Reign (The Sainthood - Boys of Lowell High #3)(7)

CHAPTER 3


HARLOW

WE PULL UP to an enclosed property in Prestwick, and Saint kills the lights as we approach the high iron gate. Putting the engine in park, he extracts his cell and taps out a message.

“Why aren’t we going to the warehouse at Landing’s Lane?” I ask, because I was told it was their main interrogation place, and I presumed that was where we were headed.

“It’s too open after the fight,” Saint shares as the gates creak open. He puts the car into gear, and we move forward. “That place is retired now.”

I don’t say another word as we drive over the bumpy road toward the large brick warehouse in the near distance. I know The Sainthood has a number of secret warehouses scattered about and that all the locations are a heavily guarded secret.

Saint drives his Land Rover around the back of the structure, parking it to the right of the door. Theo helps me out of the car, pressing a kiss to my temple when he puts my feet on the ground. I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him to me, needing his familiar smell and the feel of his toned body against mine, to ground me.

Today has been one of the worst days of my life, and it’s not over yet. The few beers I inhaled back at Sariah’s house have taken the edge off my heightened emotions, but I’m still tense, still feeling out of sorts, grappling with the multitude of emotions flooding my system as I struggle to deal with the loss of my best friend. I’m trying to numb myself to feeling, but it’s not as easy as it used to be, because I’m no longer desensitized.

Opening my heart to the guys has lowered my resistance, and I’m feeling far too much. I can’t function like this, and I desperately need to lose myself in my guys to remember who I am. To remind myself why life has to go on even though I will never forget the bubbly blonde who brightened up my world in so many ways.

Sar would hate to see me like this, and I owe it to her to live my best life, but it’s all too raw.

I guess this is what true grieving feels like. I’ve never let myself go there before, and a pang of guilt surges through me as the thought lands in my mind. I’m feeling more today than I did the day of my dad’s funeral, and it makes me feel like I let him down. Like I should have let it in more, because Dad meant the world to me, and it feels wrong now that I was so closed off to my emotions that day.

Theo hugs me to him, and I cling to his warmth and his comfort like he’s my favorite blanket. “You’re going to be okay, beautiful,” he whispers, threading his fingers in my hair. “We will be with you every step of the way.”

“I hate feeling like this,” I whisper, conscious the other guys have stalled by the door, waiting for us. “It feels like I’m losing myself.”

He places his mouth on mine, kissing me sweetly before pulling back and clasping both sides of my face. “We will never let that happen. We’ll never let you forget.” He kisses me again. “I love you, Lo.” He presses his forehead to mine. “And I’m never letting you go. Never.”

“I love you too,” I murmur, gripping his toned waist. “I love all of you,” I admit out loud for the first time.

“Have you told them?” he asks, easing his head back from mine.

“Not yet, but I will.” My own sense of mortality is screaming at me. I came so fucking close to death, and I’m not out of the woods yet. If my time should come, I want to leave this world with no regrets and I want my guys to know how much they mean to me.

I shuck out of Theo’s embrace, pushing those sentiments aside for the time being. We are here to teach this bitch a lesson, and it can’t wait.

Saint nods as I approach with Theo at my side, and I return the gesture. The guys have scarcely taken their eyes off me all day. I see the concern in their eyes, and it warms all the frozen parts of me, but I need to remind them—and me—that I’m not some broken shell of a girl.

I’m Harlow fucking Westbrook.

Survivor.

Queen.

Some two-bit ho isn’t getting the better of me.

We step into the warehouse, and it’s a lot like the one at Landing’s Lane. This level is empty save for a few bikes parked haphazardly in one corner and a couple long tables at the far end. A few crates rest on top of the tables, and an unfamiliar guy with a bushy gray beard and an overhanging belly slouches against the wall, smoking a cigarette. Saint and Galen head in his direction, and he straightens up, tossing his cig to the floor, stomping on it with his dirty boot.

“Who found the bitch?” I ask.

“One of our snitches,” Caz confirms. “She put up one hell of a fight, and it took three of them to get her into the van.”

Pulling up the side of my dress, I unstrap my Strider from its sheath, enjoying the feel of the cool blade under the palm of my hand. “It will only require one of me to take her down,” I say, flashing Caz a steely grin.

“You don’t have to do this,” Theo says.

I lock eyes with him. “I know. But I want to.”

His features soften, and I see nothing but love and concern shining in his eyes, but this shit ends now. “I’m not going to break, guys. I’m stronger than this. Today’s been hell, but I’m not some fragile little doll you need to handle with kid gloves.”

“We know that, babe,” Caz says.

“Then stop looking at me like I’m about to fall apart!” I snap. “It’s fucking insulting.”