Dangerous Girls: A Dark High School Romance (Broken Saints Society Book 2)

by Leia Thorne

  “Only because he stuck his fist in my stomach first.” Pushing the robe collar over, he grazes his lips along my exposed shoulder. “And just how did you glean this information from him, Sawyer?”

  My hands tighten around the banister. “I asked.”

  His laugh is low and insulting. “That’s no fun. Which…I’ve noticed you haven’t had too much fun with anything lately. Like on the yacht, and inside just now. When was the last time you got off?”

  A shuddering breath escapes.

  “Your needs aren’t being met, are they?” he asks.

  “I’m more than satisfied,” I say curtly. However, no—I couldn’t get off while Gage was fucking Remi so passionately. I was consumed with a dark hunger; a strange mix of longing and hostility and…envy.

  My thighs press together to offset the throbbing ache. I’m still wet from watching Gage and Remi. I hated them in that moment. Wanted to lash out. But I also couldn’t help what the sight of them together was doing to my body, how turned on I was… It’s not something I want to admit, even to myself.

  Jealousy.

  I wanted to be her.

  As if Gage is reading my body’s cues, he snakes a hand around my waist and takes hold of the robe belt. He grips the knot, then tugs it loose.

  “Gage…” I plead his name, begging him to stop and not to stop all in one breath.

  His hand slips inside the robe. “Let me take the pain away,” he whispers against my ear. “We’re still friends, aren’t we?”

  My eyes seal closed, as if I can hide from this moment. My silence is answer enough to Gage. When I don’t rebuff him, he flattens his hand against my belly, sensually caressing my skin as his palm travels lower.

  I feel naked, like I’m standing before Gage stark and bare, and he can see right through me to that humiliating truth.

  With this rare vulnerability, my defenses are lowered. Allowing his hand to roam to the apex between my thighs and touch me. No barrier between us, every touch, every atom and molecule is felt on a deep, sensory level. His breathing intensifies, his hard want pressed to my backside, the edge of his cock grinding as he seeks me.

  Heat envelops my skin, a fiery current that is all-consuming. My hips move of their own accord to match his painfully slow and torturous rhythm. He grasps my inner thigh and spreads my leg aside, seating my foot on the railing, so he can gain uninhibited access.

  Then the feel of his purposeful fingers are on me, touching me, swirling my wetness around my lips before he’s working my clit with expert skill. I bite down on my lip, my hand reaching up to find his neck, to connect me to him.

  His masculine scent is all around me. The scent of his aquatic cologne and his skin. My head feels light as my body tightens with need for him.

  “God, I’ve wanted to touch you like this forever…” His deep voice penetrates my resolve, and I roll my hips, pushing against his hand, my body pleading for more.

  “Say you want it,” he says. “Say you want me.”

  My mouth parts, a moan falling free, but I bite back the words. I can’t give him that; I can’t surrender my will to him.

  Undaunted, Gage thrusts a finger inside me…and it’s the closest we’ve ever been. Flesh against flesh. His erection grinds against my ass as his fingers explore, taking me over the edge of sanity.

  My chest constricts, and I feel his body rack with restraint, both of us clinging to this moment. Desperate for more, and trying not to go too far.

  Until my body succumbs to the yearning, and I gasp in a breath. “I’m…coming…”

  He quakes against me, his arm tightens around my waist, his fingers sinking deeper to hit that one, needy spot… “Fuck, Sawyer…” he says, and I know he’s right there with me.

  I break against him as the orgasm takes hold, my body held up by his strong embrace. The climax ripples over my skin before the surge pulls me completely under. I’m left panting as my hips ride out the last, lingering waves of pleasure.

  Gage’s breath is hot against my shoulder. His heavy breathing matches my own.

  There’s that one moment of blissful surrender…where we’re free…before the world and all its cruel truths comes crashing back.

  I swallow and ease away from him, catching the railing as I straighten. I tie my robe back in place. “I have to get ready.”

  He catches my hand. “Don’t run away.”

