Reign (The Sainthood - Boys of Lowell High #3)(112)

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 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.

I stand, staring straight ahead as I walk toward Sinner, flanked by the two perverts. Eyeballs glue to every part of my body as I step closer to the enemy, and I swallow back my distaste.

“Here she is.” Sinner yanks me into his side. His arm wraps around my shoulder, his nails digging into my exposed skin. “The woman of the hour. Don’t let this sexy exterior fool you. Harlow Westbrook takes no prisoners.” He raises his glass, pressing me in even closer to his side.

Everything about him irritates me to no end.

His cologne. His good looks. His fake praise.

But most of all, his touch.

His fingers on my bare skin sends me back to my thirteen-year-old self, and I long to whip out my knife and stab him in the gut.

Man, it would be so satisfying, and I hope I get to stab him at some point during the night.

My guys are rigid and on guard at the table, wearing neutral expressions to disguise their true feelings, watching and waiting with bated breath for the moment when this will turn real. Galen locks eyes with me, and his reassuring gaze helps to keep me grounded.

“To the woman who single-handedly assassinated the commissioner, eliminating one of our most powerful enemies. To Harlow Westbrook.” Sinner’s voice booms out across the room, and goose bumps break out along my arms. The longer his fingers are on me, the more I want to scrub at my skin and remove every hint of his DNA.

The room full of assholes stands, lifting their glasses in a salute to me. Invoking all my acting prowess, I smile and act gracious when all I want is to firebomb every single one of them, after first gouging out their eyeballs with their forks.

“Yes,” Sinner says, digging his nails in deeper, drawing blood. “Harlow has done well, but that doesn’t excuse her other sins.”

Everyone sits down, and I can almost taste the anticipation in the air.

Here we go.

The men at the table surrounding us lounge in their seats, puffing on blunts and cigarettes, knocking back beer and whiskey, sharing knowing grins as they eye me like I’m dessert.

Sinner sits down, yanking me on his lap, instantly banding his arm around my chest to keep me in place.

Chairs fall to the floor as my guys stand, ready to wade into battle.

Cold metal presses into my temple, and I hold still.

“Sit your asses back down,” Sinner barks. “Or I’ll pull the trigger.” A clicking sound bounces off the walls in the now deathly silent ballroom as he readies his weapon. Five of Sinner’s men surround Saint and the guys, patting them down and quickly disarming them before shoving them back into their chairs.

Saint’s jaw is as hard as glass as we make eye contact while the senior members of The Sainthood restrain my husbands and Bry, tying their hands behind the backs of their chairs. Rope is secured around their ankles, ensuring they can’t move.

I hope Diesel and the team are in place and that he’s listening to every word so he can move in at the right moment.

Sinner stands, keeping his arm around my chest and the gun pressed to my head while he moves us forward. When we reach the guys’ table, he hands me off to that bald prick. Baldy’s arm replaces Sinner’s across my chest, and he grabs my boob, cupping it as he presses a gun into my temple.