“This one’s possessive,” a guy with a shock of thick red hair says. “But not for long, according to my intel.” He licks his lips, letting his gaze freely roam my body.
Saint tilts his head to the side, and Caz grabs the man, shoving him into the wall before thrusting his fist in his face. The guy slumps to the ground, out cold, and an icy chill infiltrates the room. Eyeballs are glued to my back, and nervous adrenaline prickles underneath the surface of my skin.
The guy’s friends simmer and seethe, but they say nothing.
The dynamics within The Sainthood are fascinating to me. That the guys get away with this, purely because Saint and Galen are in positions of leadership within the junior chapter, and they are related to the current president, is unbelievable.
“The bedrooms are back there,” Saint explains, pulling me away from the pool tables and pointing to the corridor on the left. “And these are the stairs to the upper levels that house the office and meeting rooms.”
We trek up the stairs after a couple of younger members, and Saint leads me along the hallway, past a few closed wooden doors, and through the double doors at the very end. I press on the necklace to automate the recording software as we walk across the worn hardwood floor.
All conversation mutes, and every person in the room looks at us. About fifteen guys are sitting around the rectangular wooden table in the center of the room, and they nod their heads in acknowledgment.
“Gentlemen.” Saint steers me to the end of the table, pulling out the chair on the left side for me. “This is Harlow Westbrook.”
I jerk my head up, offering a tight smile as I glance at the guys around the table. “Sup.”
A chorus of greetings whips around the table from all but a couple of guys, who sit near the end, eyeing me warily. And I get it. Most probably don’t want women in the organization; however, they’ve no choice but to suck it up, because it’s the president’s order.
A few more bodies filter into the room as Saint sits down beside me, at the end of the table, and Galen takes the seat across from me. Theo slides in next to me with Caz claiming the seat beside Galen.
Footsteps thud across the room, claiming my attention, and I smile as Bry walks toward us.
“Hey.” He nods at the guys. “Lo.”
“Bry.”
He sits in the empty chair beside Theo, surreptitiously handing him a folded note. Theo passes it to me, and I slip it into Saint’s waiting palm. Saint dips his head, reading the details of The Arrows next shipment. He jerks his head at Bry, in a barely there acknowledgment, and I kick him in the shin. Saint narrows his eyes at me, and I pin him with a look that tells him not to fuck around. Bry has come through for us, and this hostile shit ends now. He needs to start treating him with more respect.
“Thanks, man,” Saint says, and he almost sounds sincere.
I’m about to kick him again when the doors burst open, heralding Satan’s arrival.
“Welcome, my little cherubs,” Sinner says, stalking into the room with the bald creep I hate. He’s rubbing at his shoulder, and it gives me immense pleasure to know I inflicted pain. Sinner occupies the seat at the head of the table, and the creep sits on his right-hand side. “I see we have our new female initiate with us today,” Sinner adds, smiling like the cat that got the cream when his eyes land on me.
It hasn’t escaped my notice I’m the only female here, confirming what I’ve suspected all along—Sinner’s “we’re letting women into the ranks” statement is a load of bull. It was a ploy to trap me, to control me, and nothing more.
The creep’s mouth curls in a sneer, and he levels me with a look suffused with venom, making an obscene gesture with his fingers, which I ignore, despite the distaste flooding my mouth.
Another man enters the room, sitting down on Sinner’s other side. I recognize the scraggly beard and disinterested scowl from the initiation meeting. He’s another board member and another asshole probably salivating at the prospect of raping me.
I can’t wait until they find out they can’t touch me.
“Everyone welcome Harlow Westbrook,” Sinner says. Fists pound on top of the table in some weird supposedly manly ritual.
I barely avoid an eye roll.
“Let’s get down to business,” Sinner says. “I’d like to wrap this meeting up earlier than usual.” A nasty shudder works its way through me when he fixes me with a loaded look. “Because I’ve an important engagement after this.”
Saint clenches his fists on top of his thighs, and I reach over, uncurling his fingers.
Sinner concentrates on business, talking about shipments due in and some new clients. He mentions plans to attack The Arrows, warning junior members to be extra vigilant, but he’s deliberately hazy on the details. Then Saint gives a roundup of distributions for the next week, and he confirms the supply pipeline is up and running in Lowell Academy.
Sinner resumes talking when Saint has finished his update. “Some of you may be aware that we’re diversifying our business interests, and I want to bring everyone up to speed. Smart businessmen know that spreading risk across various entities is a shrewd strategy, and we’re no different. Developing different income streams is a smart play, and it’s been our main focus this past year, but we need to do more to protect our interests and safeguard the future of this club. If one of our income revenues is hit, we want to ensure we’re not crippled because we have other income to fall back on. That is why the board has taken the decision to enter the sex trafficking trade.”
Deathly silence greets his statement, initially, and then a few guys shift uneasily in their seats. Some wary expressions are traded around the table. It’s clear this is news to a lot of junior members.
The hesitant reaction greatly displeases Sinner. He slams his fist down on the tabletop, and a few guys jump. Sinner leans forward, glaring at everyone seated around the table. “This is a good thing for The Sainthood.” He slams his fist down again. “Agreatthing, and we expect every member to fully support our initiative.”