  “I’m not running,” I say, freeing my hand from his. I look into his eyes. He never put his glasses back on, and the blue is crystal and clear. “Thanks for the nut. Now I have to get ready for the game.”

  He shakes his head, exasperated. “You can try to downplay this all you want, but I know you.” He pops his fingers into his mouth, tasting me. “And now I have a taste for you I’ve never had before. This is far from over.”

  I lift my head, cinching my robe tighter. I leave the balcony before I reveal something I don’t want to. I’m not thinking clearly, obviously. What the hell did I just do?

  I may have gained a measure of control back over Gage, but what did the exchange cost me? What did I trade…what did I lose?

  Gage struck in a moment of weakness and, as I’ve known for years, he only needs one small crack to find his way in. Now that the fissure has been exposed, he’ll keep attacking; he’ll become relentless.

  There’s only one way to stop this from happening.

  I need to build a wall between us.

  Heavy bass ricochets off the stadium. The marching band stands high in the bleachers, beating their drums in primal fury to get the crowd pumped.

  Brighton is in rare form. The affluent students with trust funds have morphed into painted warriors. Leaving the stress and constant pursuit to achieve back at the academy for one night of high school experience.

  As our group ascends the steps, Gage and Remi lead the way. It used to be me at the helm. Beside Gage. But after what transpired at the treetop between us, I admit, I’m shaken. I hang back to observe. I need to watch.

  I need strategy.

  It’s all too surreal. Every gaze follows after them as Gage and Remi join hands and maneuver up the bleachers. They’re revered with awe and fear, envy and desperation. At some point, they became the power couple of Brighton Saints.

  I follow Palmer and Emry to our seats. Palmer taps the space beside her. “Sit with me.”

  I smile wanly, seating myself on her left. Emry holds her hand on her right. I used to mock their relationship. Or rather, maybe, I just didn’t understand it. How can you be committed to someone and share them at the same time?

  But then, I see how enamored Emry is with Palmer. He would do anything for her to make her happy. She’s a lively, free spirit and, if he does truly love her, he knows he can’t stifle that spirit. She would wilt, disappear altogether.

  I glance down the row at Gage and Remi. Gage has his arm draped over her shoulders. He’s reveling in the attention; his approval of her makes Remi above reproach. A sickness coats my stomach and, suddenly, I don’t want to be here.

  I stand and inch my way toward the end of the row.

  “Where are you going?” Palmer asks.

  “Restroom,” I say. But I have no plans to return. This was a bad idea to come.

  By the time I make it down the steps, a solid headache has formed. The stomping against the metal bleachers and rising chant to welcome the team hammers against my skull. I duck beneath the bleachers and move along the field fencing, trying to escape.

  “Where are you fleeing to?”

  Roland’s voice stops my getaway, and I turn to see him leaned casually along one of the support posts. “I’m not fleeing,” I say. “This just isn’t my scene.”

  He cranes a dark eyebrow. “Then why are you here?”

  Good fucking question. “Why are you?” I fire back at him. “This isn’t really your thing either, is it?”

  He shrugs, unbothered by my terse demeanor. “A lot goes on at games. No one comes for the players.”

  We
ll, that’s at least true. I peek up at the stands. I can glimpse the Saints between the slats. I need to keep moving. “Where’s your bike?” I ask.

  He nods his head in the direction of the parking lot.

  “Take me home?”

  Roland pushes off the post and starts toward me, and I’m relieved he doesn’t ask anything further. I turn to head in the direction of the parking lot when someone calls my name.

  “Sawyer, what are you doing?” Rush barks.

  I whirl around. Rush is suited up in his uniform and jogging our way from the locker room area. Shit. Escape thwarted, I fist my hands on my hips. “I’m leaving, Rush. Sorry. I’m not feeling well.”

  “That’s funny,” Gage says, coming up behind us. “You were fine when we got here.”

  What the hell is this? The damn inquisition? “I’m not feeling well now.”

  Gage pushes up the bridge of his glasses and swings his gaze toward Roland. “How’s your face feeling?”

