“You can do better than her,” she tells Saint, eyeing me with disdain, and I’m done playing nice. Slamming the blue-haired bitch’s head into the counter one more time—because I’m fucking pissed now—I release her, stomping toward the brunette to deal with her next. Thrusting my fist out, I hit her square on the nose, leveling her with a couple of quick, successive punches. She stumbles on her skyscraper heels, squealing like a pig as she tumbles to the floor, clutching her nose, and it’s enormously satisfying.
A bunch of guys rises from a table close by, eyes narrowing on me as they make a beeline for us. Most guys get off on bitch fights, but these ugly fuckers clearly have a different agenda. Either they’ve some beef with my guys or these women mean something to them—a sister perhaps.
“Fuck.” Caz grabs me back as Saint slides off his stool.
Theo slams a couple hundred-dollar bills down on the counter.
“We want no trouble,” Galen tells the bartender when he produces a sawed-off shotgun, pointing it in our direction. “You know who we are, and the women were out of line. They disrespected our wife.”
The bartender glances at my rings and nods at Galen before hiding the gun back under the counter. “We want no beef with The Sainthood,” he says, shooting a warning look at the guys circling us. “But it’s best you were on your way.”
I slide my arm around Saint’s waist as his arm encircles my shoulders, and he leans into me. “We’re out of here.”
“I like it when you’re jealous.” Saint’s breath is warm on my face, and I inhale the smoky sweet fumes of whiskey, wishing I’d gotten drunk with him.
“No one touches what belongs to me,” I supply, following Galen and Theo as they clear a path through the bar. Caz guards our rear, ensuring we’re not assaulted as we leave. Hostility trails us, and I welcome the frigid night air when we step outside. The sudden downpour, not so much.
Rain falls in dense sheets from the sky, pummeling my body like a thousand tiny stones pelting me at once. Wind lashes the rain, sending it in all directions, and my clothes are rapidly soaking. “Let’s get you into the car.” I tug on Saint’s arm when he stops suddenly.
“I want to walk.”
“You’ll get fucking pneumonia in this weather.” I pull the hoodie up over my head, shivering as biting wind knocks into me. “Come on.” I curl my hand around his elbow, but he shakes his head, pushing me away.
“I need to walk this off.” Grabbing my face in his slippery hands, he plants a whiskey-tinged kiss on my lips. “Stop worrying. I’ll be fine.”
Theo pulls the car keys from my pocket, running toward the Lexus with Galen and Caz in pursuit.
“No.” I grab Saint’s wrists when he attempts to pull away. I didn’t come out here to leave empty-handed. “You don’t get to tell me that. That’s not how this works.” I point between us. “I’m your wife. I’m entitled to my concern.”
“I don’t fucking want it or need it!” he roars, as wind and rain batter his face.
“Tough fucking shit.” I shove my face in his. “You don’t get a choice. That’s not how love works.”
“Neither does forcing me to do shit I don’t want to do. Leave, Harlow. Go home. I’ll see you later.”
He walks off, and I grab hold of his shirt, yanking him back.
His nostrils flare as he swings around, staggering a little. Balling his hands into fists at his side, he clenches his jaw. Rain has plastered his shirt and jeans to his body as the skies open, liberally dumping water on top of us. Fighting a shiver, I tuck my hands in under the sleeves of Saint’s hoodie, craving warmth. His chest heaves as we stand there glowering at one another before he forcibly relaxes his fists, taking a step back. “I don’t want to hurt you, and I’m still too fucking mad. Just go home, Lo. Please.”
His face contorts in pain, crumpling in desperation, and my heart bleeds for him. He’s so used to doing this alone he doesn’t know how to react when support is offered.
Without waiting for my reply, he sprints off in the direction of the woods behind the bar, and I immediately give chase, because fuck this bullshit.
He’s not dealing with this alone.
Period.
The others don’t attempt to stop me, because they know it would make no difference. Saint needs to understand he’s not an island anymore. I’ve given him enough space to get out of his head, and it hasn’t worked. He’s seriously delusional if he thinks I’m leaving him now.
He can hate me.
Scream at me.
Lose his temper.
I don’t care.
He can do whatever he needs to do to work through his emotions, but he doesn’t get to shut me out, and the sooner he realizes this is the way things are going to be from now on, the better it’ll be for all of us.
