Chapter 23 Indie
Indie
Higher - Creed
Doors slamming jolt me awake, “Higher” by Creed softly playing through the car.
I rub my eyes with my knuckles, and my hands drop like weights into my lap, not able to remember a time where I’d gone out so quickly.
When my eyes finally adjust from the tiredness, I look at my phone to see it’s 2am.
Jesus, it’s been almost six hours since we left; we’re either on the opposite side of Kingstone or we’re in a new state.
My fingers play with the metal of the zipper, sliding it up and down absentmindedly as I yawn. I tug it right up to the close, tucking my chin inside the material.
I know I rested like that because of Saint, and it’s just another knock to the seal on my feelings.
I don’t know how much more they can take before I can no longer contain them.
My door opens, and I glance past my shoulder to catch eyes with Saint.
“Come on.” The corners of his lips are fighting the tilts, and I likely bear the residue of someone who’s woken from a deep sleep.
Or better yet, dragged through a hedge backwards when I clock drool on my chin in the side mirrors, and the strands of hair sticking up from my head.
Something passes between us; both of our gazes ignite against each other the longer we keep it there, colliding with years of unspoken thoughts passing through them.
My throat constricts just looking at him, but then he steps back, severing the connection to look over his shoulder and speak to someone.
It’s a woman. She’s a little taller than me, blonde hair scraped back in a tight bun. What eradicates the leftover tiredness from my eyes as they widen is how toned her arms are.
Jesus Christ, she looks like she could bench me and not break a sweat.
Suddenly, I have arm envy.
I unleash my seatbelt and warily slip out the car. We seem to be in a garage of some kind, but that’s putting it lightly. It’s more like a damn warehouse.
Huge rows of lights beam down on us from the metal ceiling, stretching down into what feels like the great beyond. Entire rows of vehicles similar to Saint’s are all lined up, along with a pocket of more civilised ones.
“Are you going to tell me where we are?” I ask, turning to catch him already watching me.
The door clicks softly behind me, his hand resting on the roof as he follows my earlier line of sight.
“This is where we keep the vehicles.”
My eyes roll, and the threat of calling out captain fucking obvious’s observation skills drips from my tongue, along with asking why he’s tiptoeing around the subject.
Regina walks up to me, and Saint pushes off the car to head towards Rex.
“Why do I feel like we’re in some undercover FBI shit?” she whispers, linking her arm with mine as we follow behind the guys, heading through the towering bay doors, echoes of conversations sounding around us as bodies litter the garage.
“Something tells me whatever this is isn’t as legal as that.”
We stick close to each other’s side as we walk into the night. The boundary is pitch black, though we’re still within the woodlands. Soaring trees wrap around the walled edges, the swaying silhouettes stroking against the star-littered sky.
I’d stop and admire if my mind wasn’t otherwise preoccupied with the tug my heart has to keep moving.
Men and women kitted out the same as Saint and Rex walk around the grounds, some looking like they’re out on a late-night stroll—others patrolling with rifles in their hands.
Every single one of them is fitted with a bulletproof vest.
The only lights provided on the ground are from the faint glow of bulbs attached to a huge angular building, and in the shadows, it looks like it’s been left to rot.
It towers over four stories, moss and foliage wrapping around the lit-up corners. Some windows look smashed, but they’re boarded up from the inside, no light breaking through from the interior.
It looks like an abandoned factory.
I stop to glance behind me. Concrete walls stretch into the darkness, barbed wire running along the top. There’s a metal gate on the road we’re standing on, a watchtower of some kind built into the right-hand side.
We’re in a damn fortress.
Regina tugs on my arm, nudging me to keep walking.
“What did Rex say?” I ask, glancing from her to Saint; he’s leaning against a door, smoking another cigarette.
Eyes locked on me.
“Not much, just catching up most of the way. I asked him if he heard about Jenna, and if that was why he didn’t come back…he went quiet after that.”
My heart twists. Even though they were never official, it was obvious to all of us around them that they loved each other. A bit like Saint and I in the early days, fighting the inevitable.
Except their story’s ending is more bitter than ours.
We reach the guys a couple minutes later, Rex with his back to us, and Saint glances over his shoulder, looking straight into my eyes.
