Chapter 42 Saint #2
“Here, boss,” our driver says from up front, and I glance over from Indie’s smile to see us approaching the threshold to the manor.
Two guards stand at each weathered stone pillar framing the road, the house beyond hidden within a fortress of trees and corroded stone high walls and hedges.
They lean in each window as our driver gives our details, looking over the invitation and glancing in the backseat, then nodding for us to continue.
The gravel road is blanketed from any light, only a sliver of the sunset piercing through as we approach the wrought iron gates, which open automatically as our car approaches.
When the car creeps through, it opens up to a wide grey, stone-cladded driveway.
A load of expensive-looking cars are lined up in the distance and a couple driving round the fountain as they circle and drop guests at the entrance.
The gold and black Omnia emblem is engraved into the centre of the waterfall.
“You seeing this, Dawson?” I murmur, knowing between the earpiece and the camera I have disguised as a pin, he can hear me.
“Every bit of it.”
The car rolls to a stop as we gear up to leave, and I place my aviators over my eyes. Stepping out and buttoning my jacket, I round the car and open Indie’s door.
My gaze travels over the spiralling granite doorway ahead, two security guards flanking each end, with another two holding clipboards as guests register, others already going through the search.
Glancing down at Indie, I hold my hand out for her, and she grips it like a vice as she stands, eyes closed.
When they slowly open, it’s like she’s morphed into something else entirely.
The blues in her eyes are gone, replaced with something cold and unearthly.
The earlier tension she held in her shoulders sinks down as she straightens. Like her entire body has melted to reveal the creature that lurks within her.
She winks at me, shifting to stand beside me, the movement causing the diamond necklace around her neck to blink against the low sun’s glow.
I fight the groan working its way up my throat.
My hand grips her tightly as I close the door, and we walk towards the epicentre of the Omnia manor.
It’s gothic, three stories high with the exterior stretching far beyond either side of us as it disappears into the dimming sky. There’s more windows than you would believe a secret society’s family home to have.
The once white-washed stone is darkened from the years this place has stood within these grounds. Either that, or it’s the secrets rotting from the inside out.
Acres and acres of land keep the evil acts that happen within its walls concealed from the outside world.
Ross notices us immediately, and I guide Indie over to him, letting him search her first while another reads our invites, combing through my fake identification documents.
Once he’s done, he checks me, knowing that the bump at my waistband and wrist are knives, but there’s not a flicker of a reaction from him, and he nods to the guy assisting him.
We’re both given black bands around our wrists, and I glance at Indie to see her zoned in on the couple next to us, the woman given a gold one.
Thankfully she isn’t, and we’re allowed through as we step into the grand foyer.
There’s a sea of people scattered around the place, some you’d recognise from the wealth attached to their names in this state, others I’ve never seen before.
A server walks past us with a tray, and I take two flutes off it, handing Indie one.
She hesitates for a beat before taking it out my hand, and I instantly recognise why. “You don’t need to drink it; just use it to keep your hands busy. I’ll swap it out for something later.”
Her gaze fixes on me. “I haven’t drunk alcohol since that night, and I’m wary of anything a stranger gives me.”
That rumbles a fury within my bones.
I rarely drink alcohol, hating the loss of control it gives you. Sure, I enjoyed a beer at university, but never to the point I was inebriated.
I want to grab it off her and throw the liquid out instantly if it’s making her uncomfortable, but there’s too many eyes we need to blend in with.
Instead, I glance up at the tapestry lining the wall, the familiar emblem radiating through gold and black thread; its tagline rests underneath it, the hidden meaning screaming at me.
Sumus Super Omnia.
“What does it mean together?” Indie whispers, glancing sharply from it to me.
“We are above everything.”
The words almost come out as a hiss to match the snake staring back at us.
I bring the glass to my lips, faking a swig before I link my arm with hers, leading us away.
Something catches my eye in my peripheral, and I peer over Indie’s shoulder, and she follows it. “Is that?”
“Yep.”
Holly looks downwards the moment our eyes clash, not out of fear or respect. But because of the behaviours they’ve learned from the rest of the staff here.
We’ve managed to get a small number of Ultio infiltrated within the hospitality. Seven to be exact, but it’s enough paired with the rest of the guys outside.
“So you weren’t going to be alone?” Indie says, following me as we leisurely walk around the manor, and I huff a laugh.
“Not exactly. I’d still be arriving by myself, but those guys getting in was a gamble tonight that paid off.”
Ross has played a big part in curating all this. No one applies for the staffing around here; everyone is recommended by Omnia’s clients.
Unless you’re me and manage to infiltrate through years of work to penetrate their veil of secrecy.
I keep Indie close to my side as we head to the lounge, glancing at her subtly every so often. She’s still got that look on her face, completely unbothered by her surroundings.
Good.
I haven’t missed the men that ogle her when she passes by, and my teeth are at risk of being ground down to fucking nubs every time I clock it.
She leans in close to me to whisper, “The gold bands?”
I notice she’s focused on a woman leaning against the bar, swaying slightly on the stool.
A rough sigh comes from me. “From what we’ve gathered from Ross, those are for…let’s say they’ve become property.”
Her eyes snap to mine.
“Are those the people who’ve gone missing?” she asks, keeping her voice low.
I nod, leading us to a quieter side of the room, tucked into the corner and out of any listening ears.
“Most likely. Black bands on women means they’re either equal to their husbands, or not willing to share.
