CHAPTER 44
BRY IS ONEof the last to arrive, and he plops into the vacant seat at our table. “This looks cozy,” he murmurs, surveying the room with sharp eyes. “And like an ambush.”
“Thanks for that, Captain Obvious,” Saint says, slowly raising the beer bottle to his lips.
Not drinking would look suspicious as fuck, but we’re wary Sinner may have spiked our drinks. So, the guys have switched out the beers in the bucket in the middle of the table, and we’re only sipping our drinks, giving the illusion we’re getting drunk along with the degenerates, when we have every intention of remaining sober. We need clear heads to beat Sinner at his game tonight.
“I was wondering how long it’d take you to revert to form,nephew.” Bry plucks a bottle from the bucket with a smug grin, leaning back in his chair.
“Stop it,” I hiss, subtly glaring at them. “I know we’re all on edge, but sniping at one another will only distract us. Save your venom for the person who truly deserves it.”
A muscle pops in Saint’s jaw, and I drape myself around his taut body, kissing him until I feel him relax underneath me. When we break apart, Sinner is staring at us in a way that unnerves me. But I plaster a fake smile on my face, settling back in my chair, raising my bottle in mock salute to the devil.
“There are no women here,” Bry murmurs.
“Why do you think I’m so pissed?” Saint grits out, tearing strips off the label on his bottle.
Galen fixes his cousin with a fierce look. “He’s not touching Lo. And you need to get your shit together.”
Galen is right. It’s unusual to see Saint like this, but I know it’s because he’s worried for me. He’s not used to having to protect someone and it’s throwing him off his game.
Sinner taps a fork on the side of his glass, claiming everyone’s attention. The room instantly mutes. “Welcome, close friends and family.” He drills a look in our direction. “Thank you all for being here tonight. Please take your seats and let the celebration begin.”
Waiters descend on the room, delivering mountains of food. Sinner sits at a long table in front of the window, lording over proceedings, like he’s American royalty. I snort at the thought, because I bet the asshole truly believes his shit doesn’t stink. The seats on either side of Sinner are empty, which is weird, because I didn’t expect him to serve dinner if he’s still waiting on some guests.
Out of the corner of my eye, I spy Theo sending a pre-prepared message on his cell to Diesel under the table, and he must have deactivated the security system too. He’s clearly not waiting around, and I’m glad. There’s comfort in knowing we’ll have a team of highly-skilled government operatives outside to wade in when shit goes down.
We move food around our plates, without eating—because we wouldn’t put it past Sinner to spike our food too—and I will Sinner to hurry the fuck up and get on with it.
After the tables have been cleared and more alcohol is dispensed, Sinner calls the room to order. “I’d like to make a toast.” He watches Baldy and Scraggly Beard exit the ballroom into the house, and I don’t miss the wicked gleam in his eye.
I shift uncomfortably in my seat, bile swimming up my throat, as trepidation starts mounting.
Saint and Galen share a silent communication across the table. “Go after them,” Saint says, and Galen rises, striding across the room, his long legs eating up the distance in no time.
“Nephew.” Sinner calls out after him, but Galen ignores him, making a beeline for the double doors. Sinner jerks his chin at the two men standing on either side of the entrance, and they shut the doors, blocking Galen’s exit with their arms crossed and menacing smiles on their faces.
Galen spins around, narrowing his eyes at his uncle. “You can’t leave just as I’m about to toast your beautiful wife.” Sinner smiles, but it doesn’t meet his eyes. “Return to your seat, Galen.” The smile drops off Sinner’s face, replaced with a sinister warning.
“I need to piss,” Galen argues, folding his arms and not budging an inch.
“I don’t give a fuck,” Sinner snaps. “Sit. Down.” His tone is cold. His expression is hostile.
Galen looks to Saint, and Saint nods, knowing it’s futile to protest further. Galen’s face is like thunder as he returns to the table. “I don’t like this,” he hisses, rubbing a hand back and forth across the back of his neck. “He’s going for Mom. I just know it.”
“We should’ve put guys in there with them,” Caz says.
“We agreed not to drag any of our extended crew into this.” Saint’s hands clench into fists at his side. “We can’t be sure they’ll side with us over Sinner.” He glances at Galen. “We should’ve gotten Alisha out of the house.”
“There’s no point talking about what we should have done,” I say as Sinner calls my name. “We’ll deal with whatever he throws at us. We need to focus on the here and now.”
“Come up here, my dear.” Sinner gestures me forward with his fingers.
“You can toast Harlow from here,” Saint says, his voice projecting confidently across the room. I know they want to keep me close so they can intervene if needed.
“I wasn’t asking, son.” Sinner’s tone is clear and unyielding. Two goons appear at my back, casting dark shadows over the table. One of them drags my chair back, the legs screeching in the process.
Saint goes for his gun, but I plant my hand on his thigh. “Don’t.” We can’t show our hand too early.
