Page 76 of Desecrated Saints
Before I can stop her, she drags me back inside the luxurious apartment. I feel instantly on edge. The soft furnishings and glittering lights are offensive after so long spent in the dark. I can feel her tensing up too, but the moment we step into the large, open plan living area, Eight relaxes.
A cream-coloured sectional sofa dominates the airy space. There’s a flat screen television on the wall, along with armchairs and lamps dotted about. Soft, woven blankets and fresh plants soften the stark decor, giving it a comfortable feeling. But I feel even more out of sorts.
The entire room is boxed in by more slabs of glass that make up the walls, giving undisturbed, panoramic views of the city. If this palace is one of Sabre’s spare rooms, I dread to think where they actually live.
“Hey,” Hudson greets warily.
Their eyes train on me the moment we step inside the room. I slide an arm around Eight’s waist in a clear mark of possession, too stubborn to back down. I’m surprised when Hudson takes a deep breath, nods to himself, and looks away without yelling.
“Food?” Kade asks us. “Enzo sent up Chinese takeout.”
“Are we sure they didn’t poison it?” Eight jokes.
“Erm, negative. It’s better than what we’ve been living off, though.”
Eight leads me to a pair of oversized armchairs, gently shoving me into one of them. She grabs a carton of food and drops it into my hand before tending to herself. Chest burning with another odd feeling, I dig into the noodles.
“What’s the deal with this place?” Hudson says around a mouthful of food. “Not to be a dick or anything, but we don’t take handouts. They have an agenda. Are we going to play into their hands?”
“Since when are you not a dick?” I reply bluntly.
Tense silence is broken by several rounds of raucous laughter. Hudson scowls at me over the Chinese food, but it’s without his malice. He’s becoming somewhat more amiable as time goes on, though I wouldn’t mind finding a shallow grave for his body anyway.
His blonde-haired brother looks amused. Eli, the quietest of Eight’s motley crew, is hammering her on the back as she chokes on a wonton. He’s the least objectionable of them all. I hate quiet people less.
“Hudson being a dick aside.” Kade grins at me. “We most certainly don’t take handouts. I want Hunter’s protection, sure. But we came here for answers and we’re not leaving without them.”
“You think they know anything?” Eight asks after gulping water. “They seemed desperate for us to talk. This deal is shady. It doesn’t guarantee us anything.”
“Sabre knows more about Bancroft than we do.”
“You drew up a profile.”
Kade shrugs. “Finding information online is one thing. With Sabre’s resources, they have access to classified information. I bet they’ve got a good fix on Bancroft already.”
“Why does that matter to us, though?”
Hudson clears his throat. The pair exchange uneasy looks, seeming to communicate without words. Eight slams her carton of food down and crosses her arms.
“You don’t have to treat us like invalids.”
Despite having enough secrets to sink a damn ship, Eight doesn’t like stuff being kept from her. I watch them all stare off in a battle of wills, until Kade sighs and abandons his own food carton.
“While you were both still sedated, we gleaned some other information from Hunter. They’ve been investigating for several years now. He knows far more about Incendia than we do.”
“Why are the institutes still operational? Clearly, he has evidence. Why isn’t it enough?”
“Connections,” Hudson supplies. “Influential friends. Investors. Government contracts and associations. Incendia is practically state-owned, so many of its shares are held by people in positions of power.”
“Sir Joseph Bancroft,” Eight recites grimly. “Fuck, we’re so dead.”
“Not exactly.”
Eight casts Kade an incredulous look. “Miss White was a bust. Augustus’s laptop was fried. Incendia took Phoenix… we don’t know what they’re doing to him.” She gulps and shoves her pain down. “What aren’t you telling us?”
Glancing between all of them, we’re clearly missing something important. Even Eli is squirming in his seat, succumbing to the mounting pressure. Our tiresome wait is broken when Hudson clears his throat.
“Well, it would seem that Professor Lazlo is alive.”