I blink at her, taking in her short purple hair, lip ring, and swathe of tattoos across her chest and down her arms. “I’m Wren. I’m not sure I like being called Mrs. Saint.”
She sends me a look. “You’ll get used to it. Let me give you the tour before it gets busy in here.”
Swirling her finger in the air, she places two beers on the bar and pops their tops off before sliding them over to a big man with a bandana tied around the top of his head.
“Obviously, the bar. Men lounge here, smoke, listen to music, flirt with women, drink.” Pixie rolls her hand as if to say “etcetera.”
Music with thumping bass vibrates the back of my teeth, smoke coils into the overhead lights, girls touch men’s bare arms and shoulders or slip into their laps. Everything seems so intimate. Lewd.
I’ve walked in on a party like this once in my dad’s parlor at home. Men sitting around with cigars and whiskey and a few half-dressed women. The beautiful, slender women send me territorial glares.
The men look me over, taking in all the skin I’m uncomfortable showing, before Pixie meets me at the end of the bar.
One leers. “Damn, Saint must like ‘em young and scared. I’ll take seconds if he gets tired.”
Disgust twists my insides and my hands grow damp. I’m supposed to trust these men when they talk about me like that? Maybe I should still take my chances on the run. Surely, Saint can annul the marriage with a snap of his fingers.
No skin off his nose.
“Touch a hair on her head and I’ll put your dick in a blender, Mack.” Pixie’s retort is quick and barbed, but she doesn’t look scared at all. I guess I’m under her protection, too.
Mack guffaws, but Pixie’s eyes narrow like a momma bear.
“You want Sin to teach you manners?”
That has me sucking in a breath. Does she know about how Sin was in Saint’s room last night? With me. Alone.
Mack grumbles under his breath, but he looks cowed. Is Sin scary even amongst all these dangerous men? I peer around the room for him, spotting him against wall by the door to the rooms downstairs.
His gaze lifts to mine as if he’s been tracking me this whole time. A new shiver slides down my spine as we stare at each other for a few extended seconds.
Pixie jars me from it with a solid, “Come on, Mrs. Saint. Let me show you the back.”
Her hand curls around my bicep, and we walk into a back room stacked high with cases of beer, chips, smokes, snacks, and other supplies to stock the bar and keep the men out there happy.
We move on to the washroom, where she takes a pile of dish rags and dumps them in an old industrial washing machine. “Laundry room, pretty self-evident.”
Pixie pauses and pivots on her feet to look me over again. “Or maybe not with that Dior dress you had on when you got here.”
I bite my lip. “I know what a laundry room is.”
Although I’ve never done a load myself before. Lucinda, our housekeeper, did that for us. But I’d watch her when I was bored. It was something to keep me out of trouble.
A shadow passes by the door, and I notice Sin again. Trailing us. He stares straight at me when I look at him.
Pixie throws a glance at him and rolls her eyes, humming. “Sin.”
I nod. “I know.”
She has a hold of me again, and we exit out a side door to the dim outside.
“Mmm. He’s noticed you. And that, girl, will either get you eaten for breakfast or keep you alive. Your call.” Pixie smirks.
“But I’m Saint’s.”
The sultry blink she gives me screams layers that I’m simply not aware of. “You know, Saint’s not had a lady the whole time I’ve been with Sanctuary.”
That has my heart beating hard. I ask even though I’m pretty sure I know the answer. “Why?”
