Chapter 3
Indie
russian roulette - rihanna
Sleep has always been a struggle for me, to the point where I’d give up most of the time. But these last few weeks, I’ve felt a comfort I hadn’t had in a long time.
Last night was the exception; I couldn’t keep my eyes closed if I tried.
Hours have passed, and now it’s morning, and I just know I’m going to physically struggle through this day.
All I saw was my sister’s face in the dark, her fake, brazen smile as she lined that stage, grinning from ear to ear as the demons in the crowd screeched for her.
The glass-covered fireball in my chest has simmered to a low boil, but it leaves a dull ache that might now be there until my dying days.
I’m in Saint’s bed, still waiting for him to make an appearance. I went to his room after Regina left mine last night, waiting for him to come in.
He still hasn't.
I’m assuming he’s been busy discussing their next move, and divulging and assessing the information he gathered. A part of me wanted to go find him, to ask him if he really did lie to me.
That might be the last flame needed to set me off if he’s known the entire time I’ve been here. My earlier mentioned safe circle might disintegrate into a dot, because if I can’t trust Saint, I’ll lose my faith in everyone.
The bedroom door opens, and I hear his heavy, sluggish footsteps boom across the floor.
A spray of water sounds in the distance, letting me know he’s in the shower.
I stay on my side of the bed, but I already know his eyes are on me from the other room, not even needing to turn round to confirm it. My skin erupts in goosebumps as I feel the gaze trail over my bare shoulder.
The moment it’s gone, they simmer, and I stay there until I hear him getting in.
Dragging in the air and hoping it’s laced with courage, I get up and make my way inside to brush my teeth.
The glass to his shower is steamed all the way up, but his gigantic figure stands stark against the light walls.
His hands are pressed to the tiles, head dipped between his shoulders as the water runs over them, the hidden makeup on his tattoos long gone as the swirls of ink run down his entire frame.
He stays like that for an age, mirroring the same musk of emotions I tried to wash away last night, but it’s no use.
They’re embedded in us.
Eventually, the water turns off, and I turn to place my toothbrush back and splash cold water in my face. I need to be completely aware of my surroundings, because one look in that man’s eyes can disarm me.
When I glance back, he’s already out, wrapping a towel around his waist; that aforementioned gaze pins me in place, but he looks exhausted. Shadows creep beneath his stormy grey eyes, that lingering weight from the events which unfolded still heavy in his features.
“Morning,” I whisper, watching him lazily stroll towards me. When he reaches me, his hand snakes behind my nape, pressing a kiss against my forehead.
He doesn’t speak, just picks up his own toothbrush and gets to work.
My skin itches with the questions I want to ask, one holding more weight than the others, its answer with the ability to collapse my entire world.
When I hear him rinsing, I move to lean on my hip, but he’s already there.
Saint cages me in with his arms pressed to the counter behind me, staring down at me through his thick dark lashes. The heat from his warm skin radiates onto mine, almost making me stumble in my composure.
The tone of his voice is always a contradiction; it’s rough, but like honey being poured over me. “Ask me.”
I steel my spine, puffing my chest out, but it just presses his wall of muscles against my breasts, setting my skin on fire. “Did you know Louisa and Barry were in the Omnia?”
This time, instead of sending his gaze elsewhere like he did last night, it centres on me, unwavering, and stable. “No…However”—my heart feels like razor-sharp teeth have bitten into it—“at the bar, I saw your sister in a room.”
The jaws latching around my heart retract. “So, not any time before that?”
“I’m not fucking lying to you, Indie.”
My mouth clamps shut, along with my eyes, and tears well again along the rims of my eyes. Saint’s hand ghosts along the tattoo on my ribs, the other slipping under my chin, tilting me heavenward, and I follow the silent command to open them.
His voice is like a feather against my skin. “Sorry, darling.” His thumb soothes my jaw, and the crackle in his eyes from the electricity dims to a low hum.
I don’t think this man has ever apologised for anything in his life.
“The only time I’d ever willingly hurt you is with the truth, never with a lie,” he says, guiding my lips to his as he presses a delicate kiss on me. “Even then, it would kill me to be the bearer of it.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about Jenna?” I ask. His hands wrap around my waist, lifting me on to the counter.
He leans away, grabbing a towel to rub through the dripping locks of hair, a hot sigh leaving him. “If I told you, and she wasn’t there, or worse…I didn’t want to give you false hope.”