It’s odd; he looks almost like a stranger on the outside, but those eyes are something I’ll always know. They still belong to the same person I fell in love with.
Still love.
I’d only be lying to myself if I said it didn’t burn with a muted wrath inside its enclosure.
“Nice to see you two keep up the straggling motto,” Rex mutters, opening the door to the building to let us through.
Regina snorts. “I don’t know about you, Rex, but we’re not in the business of running headfirst into unknown territory with the fucking militia.”
All he does is laugh, walking inside as he calls over his shoulder, “Safest place in the world right here. Take a real fucking big-ass army to get through that gate.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask. Why the need?
Saint ushers us through with the tilt of his head, and Regina glues herself to my side as we walk through a wide hallway. It looks nothing like the ruins outside; the whole interior seems to have been refurbished. Rex takes a left, and we walk through double doors into a large meeting room.
We’re met with Rex’s groan. “Jesus, Dawson. Turn the lights down; it’s like the pearly fucking gates in here.”
He heads over to the far wall to dim them, and I’m thankful, seeing as they were giving off interrogation room vibes.
Dawson, who I notice is tucked behind a lengthy desk, concealed by four computer screens, pops his head over them.
“Shut up, dickhead. The light helps me stay focused this late.” He dips his head back down, the rattling of keys continuing.
I glance over at Regina; she’s wide eyed as she stares at Dawson’s setup, and I know that look.
She’ll be behind that desk before the sun comes up.
The doors banging shut has me turning round. Saint strolls over to us, three men following behind him, standing guard at the door. The blonde woman from earlier takes one side and gives me a soft smile.
The backs of my thighs touch an empty table, and I lift myself onto it, letting my legs dangle as I watch him.
Saint drags a chair out, the sound jarring my ears in the otherwise hushed room. He twists it round, straddling it backwards as his arms lean over it. His serious gaze pins me in place.
“Start from the beginning.”
I don’t immediately answer, too engrossed at letting my eyes roam over him, taking in the menace cladded in tactical gear that’s got my heart ready to tap out.
Shamefully, I’ve done this far too many times for the one night, but I’m still adjusting to the fact he’s real.
Regina huffs beside me, and I assume it’s because she can tell I’ve fallen into the trap of a daydream, looking at the love of my life. She nudges my shoulder, and my cheeks heat when I snap out of it, four pairs of eyes now focused on me.
“Why don’t you tell us what the fuck this is first?”
I lean back on my hands, raising a challenging brow. I’ve already told him our important details; he hasn’t even offered a sniff around what he does—nothing explains how the hell he’s managed to occupy a damn stronghold in the middle of fuck knows where.
He smirks but wipes it away with his hand. “You know my dad runs his own company. This is part of it.”
It’s my turn to glare at him.
“All this”—I wave my hand in the air—“isn’t just your standard bodyguard shit, Saint. What are you protecting, the fucking crown jewels?”
A choked laugh sounds beside me, and I glance over to see Rex turning his back away from us.
Saint’s jaw tics. “It’s private security. We’re hired by certain clients that would be considered…high risk.”
Well, that’s a sketchy answer if I’ve ever heard one.
I’m beginning to think he doesn’t trust me; either that or he’s not willing to offer much else until I give him my all.
I know that isn’t his entire truth, there’s something rooted deeper into it, but I suppose we need to work on that, seeing as someone fucked with us and sent me to kill him.
Saint clasps his hands together, and I recognise that look on his face. It screams, “That’s all you’re getting.”
It’s little things like this, the mannerisms.
They don’t seem to have changed. Even though our lives took different paths, those habits still seem to be rooted.
But I won’t let this go, and I’ll keep chipping away until he tells me everything.
I glance over at Regina. A silent message passes between us, and she focuses up at the ceiling, bobbing her head.
Welp, here goes nothing.
“Gina and I have been doing this for about five years.” I nibble on my bottom lip, weaving through my internal file cabinet to keep it high level. “We managed to get some information belonging to a secret society at university. But we didn’t have time to get them all, only two years’ worth.”
If we’d have had more time, we’d have taken everything we could have managed, but we barely made it out without being caught.
A shiver trickles down my back at the memory.
Saint raises a brow, a quiet urge to keep going.