Page 36 of Of Heathens & Havoc

“Were you the sacrifice?” Bain asks, gripping my hair and tugging my head back so I’m forced to look up at the tower of muscle and menace shrouded in black. He smells like clove cigarettes and motorcycle exhaust, the masculine scent making something dark and sinful join the fear churning in my belly.

I shake my head. I remember in the entry form that it said the sacrifice wasn’t disclosed to outsiders. I’m not sure why I feel any loyalty to the Hellhounds or any need to protect their sick game instead of shutting it down, but I won’t break my word. Not to mention that I have no idea how much this group knows, but it’s way too much. They’re already terrifying, and I don’t want to give them such shameful ammunition to use against me.

“One way to find out,” says the particularly mean-looking one with a horned skull tattoo on the side of his neck. “Walk for us.”

“What?” I ask, trying to turn his way. Before I can, Bain’s fingers tighten in my strawberry locks. I curse myself for leaving my hair down, but I needed to hide as much of the bruising on my neck as possible.

“Yes,” Bain says slowly, releasing me and stroking my cheek, sending a shiver of dread down my spine and a quaking through my thighs. “Walk for us, little lamb. If twelve men ran a train on you last night, I’m surprised you’re able to get out of bed at all.”

“Guess that rumor about Saint’s dick is a myth,” the girl says, looking delighted. “I bet those Hellhounds are really more like miniature Schnauzers.”

A couple guys laugh, but Bain’s keen interest stays locked on me. “Go on,” he says, a challenge in his voice. “Show me the real meaning of the walk of shame, little lamb.”

A dark murmur rolls through the crowd, and I stand there burning with a desire to leap into the fountain and drown myself so they’ll stop looking, knowing I’ve been marked by the Hellhounds for their depraved games. But before I can so much as move, my brother shoves the nearest Sinner, who goes flying, not having prepared for the blow. His head hits the stone rim of the fountain with a sound that makes my stomach lurch and my blood churn.

“Did you fucking touch my sister?” Saint thunders as Heath jumps on the guy with the skull tattoo on his neck. They hit the cobblestones, rolling around in a blur of fists, a stream of obscenities echoing around the courtyard from both of them.

“Maybe,” Bain says, smirking down at my brother. “Did you?”

Saint is close to six and a half feet tall and more muscular than the taller boy, putting him in the same weight class, but my throat still catches with fright at the thought of him fighting the giant Sinner.

“Are you fucking stupid?” Saint grits out. “I told you, Mercy isours.”

“We’re just trying to figure out if she’s your sacrifice,” says the beautiful one, raking his fingers through his ebony hair and flipping it back in a gesture of casual arrogance. “And how much she enjoyed being fucked by her own brother.”

Angel takes a swing at him, and he just ducks out of the way before another Sinner jumps in to slam a fist into Angel’s face. Blood goes flying, and I cover my mouth, trying not to give away my reaction. My fingers are tingling so hard I can barely feel them.

“This is your last warning, Bain,” Saint says, not seeming affected by the bloody battle taking place around us as two more Hellhounds join in and the remaining Sinners rush to meet them with bloodthirsty delight in their stormy grey eyes. “If any one of you so much as lays a finger on her again, I will personally cut every one from your hands, nail them to the doors of all your rooms as a reminder, and shove the other three up your ass. Got it?”

“Fucking touch a Sincero, and your heads will be on spikes outside every business your shady-ass friends own by morning,” Bain growls back.

“Eh, come on,” the girl says, stepping over a Hellhound’s crumpled form that lies groaning on the blood-slicked stones. “The bitch may be hot, but she’s no Helen of Troy.”

“He’s right,” says the pretty brother, shrugging his torn blazer into place on his shoulders. “She’s not worth starting a gang war over.”

“We’re done,” Saint says, and Angel immediately shoves away from the Sinner he was fighting. Their mouths and noses are both swollen and bruised, dripping blood down the front of their uniforms.

Bain makes a circular gesture in the air with one long, pale finger. “Round up the others,” he says. “We’re done here.”

The fight breaks up, a couple bleeding boys carrying the one who was knocked out. Saint wrestles Heath away from a fight with two more Sinners, who join Bain and their sister.

Bain gives me a toothy grin. “Always a pleasure, Miss Soules. You’ll be seeing more of us before long.”

“Don’t count on it,” Saint growls, danger etched into every word he speaks, every line of his angular, masculine face, the way his muscles strain against his blazer as if his rage could burst the seams at any moment and spill out over his enemies.

Bain gives a menacing chuckle before turning as one with his group. They stroll off across the courtyard like it’s just another beautiful day and they didn’t just start a brawl in the middle of campus.

The crowd of onlookers goes back to their own dramas, except for a gaggle of girls who have surrounded Heath, batting their eyes in sympathy and cooing over his injuries.

“Get lost,” Saint says, throwing a possessive arm around Heath and making an impatient gesture at the girls. He strides out of the common area, dragging Heath, who turns around to wink and grin at the girls he’s leaving behind.

A flicker of irritation goes through me.

Angel throws a thick, muscular arm around my shoulders and swaggers out of the courtyard after my brother.

“Bruh, you’re such a cockblock,” Heath says, shoving Saint away. “I was about to get so much sympathy play…”

“Like you’ve ever needed an excuse for an orgy.”

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