My heart twists painfully in my chest. I want to be angry at him for keeping Jenna a secret, but his reasons are well intended. “Was she in those files you found before?” I ask.
Dawson said they had managed to infiltrate the Omnia files before. I don’t even want to think about how many missing women are in them.
“That, along with the book you were about to look through in the bar. It was a catalogue for what was on offer.”
My stomach drops at how close I came to two realisations.
If I’d opened that book and witnessed my best friend’s face, our cover could have been blown.
If that happened, we might have never gotten Jenna, and I might have never witnessed my sister’s true colours.
“I want them dead, Saint. All of them.”
He brushes my hair behind my ear, darkened gaze travelling from mine, down my neck, then to my lips, lazily rolling to my eyes again. I can see his sick, twisted mind purring within him, at the look he seems to love from me so much. “Including your sister?”
I answer without a hint of hesitation. “Yes.”
Apparently, it doesn’t convince him. He steps further into me, trying to weed out my honesty as his brows and tone take a dip. “Indie.”
I groan, hands slapping behind me as I lean back, my head bumping back against the mirror.
“Yes! I don’t know…” I squeeze my eyes painfully closed. “Fuck, I’m so angry at her. Worse than angry. She might as well have taken my knife and stabbed me in the chest with it.”
Saint’s hand brushes against my ribs, running along the script of my tattoo. “I’m sorry, baby.”
If I wasn’t so livid, my eyes would be bulging out of my head at the mere rare appearance of the word sorry that’s been uttered from his lips within twenty-four hours.
Twice, to be exact.
“How the hell is she a part of this? She wasn’t evil growing up,” I murmur.
A pain in the ass? Absolutely.
But never anything like this.
“Evil isn’t always bred, darling. It can often be crafted.”
I frown at his words, opening my eyes to look at him. “She’s nothing like us.”
Saint watches his thumb trace along my waist, hiking a shoulder. “No, she’s not. Maybe she’s been coerced.”
I scoff. “Seriously, Saint? As if. You know Louisa. She wouldn’t get herself into that kind of situation.”
His chuckle is dark. “What if she loved Barry so much that she was willing to follow his path with him?” The thought makes an ice-cold droplet slink down my spine. Would I do the same for Saint?
He’s already got darkness within him, as have I.
The difference is, we were forced to take this path as collateral, and even if it’s morally wrong, it’s the only way to fight a greater evil.
Theirs is purely for a sick gain. Money, power, control.
We use ours to restore our peace; they use theirs to destroy it.
“It doesn’t excuse any of it. She’s got a fucking back bone. She could have spoken up and used her title for protection; there’s a big enough audience out there that people would listen.”
Saint tips his head to the side. “Not disagreeing with you, but these people? They don’t think like that. You and I both know how deep this corruption goes. We’ve only seen the tip of the iceberg.”
My gaze bats up to the ceiling, and I shake my head. I can’t empathise or even begin to try and understand. “If that was you and me, I’d have taken your balls if I thought you were an evil prick.”
Saint runs his tongue over his teeth, flicking his gaze back up at me. “I was evil when we got together. My balls are still firmly intact.”
He leans into me, hands gripping my thighs to pull me to the edge of the counter.
“I was blissfully unaware of its depths then, and I like your evilness. It isn’t all that bad. It’s not even in the same spectrum,” I say, my voice husky as I stare into his eyes.
Christ, this isn’t exactly an appropriate conversation to be having whilst getting turned on.
“You’ve seen nothing, Indie darling.”
I force down a swallow, my breathing picking up. “So show me.” I whisper my dare, my palm tracing up his chest.
Saint helps me forget, takes away the weight from the harsh truths my reality bears.
Right now, it’s got to the point where it’s too much, and I want to get lost in him, just for the small hours of relief it brings me, knowing it’s always there when I need an escape.
If I could, I’d avoid the real world at Olympic level with the help of him.
He smirks, pulling away to disappear back into the bedroom, leaving me with the loss of his touch.
Only a few seconds pass before he returns, my eyes training on his as he stalks towards me, stepping back between my thighs.
“The only immoral things I’d do to you are the kind your body craves from me.
” He kisses me on the neck as my head leans to the side, giving him access.
“And you’ve always been tempted by the devil, haven’t you, darling? ”