Resurrection (The Sainthood - Boys of Lowell High, #1)

by Siobhan Davis

Piercing blue eyes penetrate mine, and I hold his intrusive gaze with one of my own. His face is a masterpiece of epic proportion. Strong nose. Plump lips. Full, high cheekbones most girls would kill for. His wide ice-blue eyes are framed with a layer of thick black lashes. His chin is coated in a stylish layer of stubble. His left eyebrow is pierced, and tattoos covers his exposed arms and hands right to the tips of his fingers. It’s too dark to see them clearly, but it’s an impressive display of ink. His black T-shirt stretches across an impressive chest and bulging biceps, and he is drool-worthy in the extreme. He’s hot as fuck, but from the smug tilt of his lips, he knows it too.

Saint Lennox, leader of the junior chapter of The Sainthood. A guy as feared as he is desired.

Where his cousin Saint’s gaze held curiosity as much as a threat, Galen is all cold, hard lines, his expression reeking of tension and disbelief. His jade-green eyes bore holes in the side of my head, and his ripped body is taut, on high alert, ready to strike at a second’s notice. Colored tats cover one arm, creeping up the side of his neck. He rubs his plush lips, narrowing his eyes suspiciously, as he dips his head, his brown faux hawk pointed in my direction like he’s wielding a weapon.

The guy with dark hair and intense brown eyes cocks a brow in amusement. He drums his fingers off the table, shooting a look at Saint. He’s built like a tank. Wide shoulders. Broad chest. Biceps bigger than my head. Muscular legs that snugly fit the dark jeans he’s wearing. His expression is the warmest. His gaze bounces from Saint to me to the door behind me. He must be Caz Evans—the muscle.

Theo Smith is the fourth member of the gang and he’s also drop-dead gorgeous, but in a different way. His long sandy-blond hair falls to the nape of his neck, tucked behind his ears in a messy, bedhead style that is extremely sexy. He scrubs a hand along his stubbly jawline, holding my gaze, the unspoken plea obvious. For a tech wizard and financial mastermind who is known to be sharp as a tack and cool under pressure, he sure looks rattled now.

“You taste like temptation, Harlow Westbrook.”

The only time I allow myself to feel anything is when I’m fucking. It’s the only pleasure I permit myself,

I’ve promised myself that if I ever fall in love it will be with someone on an equal footing. Someone I can tell all my secrets to. Someone who will protect me in the same way I protect him. Not someone I have to shelter and lie to in the name of keeping him safe.

Listen up.” His deep voice projects around the room. “The princess is off-limits. She belongs to us. Touch her and you’ll regret it.”

“I’m choosing to focus on the positives.” I smile as Emmett climbs up on the old dresser beside me. “Which is?” he inquires, clinking his bottle against mine. “I can murder them all in their beds and claim it was a home invasion.”

“I was kidnapped when I was thirteen and held hostage for five days. I was only released after my father paid a three-million-dollar ransom.”

It’s the twenty-first century, Galen. Women have the same right to enjoy consensual sex as men. Your comment just confirms your ignorance and lack of intelligence.”

The Sainthood’s signature branding, the same drawing that members have inked on their skin—a dark circle with a burning cross in the center.

“Do you always bring blades to parties?” “Does a bear shit in the woods?”