Page 57 of Desecrated Saints
“Any idea where we’re going?” I whisper to Eli.
He shrugs, sparing me an exhausted smile.
I’m beginning to miss my comfortable bed, sandwiched between my guys, with the safety of four walls and no prying eyes nearby. Kade checked in with Lucia and Two a couple of hours ago, exchanging brief words. They’re still holed up in Scotland.
“You heard from Sadie since she left?”
Kade sighs. “She isn’t answering her phone.”
“You think her cover is blown?”
“It doesn’t look like Miss White exchanged information yet.”
He spares Seven a nervous look, limping and deadly silent by my side. We need to know what happens next. Our so-called contact was a trap this whole time, and the thumb drive is worthless. We’re back to square one.
Passing several street corners crowded with teenagers on skateboards, I tighten my leather jacket around me, hoping to conceal the blood beneath it. This is as rough as London gets, but Phoenix stalks down the street like he owns the place.
I hardly recognise the persona he’s constructing before our very eyes. He stands taller and more confident with every step towards our destination. Turning a corner, we run straight into a huge crowd. The blare of music accompanies the youths, all drinking beer and smoking.
“Stay frosty,” Hudson orders.
Phoenix glances back at us. “That won’t be necessary. Stick behind me.”
The crowd parts to allow someone to step forward. A glinting switchblade in the kid’s hand makes my heart speed up. Phoenix is going to get himself killed by some scrawny little shit on a power trip at this rate.
“You ain’t welcome here!”
Authority imbues every inch of Phoenix’s bruised and battered frame. “Tell Travis that Phoenix has come home. Run along now, kid.”
The teenager spares us a frown, but follows orders. We gather as Phoenix glares at the others, all watching us like we’re aliens. I palm my knife, ready to stab my way out of a second fight of the night if necessary. We didn’t survive Incendia’s cunts just to die now.
“Home?” Kade echoes.
Phoenix shrugs. “We needed somewhere safe.”
“You’ve never spoken about your home before,” I chime in.
“Never had a reason to. I didn’t leave here under good circumstances.”
We fall into tense silence until the roar of an engine comes racing around the corner. The sea of people parts, admitting a modified truck painted in a violent shade of green. It’s complete with painted flames, tinted windows, and a huge rear spoiler.
Several men hop out of the truck. Fierce scowls, lip piercings, and visible tattoos mark each person. Every single one of them is armed to the teeth with sawed-off guns and switchblades. I even spot some knuckledusters.
“Stay quiet, leave this to me,” Phoenix warns.
Transforming from the happy-go-lucky person I know, his spine straightens and his shoulders roll back. He paces over to the truck, where the men exchange scandalised whispers. When the driver’s door slams open, a pair of bright purple, buckled stomper boots hit the ground.
“As I fuckin’ live and breathe… Phoenix Kent.”
“Hey, Travis.”
Flicking aside a joint and scraping back his red mohawk, Travis bundles him into a hug. They slap each other’s backs, with the remaining men seeming to relax. We tentatively surround Phoenix, still on high alert.
“Where the hell have ya been?”
Phoenix shrugs. “I’ve been around.”
“Two bloody years, Nix. You were gone for a long time.”