Chapter 17
Saint
fed up - ghostemane
Strolling through the arrivals of the airport doors ahead of me, like he fucking owns the place, is my dad.
Malcolm Blackwood, the secret mastermind who built me Ultio.
He’s almost my height, same dark hair with a fox-grey beard, and his eyes are as dark as his soul. Mine were a match to my mother.
In my early teen years, I could tell it was hard for him to look too long into them; it was a gut punch of a reminder of what was taken from him. What he could still lose.
Especially with the future he planned out for me.
He’s still in good shape, despite his years away from the military, choosing to opt for a more sedentary role.
But again, it’s all part of his illusion.
He’s a man built on deception, spent years plotting the demise of a society that’s likely bigger than he’ll ever truly know.
That doesn’t stop him.
When he wants something, he gets it. Whether that be through building his connections worldwide, or simply taking it for his own.
“Son,” he greets me, bringing me in for a man hug before turning to Rex, doing the same.
Rex was never a part of the plan joining us; he simply had so much grief and rage he needed to channel, and what better way than to come under my father’s wing and join him with the same vengeance that burns within all three of us.
Besides, he’s known Rex since we were kids; he knew he could trust him. Just didn’t expect him to be as fragile as an atomic bomb when it came to hunting these fucks down.
Dad nods behind us, and the three of us walk over to the car.
One thing about my father is he’s cautious. With the shit we’ve uncovered, along with now being sitting fucking ducks, he knows not to speak in public.
These fucks have their fingers in so many crevices, there’s no telling who’s out looking for a quick payday.
When I drop into the passenger seat, I throw my cap and glasses onto the floor, unravelling the scarf from my jacket as Rex and Dad slam the doors closed.
“What’s the latest on the new numbers?” I ask, our SUV roaring to life as one of our guys pulls out ahead of us, another two tailing behind in a staggered line.
“Already on their way to the Pit.”
We have five days left until the Omnia expects Regina and I to willingly walk into their gates; that’s enough time for us to grab the Kensingtons.
Us abducting them will likely cause hysteria in their organisation if it gets out.
Dawson is going to freeze the Omnia feeds planted at their home.
I’m not having a repeat of Indie being on Clarke’s.
I’ll get every single piece of information I can out of them, and in the meantime, use Barry and Louisa to lure out all three Montgomerys.
Barry put his fucking hands on my fucking woman. They’ll be the first parts of him to be detached before I make another move.
Then I’m snatching those fucks.
Conrad and George haven’t appeared to have left the manor since the event, likely huddled up with their father so they can await their new playthings arriving.
Unfortunately for them, they’re about to become mine, and most of my toys get ruined within the first few hours.
Then that just leaves the Chief of Police. I might even hand him to Indie and Regina with a pretty little fucking bow round his neck.
That’s not exactly the order in which all of them will all die, but knowing they’ll be living in suffering in the cells of the Pit, whilst I sleep easy above them?
Good enough for me.
The airport is an hour outside Harriston, and it’d be so easy to take a detour to the Kensingtons’ right now, but my father taught me patience. Even if it’s fucking slipping, but the days will fly by.
We need to wait until the last moment when they’re least expecting us.
We don’t have the manpower with us right now. A small team of Ultio have already begun filtering out of the woodland behind their home, ready to send a fresh batch in the next twenty-four hours.
Then I’ll go in.
The car pulls to a halt in traffic whilst Rex and my dad discuss the events surrounding Jenna, and I catch his expression in the windshield.
He’d wished he had the same outcome for my mum. Though if I’m honest, I don’t think I’d want to find her after all this time. She was quiet and timid, but full of love for her family. I already know they’d have broken her mind if she was still alive; death was kinder.
Maybe if Dad had the operation he does now, she’d have survived.
But from the video we saw those few years ago, it was never a possibility. She was dead a few days later, going by the dates.
When the car creeps forward on the street, my eyes graze over one of the motels leading away from the airport, fading white plaster with a partially glowing neon sign with ‘vacancies’ pulsing against the grey chilled backdrop from the sky.
A woman walks out from behind a car, wearing something that’s guaranteed to give you fucking pneumonia in weather like this, buckling near the trunk of the car as she adjusts her sky-high heels.
