
“We need to pick our battles.” I tug the zipper of my hoodie up under my chin. “I got it.”
Theo distributes our wedding bands, and we put them on, agreeing to keep our hands under the table during the meeting so we don’t tip him off early.
I let Galen take shotgun, and I jump in the back, sitting in between Theo and Caz. Galen blasts rock music, and we don’t talk as Saint drives us to Prestwick for the meeting.
He pulls into the parking lot, gliding into a vacant parking space, alongside a truck and a couple of motorcycles.
“Watch your backs,” Saint warns as we get out. He rounds the hood, taking my hand, and we walk into the devil’s lair.
CHAPTER 22
THE LOWER LEVELof the building is a lot like The Bulls warehouse we torched. A narrow hallway opens out into a large space. Stools are lined up under the counter of a bar that resides on one side with a myriad of couches, tables, and chairs on the other.
Several men in leather cuts are dispersed across the room, many with scantily clad young girls sprawled across their lap.
Club paraphernalia lines the walls alongside the entrance to the small kitchen. Facing the bar are two pool tables, and a bunch of older members lifts their heads from their game, nodding at Saint and the guys. A couple eye me with blatant interest, and Saint gnashes his teeth at them.