  “How’s your gut?” Roland shoots back.

  I glance between them, their testosterone practically clogging the air like choking humidity. “Jesus. You guys want to have an old-school brawl? All that’s missing is the leather and letter jackets.”

  “I have a letter jacket,” Rush speaks up.

  I look toward the darkened sky, begging for patience. Then, with renewed determination, I look at Gage. “I’m going home.”

  I set off, but Rush’s voice comes again. “Wait, Saw.”

  I keep going.

  “You’re leaving with Masters?” Gage calls out. “Damn, how hard did you lay it on him?”

  I know what’s going to happen before I glance over at Roland. His face goes from calm to pissed in a nanosecond. I raise a hand to stop him from attacking Gage, but he doesn’t. To my utter fucking surprise, he marches my way and takes my face in his hands before his mouth crashes against mine.

  There’s a beat where I’m too stunned to move, then I breathe him in, my lips opening to taste him. His lip ring is familiar in a welcoming way, and I’m lost for a few seconds before my conscious slams me back to reality.

  I push against his chest to break the kiss.

  Roland stares down at me, a question in his slate eyes. I shake my head, and look at Gage. Fury radiates through him in silent waves. I swear I glimpse hurt on his features before it’s gone, replaced by disgust.

  “What the fuck just happened?” Rush says, breaking the tension.

  “I want you to go to homecoming with me,” Roland says, not giving me a second to catch my breath.

  “What?” I ask.

  I hear Gage approaching, and I’m too disoriented to stop what happens next.

  Gage grabs my left hand and wiggles the ring off my finger. “You want this back?” He holds up the silver ring with the BSS crest. “You have a choice to make, Sawyer.”

  Unbelievable. “What the hell does that mean?”

  The cheers in the stadium rise around us, the crowd demanding their team. Rush curses. “I have to go. Sawyer, I thought we were going to homecoming together?”

  I can’t do this right now. My gaze stays locked on Gage. “I’m not going with anyone.”

  Rush: “Is this a joke?” But when no one responds, he tosses another heated curse in the air and slams his helmet on. He leaves the scene. Lucky him.

  All I want to do is get far away from here and the two guys who are waiting for me to decide, like some archaic match for my honor.

  “Give me back my ring, Gage,” I say, holding my hand out. “It’s not yours to take away. You know that.”

  His lips thin, and he nods a few times. He slaps the ring into my palm, grabbing ahold of my hand and tugging me toward him. “You’re scared. What happened between us—”

  “I’m not scared, Gage. I’m sickened.”

  A hard edge rims his features. His grip tightens. “Fuck you.”

  “Yeah?” I pull away from him. “No. Fuck you. Fuck you and your society.”

  His nostrils flare, eyes wide with a lethal glare. He sends Roland one scathing look in warning, then he smirks and shakes his head. He leaves us there, staring after him as he walks toward the stands.

  “Come on,” Roland says to me.

  I whirl toward him. “Fuck you, too, Roland. That kiss wasn’t about me. It was about getting a jab at Gage. Showing him up, or some shit like that. And I’m…” I trail off, unable to process any further. “Just…leave me alone.”

  I take off on my own. I don’t have my car here, so I pull up my Uber app and request a ride. I’d rather get a ride from a stranger in some smelly car than deal with any more Saints’ politics or men and their rivalry bullshit.

  I’m trembling by the time I walk through my front door. I’m still infuriated with Gage and Roland…but more than anything, I’m angry with myself. I toss my handbag on the marble foyer and head toward the kitchen. I grab a bottled water and uncap it just as the lights blink on.

  My mother stands near the island, her blond hair swept up into a classic twist, her makeup already removed. Her skin is smooth and glowing. The investment she puts in it to remain ageless shows.

  I take a swig from the bottle. “You scared me. I thought you were out tonight with Marshall.”

  My mother scowls. “We had to come home early.”

  My eyebrows draw together. “Why?”

  Her long sigh wraps around me. “Oh, honey. What have you done?”

  Chapter 13

  Remi

  The first text I sent to Roland was the morning after the home game.

