Chapter 8 Wren
WREN
After the ceremony, Saint deposits me in the bar and introduces me to Pixie, the only female I’ve seen milling about with a vest on. Does that make her part of the family? She’s the only one not trying to get one of the men’s attention.
Pixie’s dressed in clothes identical to mine, but she’s much smaller than me, so they’re not as obscene on her as they are on me. I’m glad the oversized vest comes down to my knees. Besides, the weight on my left hand is more distracting than how much of my thick thighs are on display.
“Hey, Mrs. Saint. You look like you’ve been hit by a truck made of sin and confusion.”
Sin. Such a good choice of words. His gaze prickles awareness that I can’t acknowledge.
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?”
She shrugs again. “You’re gonna have to ask him.”
Behind the building is full of dusty dirt and another building that stretches for a ways. It’s a surprise, I wouldn’t have guessed from standing out front. I wasn’t really looking before.
“How long have you been with the gang? Is it okay if I ask that?”
Pixie pulls out a pack of smokes and lights one up. Still, she’s all smiles. “Yeah. You can ask. I’ve been here six years. After the guys saved me.”
“Like they’re trying to save me?”
A casual shrug. “Not exactly, but essentially, yeah.”
Her head whips around as Sin exits the side door behind us, arms crossed, eyes narrowed.
“Are we not supposed to be out here?” I was told not to go outside without an escort, but surely Pixie counts. Right?
Pixie rolls her eyes. “I think he’s your current shadow. I doubt you’ll go anywhere without one for a while. I’m going to show you the garage, so you know where you’re supposed to go and where you’re not supposed to go.”
We walk toward the garage where more men sit on bikes, work on bikes, and fill the high ceiling with more smoke.
I see Saint’s name on the wall—his service, his rank, the club’s code: “Sanctuary First.” Did he build all of this himself?
Did it have anything to do with the picture of his wife and son, who are obviously not here anymore? Not with him. Whatever that means.
“This is the garage. There’s meeting rooms inside and that’s where the men hold church. That’s where they handle club business. You’re not to go near it unless you’re invited. They have a lot of outsiders in there, and the girls aren’t safe.”
“I don’t want to know, do I?”
Pixie shakes her head. “Unless you like the idea of being passed around and shared…”
By strangers? No. That’s horrifying.
But I peer back at my shadow—at Sin—and I wonder if the idea of being shared is off my list of desires entirely.
“Got it. Fully warned.”
“Yeah, well, the girls who go back there know what they’re getting into. It’s a choice for some.” Her voice falters slightly, but another smile follows as we round the side of the building where a fire pit and lawn chairs are spread out.
“I’m guessing you didn’t have a choice. Once upon a time?” It sounds similar enough to my situation for me to empathize with her already.
“The cliffnotes version? I got kidnapped from behind a club when I was a teen, drunk from my fake ID and the attention of older men. I woke up in a warehouse with other girls to be sold off for an hour at a time.”
Her frown and the glaze in her eyes makes her seem so much older. Like she’s lived too much life, but she can’t be much older than me.
“Saint and the crew crashed in and saved us. Saved me. Well, most of me, anyway. I didn’t have any family to go back to after. These men became my family, and I’m proud to be here. A part of it. They gave me my life back.”
I blink at her, absolutely horrified by what she must have gone through. It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask: How long did those awful people have you? But I don’t. It will put far too much into perspective.
If given the choice between that and being beholden to one awful man, my decision would be easy enough.
I grab her hand and squeeze.
Her smile renews, cracking a few crinkles around her eyes. It’s genuine.
It shows me this club in a new way—Saint and Sin and Doc in a new way. The garage gives hints of some underground work, something more than the expected drugs and weapons smuggling. Especially if they’re helping to take down trafficking rings.
We start walking around the front again where a few more men pull up to join the others in the bar. When they stop to watch us, I feel their eyes on me and do my best not to squirm.
It helps that Sin rounds the corner. I can feel it even before the men jerk back into motion.
I send him a glance over my shoulder. A flash of eye contact makes my skin sensitive to the slightest breeze.
None of this has eased me completely. Even if I have to remind myself that these people are dangerous.
Pixie must see it on my face. “Sanctuary ain’t a gang, sweetheart. We clean up what the law don’t touch. But the line gets blurry sometimes.”
Yeah, I bet it does. “What happens when it blurs too far?”
She shrugs. “That’s when Saint starts losing sleep.”
Pixie takes me back inside and behind the bar to “earn my keep.” I fumble with beer taps and bottles, but she teaches me how to pour a drink properly, sass the men, and look unbothered.
“Fake it till you bite back. Show them some teeth.” She mock bites the air at me, and I giggle.
I feel closer to her as we build a rhythm, and I stop messing so much stuff up.
A few of the men tease me about my violin, calling me princess.
I’m not quick with retorts, but when one of them leans into the bar and spreads beer breath stench in my space, I’m ready to snap.
“You sure you belong here? Your prized possession looks expensive.”
I cock my hip and plant my hands on them the way I’ve seen Pixie do several times this afternoon. “So do I. And Saint still thinks I’m worth it.”
That leans the man back with a laugh.
Saint is passing through, catches me firing back at his man, and smirks. He nods, proud, and I try not to preen.
It’s freeing—I’m still scared, but my confidence flickers back to life.
Pixie notices it and starts to tease me. “There she is. The fire under the lace.”
After all the teasing, Doc comes in with my violin case. “Give us a treat.”
Pixie winks at me.
When I come around the bar, Doc grabs me by the waist and sits me up on the bar. He’s so close it sends a smattering of sparks through me before he hands me my instrument and backs away.
I spot Sin in the shadows, his gaze intent on me like it’s been all night.
When I put my bow to the strings, I lose myself. It’s not the heartbreaking turmoil from last night, but I can feel the haunting notes down to my soul. As I always do, I put everything I have into the music.
When I come back to it, Saint is there, hand supporting my violin as I lower it. “You’re gonna wreck every man in this place if you keep playing like that.”
His words are tender and charged, and so is his touch.
I want to know this man. As impossible as that seems right now.
After a beat, one of the men hollers, “Play something the girls can dance to.”
Nodding, I smile up at Saint and put my bow back to the strings, playing a faster rock song that has the girls swaying, giggling, and grinding.
Until cars rumble outside, filling the windows with lights.
Shouts come from outside, and Saint pops me off the bar, handing me over to Sin. “Keep her safe.”
Sin’s hands are on me as he whisks me away.