Page 97 of Pretty Savage: Defy

“Why?” I ask innocently. “Is there a bylaw prohibiting women?”

“Well, no.”

“Then I can.”

“But Sisters and Mothers don’t go. Only outside women and sometimes...” He stops.

“Yes?”

His nostrils flare with his next breath, obviously regretting he brought it up. “Mistresses.”

“Perfect. So women are allowed.”

“That isn’t what I said.”

“It sounded remarkably similar.”

I grab my purse and head toward the door.

“There are requirements,” he calls after me.

I turn. “What kind of requirements?”

“For women who go.” His eyes move over my jeans and jacket. “They have to dress a certain way to fit in. The club will make you change into one of their outfits.”

“Oh.” I consider that. “Okay.”

I walk into the hallway.

Behind me, Carrson remains silent long enough that I know he’s recognized his mistake.

Then he curses quietly, and his footsteps follow.

He keeps his distance as we walk down the back stairway. I look for Silas but don’t see him among the waitstaff that hustle through the kitchen doors. I glance at my watch. It’s close to one a.m., but music continues to pump out of the ballroom, and through the doorway I can see the strobe lights flashing. The sound of talking and laughter has only gotten louder as the night goes on.

“Will your father be angry we’re leaving the party early?” I ask Carrson.

“I don’t give a flying fuck what my father thinks right now,” he spits out, refusing to look over.

“Okay, then,” I say, not bothering to argue. I don’t want to go back to the party anyway. Don’t think I have it in me to fake happiness and pretend I don’t notice how Carrson flinches when I take one step closer, how his body keeps pace with mine while the rest of him stays somewhere I can’t reach.

Before us, about thirty Brothers and Sisters stand in a loose knot, arguing, while four sleek black limousines idle behind them, their taillights staining the exhaust fog red.

A Brother named Wesleyson breaks from the crowd when he sees us. “Carrson. Thank goodness. The Sisters have this wild idea that they’re coming with us to Sinners.”

“It’s not wild.” Samantha steps forward. “We have as much right to go as you do.”

“But you’ve never come with us before,” another Brother, Stretson, argues. He stands beside his Bonded, Juliette, a pretty Sister with hazel eyes and a bright laugh. She plays the flute and some nights I hear her practicing, the notes lilting, dancing on the evening breeze.

She leans against him and looks up through her lashes. “Come on, baby. It’ll be fun.” Her fingers walk up the buttons of his shirt. “Maybe it’ll give me some new ideas.”

Stretson stares down at her, then back to the group.

“I’ve changed my mind.” He wraps an arm around Juliette’s waist and pulls her against him, making her laugh. “This is the best idea you’ve ever had, Sam.”

“Don’t give me the credit.” Sam tosses her hair over one shoulder. “This was Laurel’s plan.”

The argument stops.