Page 48 of Of Heathens & Havoc

“You’re ours,” Saint says. “We protect what’s ours. Even from the other Hellhounds.”

She gulps, her gaze moving from one of us to the next. “You three?”

“Just say the word,” Angel says, pulling his t-shirt over his broad shoulders and down his ripped abs. Dude might not bequite as massive as Royal Dolce, but he looks like a bodybuilder, broad and thick and hard as granite.

I’m not the only one who noticed, either.

Mercy’s got her thirsty bitch eyes roaming over him now. “And then what?”

He smirks and shrugs his shoulders, letting the shirt settle over his impressive muscles. “And then you give us what we want in return. We always protected you, Mercy. But you didn’t protect us. So now our protection comes with a cost. No more free passes, lil mama.”

She scoffs. “You protected me? Is that what you call the bricks that came through our window because ofyourfamily’s gang affiliation?”

“Did any of those bricks kill you in your sleep?” he challenges.

She doesn’t answer.

“Not a hair on your pretty little head was harmed,” he says, prowling toward her and lifting her chin. “Trust me, little lamb. If we wanted to crush your skull until you were unrecognizable to your own parents, we could have.”

She turns her gaze my way, and I try not to flinch at the knowledge that those words remind her and everyone else of my sister.

“So now you pay for protection like a common whore,” I say, pulling on a clean black tee.

Her crystal blue gaze searches mine, the unspoken question loud and clear. “And?”

“And we don’t let anything happen to you,” I say. “Like finding out things you don’t want them to know.”

“Why would I trust you?” she asks. “You hate me. You’d do anything to destroy me.”

Saint snorts quietly.

“What?” she asks, wheeling toward him. “Is that funny to you?”

He just shakes his head and continues his routine.

“What’s funny?” she demands.

“If we wanted to destroy you, you’d already be gone,” Angel says.

“So I’m supposed to trust the word of a bunch of heathens who—did stuff—to me without my permission?”

“Hey, you signed up,” I say. “No one forced you to do that.”

She glares like she’s imagining ripping off my testicles. Not gonna lie, it’s pretty hot. But I speak the truth. She could have told me to go fuck myself when I brought out the confession. She signed up to protect herself. It was a transaction, like everything in life. I didn’t force her to do shit. Besides, the bitch got off so hard she’ll never forget it. It’s not like she didn’t enjoy the game as much as the rest of us, no matter how much she pretends otherwise.

“Why am I even here?” she asks. “You’re a bunch of murderers. Obviously you’re not going to help me.”

“You don’t really believe that,” Angel says quietly, staring her down.

“What else am I supposed to believe?” she demands. “No one told the truth but me.”

Her words hang in the air, the room silent as Saint gently lowers the stack of weights and straightens. His gaze snags mine, checking in the way he always does, like he’s expecting me to go full psycho at any moment. I’m not sixteen anymore though. I’ve got my shit under control. Mostly.

“You think I raped and killed my own sister?” I ask Mercy, my voice quiet as I grit out the words that feel like ground glass in my throat.

The stubborn tilt of her cute little chin is going to be my undoing. “Did you?” she asks.

Normally pain turns me on, but that one hurts in a way I didn’t know I was still capable of.

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