The car creeps forward a touch more, Rex mumbling a curse when I glance to see the light hit red again. When I look back, I catch the side profile of someone who looks…familiar.
I know that bastard.
I’ve studied his movements every day since the event.
Engraved his face to memory as she told me what he did to her.
I think I just fucking manifested this.
I glance down at the scarf near my feet. I’d rather a decent bow, something extravagant to mark the value of such a gift. But if I can make one out of that flimsy material, I’m sure the girls will think it was the thought that counted.
He grips onto the woman’s ass as they both walk towards the motel.
Banging the dash with my fist, the glove compartment snaps open, revealing my gun, and I screw on the silencer before slipping it in the back of my waistband, grabbing my cap and sunglasses.
“What the hell are you doing, Saint?” Dad croaks, gripping the headrest and leaning over.
Glancing over my shoulder at him, and then to Rex, a smirk tugs at the corner of my lips. “I’m about to get ahead of the game.”
Not waiting for their answer, I jump out the car and slam the door, adjusting my cap and sliding the sunglasses back on, tugging the zip of my jacket all the way up.
This.
This is what I need right now.
It doesn’t matter how many times I fuck Indie; this type of rage can only be silenced through one method.
Bloodshed.
She can calm my mind, but the rage still simmers beneath the surface.
I need my outlet to be someone that’s hurt her.
The woman’s laughter rebounds through the car park, the wind whipping it round and slapping the high octave into my ears. She’s drunk, got to be to sleep with an ugly bastard like him. She wobbles on her heels as they make their way to reception.
My hand reaches in my pocket for my cigarettes, sparking one up as I prowl behind them. I fire a text off to Rex and let him know what I’m doing, only providing the initials.
Anyone reading that message would have no idea what it meant, but he will. Dawson’s been mimicking the app Regina made so that we can have our own, but something more robust. Something that has a wall strong enough that these fuckers can’t attempt the shit they did to Gina’s.
Stopping under a streetlight, I keep my phone out and pretend I’m scrolling, head cast down, gaze locked on the Chief of Police.
He’s been venturing into the depths of the Omnia’s lifestyle tastes for the weekends, then showcasing himself during the week as the devoted serviceman he is.
He lives in a busy neighbourhood, pretty modest for the salary he’s on, but appears his cover story is that of family inheritance. Patterson might be high up on the police’s structure, but I don’t know any in their history who drives a two hundred grand car only at the weekends.
When the female he’s with staggers over to the side, I move in, jogging across the car park when I see lights up ahead.
They abruptly switch off, and I catch one of our cars in the front, the driver giving me a nod as they slink past and head deeper into the tree-lined road.
I flick the bud to the side, opening the doors as a gust of heat hits me. The place is as stale as it is on the outside; it’s a fucking miracle they actually have a heating system.
The young woman at the desk types away on her computer, handing the card over without even raising her head. “Second floor, room 210.” She pops her gum loudly, the rattle of her keyboard continuing as she dismisses them both.
A vending machine at the side in the entrance catches my attention, and I keep my footsteps light as I move a couple feet towards it, dipping my hand in my pocket for change I don’t even have.
Patterson and his guest wisp in my peripheral, the familiar sound of an elevator dinging forcing back my ears as I listen to the doors opening and closing, sealing in a fake feminine laugh that’s grating across my skin.
“Card only.”
I drag my gaze towards the owner of the voice. The receptionist still hasn’t lifted her head; this time she’s scrolling through her phone, the sounds of music picking up and cutting off as she scrolls through.
Gritting my teeth, I yank my card and purchase a soda. Thank fuck it’s a fake card, but the cocky part of me hopes the Omnia look into this one, because the same name that was on my invitation is linked to this card.
A trail towards the crumbling of their empire.
My boots thump as I walk past the desk, the receptionist taking no notice as she doomscrolls through social media. When I reach the elevator, I move past it and take the stairs two at a time, reaching the second floor.
And right on time, Patterson’s greying hair is all I see slip inside the room down the long corridor. My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I pull it out to answer Rex.
“Do you need assistance?” he asks, a playful hint to his tone.
“Get someone up here for the girl; I’ll sort the rest.” I cut the call; the last thing I need is her raising the alarm.