Chapter 29 Indie
Indie
Undressed - Sombr
Regina and I have been running every night before dinner, much to her displeasure.
To be honest, I’m with her.
These psychos take working out to a whole new level, and I haven’t been able to get out of bed without groaning like an eighty-year-old.
Rex mentioned there’s training that goes on around here daily, and Regina and I will likely join in once we feel a bit more settled. We’ve dipped our toes in with the cold weather training, and God is it horrific.
The Pit is like what I imagine a military base would run like, except these guys’ methods are a little unorthodox.
Not that we mind; it’s not exactly like either of us have ever partaken in an ethical system.
I wrap the cable around the hairdryer, placing it on the bathroom counter before opening the door. A scream rips from my throat.
“Fucking hell, Saint. Haven’t you heard of knocking?”
My heart slams against my palm as I edge my way further into the bedroom.
He’s perched at the end of my bed, his huge frame looking like a sculpture carved in indestructible stone as he stays deathly still.
Swallowing, I dare myself to move closer, coming to stand in front of him. “Saint?”
He inhales deeply, then pins me to the spot with his blistering gaze.
“Even though you asked me to leave, I didn’t fucking want to. I wouldn’t have left if I thought the Montgomerys posed a threat, and I always made sure to keep an eye on you. I had people on standby in case you needed it.”
My head jolts back at the unprovoked confession. I blink rapidly as I stare at him, my mind trying to catch up with the words he just spoke so freely.
That I wasn’t alone in my pining.
My hand grips against the towel at my chest, and the last bolt that’s containing my feelings rattles within an inch of its life.
He cocks a brow. “Despite my best efforts to watch you, you somehow managed to slip undetected into your double life. Because I had no fucking idea you were out there hunting Sumus down. All that mattered to me was that you were safe.”
My knees feel weak at his words, and the butterflies that are swarming my chest are making it hard to breathe.
I need to sit down, to hold on to something to prevent myself from collapsing at a confession I’ve yearned for. But I don’t move, not daring to risk anything that could break this moment.
Or wake me up.
I wet my lips, my voice not even sounding like my own. “If I had your letter, I would have called, Saint. You know that, right?”
He dips his head in agreement, the muscles along his back rippling with movement. It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask what it said.
But would he even remember?
“It wouldn’t have mattered if you didn’t. If you never thought you could stand to be around me again. I’d have made sure the world was still safer for you.”
A clean line cracks down the centre of my heart. All this time when I thought he’d been moving on, living his life with someone less damaged than me, he was out there, looking after me.
“Saint—”
“Let me be clear, Indie. There’s still a bigger threat at large.
Omnia might not know your double life exists right now, but they will unravel it.
Everything is likely traced to me, and I don’t give a fuck if Clarke’s death falls on my shoulders.
No one will hurt you whilst I’m breathing.
Even if you had gotten away at the cabin, if we never crossed paths again, I still wouldn’t have stopped.
The only regret I have in this world is obeying your ask. ”
I blink back the first tear, an abundance of questions rolling around in my mind.
I need to know, and I snatch the opportunity to loosen the constricted space.
“How long have you been doing this?”
He doesn’t miss a beat, offering me the first sign of trust since we locked eyes in my room.
“Since the moment I landed in Kingstone.”
That…was sixteen years ago.
“And the summers spent with your dad’s company?”
He leans back, the muscles in his traps flexing as he clasps his tatted hands between his spread thighs.
“I was training for this.”
“I see.”
I know Saint’s killed people, his numbers likely rivalling mine tenfold. You don’t have a secret operation of this magnitude without it at least coming your way once.
Now I’m beginning to realise he got his practice in early.
“How does your dad know about them?”
Saint has been hesitant with the details on his operation since the moment I got here, however this feels like we’ve taken a step forward, and I’m grabbing the openness with a greedy pair of hands.
His eyes meet mine for a moment, before they focus over my head. “They took someone he knew.”
An arctic chill slips down my spine.
“My dad also has military background; he’s a bit like Gina and Dawson, a complete and utter tech maniac. He managed to track down his…friend’s last movements, then found out the last place they were seen was the Archives.”
I blow out a shaky breath. Whoever Malcom was looking for, I can tell by Saint’s death-like glare they didn’t have a better outcome than Regina and me.
He’s been crafting Saint to be his own personal weapon on the front lines.
His mouth curls up at the side, a chuckle pushing past his lips.
“The hands that have touched you, have always had blood on them, Indie,” he says softly, like he’s easing the blow whilst my mind pieces together little fractions of our past.
He doesn’t need to worry about any judgement from me. My own are no longer pure, and I glance down to see the invisible ruby liquid pooling from them.
He slants his head, gaze wandering over me, feeling like the intensity is undressing me beneath the towel.
It’s been years since a man ran his eyes over me; the thought of it made me uncomfortable for a while.
No one does it quite like Saint.
Then again, all I’ve ever cared for is everything he does. I’ve never noticed it until now, but this is undeniable.
The movement of his eyes traces every curve that’s underneath the material, and his fists flex as he looks at me beneath hooded eyes.