  Brighton Saints had slayed our Fair Haven rivals, but that wasn’t the reason for the charge in the air, the tension I could feel mounting. Something had gone down, and Sawyer had abandoned the group. Before Gage drove me home, he parked and we fucked in the backseat. We fucked hard and vicious, and I could feel his need for more.

  The next morning, I had a choice to make.

  Keep Lesley de Pont stuffed in a box with all my fears and trepidation, or rip the lid off that damn box.

  Roland agreed to meet me at the diner. It was safe enough; the Saints didn’t go there, as far as we knew. So that became our secret place, and an investigation into Lesley and who she really was hatched at the corner table in the back over chocolate malted shakes.

  Over the next two weeks, Roland created a timeline. Lesley before and after. A lot of what he provided was angst and hurt for her changing behavior; his filter of how he viewed her. I showed him the picture I had discovered on the yacht. It was strange…but what did it mean?

  It was all speculation. Had the Broken Saints Society become too much for her? She wanted out, that much was clear, but Gage threatened to reveal her secret. What was that secret?

  We were going in circles.

  With no proof, no evidence of any actual misconduct or criminal actions, the only thing either of us could prove was that Lesley was depressed, and that the Broken Saints were an elite group of rich kids who liked to indulge.

  Between the secret meetings, I accepted my place among them. I won’t lie; it’s not a torturous situation. What may have pushed Lesley over the edge is my kryptonite. I’m addicted to the taste and feel of Gage. I’m addicted to the heated look in his eyes that makes his irises the brightest shade of blue—the proof of his desire for me.

  Since Sawyer and Gage’s fight at the game (Rush filled me in on some of the drama), it’s like her power over the group has waned.

  And I’ve stepped into her place.

  There’s a price to be paid for playing a role. Especially one of power. It’s enticing, intoxicating. If I’m not careful, I could lose myself in the process.

  Only, isn’t that the very reason I agreed to join the Saints in the first place? Since the game, I haven’t suffered the night terrors that come with waking in the middle of the night from repressed memories of the accident. I still miss my mother, but when I slip on a new pair of Louboutin’s that make Sadie and the rest of her horrid clique green with
envy, I forget all about the guilt of not missing her for one day.

  I like being someone else. Or maybe, it’s not even being another person. What if I’m finding out who I really am, and where I belong, what I’m truly capable of?

  I’m being torn in two different directions. Should Roland actually prove foul play by any member of the Broken Saints…would I care? That’s terrible to think, I know. A girl lost her life. But really—maybe Lesley just couldn’t handle the pressure.

  “She wasn’t wearing her ring,” Roland says, breaking into my thoughts.

  I blink and look across the table at him. “What?”

  “When she was pronounced dead,” Roland says. “I’ve scoured the news articles and the images of the scene that I could get ahold of. Lesley wasn’t wearing her Broken Saints Society ring.” He nods to my hand wrapped around the shake. “Like the one you’re wearing now.”

  I glance at my ring. The crest is facing backward. I never got it sized to fit. A terrifying thought occurs. “It’s her ring,” I say out loud.

  “Probably,” Roland confirms my dread. “Either she gave it back the night of homecoming, or they took it from her. But she didn’t have it on her person when she fell from the balcony.”

  Fell. He’s never once said jumped. He refuses to even consider the possibility that she committed suicide. “If it is her ring, I’m not sure what that proves.”

  We’re going in circles again.

  Until Sawyer Van Doren walks into the diner.

  Roland’s gaze darts up, and I follow it, turning in the booth seat to see Sawyer heading right toward us.

  “You’re pretty damn obvious,” she says, crossing her arms. “You should’ve picked a less public place. Scoot over,” she says to me.

  I do so, allowing her the seat beside me. “We’re just having lunch,” I say.

  She rolls her eyes. “Right. So, what’s going on? Remi feeding you inside intel?” She narrows her gaze at Roland. “Getting your rocks off on all the juicy details?”

  He says nothing, just stares at her, the silence building.