Page 28 of Saint's Preciosa
Sophie leans forward, her voice dropping slightly. "Letting you ride on the back of his bike? Having you sleep in his room every night? Those are declarations. Calling you his ol' lady in front of the brothers? That's him claiming you."
My eyes widen. "But I'm not...we haven't even..." My voice trails off before I admit to them that we haven’t gone all the way sexually.
“Sophie’s talking truth," Angel explains gently, "an ol' lady isn't just a girlfriend or even a wife. It's something deeper. It means you're his partner. His equal. Under his protection."
"But I've only known him for a few days," I protest weakly.
Sophie shrugs. "I knew Blade for less than a week before he claimed me as his. When these men decide, they decide. They don't waste time."
"The question is," Angel says, eyeing me carefully, "how do you feel about all of this?”
I stare down at my wine, considering my answer. How do I feel about the dangerous man who swept into my life like a hurricane, destroying everything and building something new from the ruins? The man who touches me with surprising gentleness, whose eyes burn with possession whenever they land on me?
"I feel...safe with him," I admit finally. "Which makes no sense because he's probably the most dangerous person I've ever met. But when I'm with him, I feel like nothing bad can touch me."
Angel nods, understanding softening her features. "That's exactly how I feel with Ghost. Like he’s my shelter from the storm."
"Like home," Sophie adds softly. "Even when it makes no logical sense."
"Yes," I whisper, the truth of it settling over me like a warm blanket. "Like home."
Angel grins, lifting her glass in a mock toast. "Well then, welcome to the Shadow Reapers family, sister. Abuela too, whether she likes it or not."
The word “family” catches in my chest, bringing unexpected tears to my eyes. Since losing my parents, it's just been Abuela and me against the world. The idea of belonging somewhere larger, of being part of something, of people having my back, is both foreign and desperately appealing.
“Don’t look now.” Sophie gestures across the room to where the redhead, Cherry, has just sauntered in wearing painted-on jeans and a crop top that barely covers her enormous breasts. She leans over the bar top, sticking her backside in the air. “But someone’s showing off herass-ets,” she says.
Cherry must sense us staring because her head turns and when her gaze lands on our table, her painted lips curl into a smirk. My body tenses automatically, remembering our previous encounter.
Angel notices my reaction and rolls her eyes. "Ignore her. She's just upset because we've been systematically eliminating her kind from the clubhouse."
"Her kind?" I ask.
"Club whores," Sophie supplies bluntly. "Women who hang around hoping to catch a brother's attention, or at least warm their beds for a night."
"Angel and I have been on a mission," Sophie continues proudly. "When we both became ol' ladies, this place was crawling with them. We've managed to get rid of all but Cherry."
"She's been around too long," Angel explains with obvious distaste. "Has her hooks in too deep. But we haven't given up hope."
"Why does she dislike me so much?" I ask. "She doesn't even know me."
"Because Saint never gave her a minute of his attention,” Angel explains. "And now here you are, his ol' lady after he’s only known you a few days. It's driving her crazy."
Cherry's path through the clubhouse brings her closer to our table. Her eyes zero in on me, hostility radiating from her like heat from a furnace. I resist the urge to shrink back.
"Just pretend she doesn't exist," Sophie advises under her breath. "That's what we do."
Cherry pauses near our table, making a show of looking me up and down. "Still here?" she asks, her voice saccharine. "I figured Saint would have gotten bored?—”
"Don't you have somewhere else to be, Cherry? Someone else to annoy?" Angel cuts in, not letting Cherry finish her sentence.
Cherry glares at me. She opens her mouth for another barb when a deep voice interrupts.
"Problem here?" Saint stands behind Cherry, his expression thunderous as his eyes move from her to me.
Cherry's face flushes an ugly shade of red and a sickly sweet smile replacing her sneer. "Just girl talk, Saint."
He stares at her with the most menacing look I’ve ever seen until she visibly withers and scurries out of the room.