I reinforce my spine, conjuring up the braveness that’s been waiting for this exact moment.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” I whisper.
He rises from the bed, slowly snaking towards me.
The old me would have trembled. When we first got together, it was fuelled with the fear of the unknown, then it progressed into the adrenaline burst of what he might do.
Now here stands two tortured souls, who despite being separated by time, know each other better than anyone else in the world.
We might have gathered a few hidden secrets, but there’s nothing this man could tell me, do to me, that would ever make me cower from him.
I might be fucking crazy, but he powers a madness in me.
Steady knuckles brush against my cheek, slowly gliding so his grip finds my nape, my pulse deafening me from his touch.
The contact I’ve craved for so long has my eyes fighting to stay open, wanting to lull closed at the sensation.
I want to indulge the moment, let myself feel exactly what it does to me, but I’m not taking a chance on missing a single thing.
When Saint finally speaks, his voice is low, husky, and sends a shiver down my spine.
“Because I really, really want to fucking kiss you.”
The crack that was formed in my heart slowly stitches itself back together.
I suck in a breath, my gaze hungrily searching him.
I love a lot of things about Saint; I could write a list that rivals in length to the societies.
But if you were to hold a gun to my head, I’d tell you his eyes have always been my favourite. They tell a mysterious story, luring you into the point of no return.
“What’s stopping you?” I breathe, my hand slipping from the knot on the towel, feeling the fabric loosen its hold as he steps even further into me.
His jaw flexes, and he closes his eyes, a slight shake of his head.
“Say it…” He drags in a breath. “I need to hear you fucking say it, Indie.”
Realisation washes over me, even after all this time.
He’s still there, just like me.
We’re both still mentally stuck in those swings from six years ago.
Both aimlessly wandering around in the gorge between us.
His eyes search mine, and a knowing smile tilts the corners of my lips.
“I’m ready, Saint.”
One minute, we’re standing at the foot of my bed, the next he’s dropping his hands to my thighs, my legs intertwining behind his waist. My back slams against the bedroom door, the towel lying on the floor, serving as a reminder of where I once stood.
Our lips collide.
Our worlds crash into each other violently.
Our kiss is a mixture of longing, need and desperation.
It’s got the room tipping on its axis; hell, the whole fucking universe feels like it’s lost control.
The motion makes me lightheaded, and I wrap my arms around his neck, one hand clawing up through the strands of his hair, tugging him to me, making sure this is real.
He steals every ounce of oxygen in me, drowning me in everything that is Saint Blackwood.
I tremble as he strokes his tongue against mine, causing heat to spike in my core. My entire body feels like it’s soared to a dangerous temperature.
My moans are captured by him, and firm, callused hands grip behind my thighs as he pushes us flush against the door, the lock rattling against the hinges.
I grind against his solid length, causing me to gasp into the kiss when it brushes over that spot. He then loosens his grip on me; my skin is so fired up from our connection that when he lets me glide to the floor, the cold wood sends a spark from the pads of my feet.
We’re breathless, his forehead resting against mine as his eyes stay closed.
“I can’t lose control with you.” His words fight between his heavy breathing, and my hands reach up to cup his neck, feeling the conflict pull his nerve endings tight.
“I know you’d never hurt me.”
Delicate circles are traced against my ribs by his thumbs. “I’ve changed, Indie. More than you can imagine.”
“And you don’t think I have?” I add, knowing he’ll have glimpsed the small amounts in our time together.
He laughs, pressing his lips against my cheek. “Oh, I’m very fucking aware. My once angelic little darling has developed a thirst for hunting down members of a hidden society.”
I’m too caught up in the word my; he’s still referring to me as his.
Maybe there is something still there, just buried deep as we try to navigate this new version of us, like learning to live in our own post-apocalyptic worlds.
“Exactly. I’m not as fragile as you think I am. You don’t experience what I have and not get a little darker yourself.”
I’m the last person you’d think about taking someone’s life, never mind multiple. Not a lot of people know what happened to Regina and me, even though we tried to tell someone.
We upped and left the city, people thinking we just moved on with our lives as normal after university.
It was so far from the fucking truth that it’s laughable.
“I know,” he breathes, his lips ready to move again, but forming wordlessly.
Saint and I’s relationship was intense, wild, possessive. We’d fought against it for so long that when we eventually gave in, we exploded.
He took me into a part of his world, corrupting the good girl I was brought up to be.
He showed me a whole other meaning to those two words.
“The Indie you knew is gone. She died a long time ago, Saint. I’m not that shattered girl who pushed you away on the swings. I came back stronger.”
Each word comes out solid, confidently, desperate to say anything to make him believe me, because I know he’s fighting against whatever war’s raging in his mind.
He steps back from me, reaching down to pick up the towel. “There’s still glimpses of her there.”
When he turns, there’s a hint of a smile on his lips, and then his eyes cast down on my naked body, making my nipples grow tighter as his thumb traces over the scripture along my ribs.
To become something so hauntingly beautiful, one must survive the darkness.
Those stormy eyes glance up at me, and I watch as the subtle thunder crackles in their depths.
“She’s just turned herself into a beautiful little monster.”