Page 50 of Desecrated Saints
“We’re still alive! You need to let go of who you thought we were.”
“I’m not the problem here. When this is over, I never want to see either of you again.”
Her declaration lashes me like the strike of a whip. I can see the pain in her eyes, but Sadie doesn’t take it back. I’ve pushed her too far this time.
“You got that?”
“With pleasure,” I hiss back.
Sadie freezes when she realises we’re not alone. In the plastic-covered doorway that Theo fled through, Seven stands with an open wound of grief on his face. Golden eyes filled with so much pain watch his sister.
“Jude—”
“You’re right,” he interrupts in a deep, dangerous voice. “That person did die, long before you bothered to look for me. Feel free to leave, sister. I have a real family here.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it,” he confirms. “We don’t need you.”
Wiping her wet cheeks with the back of her sleeve, Sadie strides from the room without another word. I can hear her yelling at Theo to get his things. In a matter of minutes, the sound of the grate lifting fills the warehouse, followed by silence. None of us know quite what to say in the wake of their departure.
“I’m sorry, Sev,” I offer.
He simply shakes his head. “She doesn’t see me, just the person she lost. I can’t be her ghost. Not anymore. I have to live as well.”
With that pearl of wisdom, Seven storms off too.
“Jesus Christ.” Kade sighs.
My thoughts precisely.
CHAPTER 11
HUDSON
KEROSENE - VANISH
With my arm tucked around Brooklyn’s waist, we join the queue outside the bustling nightclub. Bright neon lights and thumping bass music fill the street, with a winding trail of bodies waiting to be admitted into its sweaty depths.
After trekking across London, armed and debriefed by dictator Kade, I feel like we’re about to walk into the jaws of death. Every face I spot looks like a potential threat. Incendia could be anywhere. Anyone. We’re just sitting ducks waiting to be taken out here.
“I don’t like this one bit,” I grumble.
Brooklyn peers up at me through thick eyelashes, pouting her red-painted lips. Her short hair is messily tousled, paired with a black tank that shows off her cleavage, ripped jeans, and her leather jacket. She looks good, more like herself than she has in a long time.
“When was the last time you went clubbing?”
“We’re not here to party, blackbird.”
“We can multitask.” Her smile is devious. “It’s been a long time since we danced together.”
I huff, recalling the school prom that I took her to many years ago. She looked like a dream in this pale-pink dress from a thrift store, all floaty and shit. Like a ballerina sent from heaven above to rescue my soul from damnation. She admitted to stealing cash just to buy it for our date.
Even though we lived in the same foster home, I met her on the doorstep and offered her a single rose that I swiped from a nearby market. That was before the head carer and resident voice of doom, Mrs Dane, crushed it beneath her shoe. She called me a son-of-a-bitch thief. I’ve never seen Brooklyn laugh so hard.
“I still think about that night, you know.”
Sliding a finger underneath her chin, I raise her grey eyes to meet mine. “It was the best night of my entire fucking life. Even when you mixed weed and booze, then puked out of your eyeballs.”