You’ll be able to tell the difference whether it’s a spouse or a…
purchase. The latter’s usually dressed to grab attention. ”
Her face screws up as she assesses each of the women here.
The one at the bar, for instance: her dress barely covers her, and the way her movements are slowed, eyes unfocused.
She’s already been drugged, and the night hasn’t even begun.
It’s just another thing we uncovered. Women are rarely respected within Omnia, or so we’ve gathered. With how their initiations go, all the evidence points to that assumption.
We still don’t know who their hierarchy are apart from the Montgomerys, and I’m hoping tonight will be the night we finally crack it after all these years.
Indie discreetly pours some of the champagne from her glass in front of the armchair, the liquid being soaked up by the carpet.
“When you say share?” She glances up at me, waiting for the blanks to be filled in.
“They often trade them for a period of time here, letting others try before they buy. Enough interest, they get entered into an auction to make more money.”
The words taste like venom in my mouth, despite flowing casually. I’ve spent years learning everything I can about them, to the point where it no longer phases me.
It would torment the most innocent of souls witnessing the footage we have, even just hearing the stories passed along to us.
Indie leans back in the chair, arms folded, and a murderous scowl on her face.
“That’s fucking inhumane,” she growls, and the look has become something I’ve become sickeningly addicted to seeing, but now’s not the time.
Some of the nightmares that taunted me have often wrapped around if it could have been her.
My mum.
Dragged into their sickened system, never to be seen again.
“It’ll come to an end soon,” I add, taking a cigarette out when I notice others smoking round the bar. Thank fuck; I’m too coiled up and need to release it, and fucking Indie here is out of the question.
She turns to look at me, the first hint of a smile she’s offered since she stepped out of a car. “I’m proud of what you’ve been doing.”
I don’t know why, but I shift uncomfortably, not one to accept praise.
Not even my own father says that shit to me. “I haven’t done anything yet, darling.”
She lifts my glass from the table, pouring half of mine in, seeing as she’s emptied hers on the damp patch of the floor. “You’ve built an entire organisation for this.”
“As have you,” I add, raising my eyebrow.
She’s done far more than I have; she’s actually helped the victims of the initiations, taking the ones that had their lives destroyed, giving them chances to rebuild, taking the weight of their revenge on her own soul.
The Montgomerys are still breathing; I don’t class myself a winner until they’re not.
“It’s nothing compared to what you have,” she adds, and I shake my head.
So oblivious to what she’s actually done with her life.
That’s a conversation for later. I have my entire life to remind her just how fucking amazing she is, how much she sings the harmony that summons my blackened heart.
“You’ve done pretty fucking well just the two of you. Besides, we’ve forged alliances now, haven’t we?”
Her cheeks heat, and I check my watch to see it’s just after 9pm. The auction should be starting soon.
“Come on. Let’s take a walk. Bring your glass,” I say, standing and reaching my hand out for her.
We slip through the sea of people, and I bring her round to my front so she walks ahead of me. I clock a number of men glancing down at her wristband.
I should be fucking commended for the control I’m displaying.
When we reach the bar, I cage her in between my arms, using it like a barrier for anyone getting near her.
Thankfully, they have a non-alcoholic option for the champagne, and when the water I order comes in a bottle, Indie physically sags against me, reaching for it and cracking the lid.
All these new behaviours I’ve picked up in our time together only adds to the suffering those fucks are going to receive at my hands.
Our hands.
The couple next to us slides along what looks like a darkened folder across the bar’s worktop, and Indie instantly paws it, acting the part as she opens it.
My body turns rigid when she flicks the first page, noticing exactly what it is.
“Don’t,” I growl against her ear, her hands suspended mid-air as she’s about to flick the next page.
Fortunately, she actually listens to me, closing it over and sliding it along the bar again.
Disaster diverted.
I’d probably need to pull the fucking safe word myself if she saw what might be in those images, and I can’t tell her right now, not until we know for sure.
Not when we’re surrounded by soul-sucking zombies.
The bartender comes and holds out the device, and I slip my fake card in, glancing over the side as I wait for the payment to confirm.
My gaze is drawn over to the far end of the room, and I catch a glimpse of a side profile just as the door to the room closes.
No.
Can’t be?
Indie’s hand whips between us, clamping around my forearm with a vice-like grip.
“Saint,” she whispers. There’s a rough edge to it, and it drags my confused stare over to her line of sight.
Fuck.
The door to another room is open, filled with the activities I mentioned to her earlier. But that’s not what’s got her shaken up; it’s a certain prick that I’d love to rip’s skin off.
Conrad Montgomery.
The blood in my veins instantly fires to lava.
He’s got his hand gripped around the intoxicated woman from earlier at the bar, dragging her into the room as she tries to weakly fight back from him.
I can feel the rage blistering from my skin to Indie’s, frictioning against each other.
Indie’s shoulders rise and fall in quick succession; it might as well be a statue that’s leaning against me, her body like stone.
I knew she’d react to seeing him all these years, but this?
Watching him like a mirror image to the exact same way he treated her?
I wouldn’t have accounted for him acting like this so brazenly.
This has just torn open her psychological scars. I can see it in her face.
“Don’t get lost in that head, darling. I need you here,” I whisper to her, but she’s not registering my words, too caught up in the snare those memories have her in.
So I do the only thing I can.
Abandoning the drinks on the bar, grip her hand, and drag her to the closest bathroom.