Page 92 of Desecrated Saints
Meeting his oceanic eyes, I find resolution staring back at me. He’s always been able to read my mind with a mere look. Hudson traces his thumb along my jawline, each gentle touch revealing a softness to him that I rarely see. Just sweet, loving glimpses amidst the possession and control.
“Because he has something to live for. We all do.”
I swallow hard. “I really hope you’re right.”
“I usually am, baby.”
“Arrogant? Sure.”
Despite the carnage around us, our lips meet like they simply cannot bear to be parted. I will always long to be the air that Hudson breathes, the reason his shrivelled, black heart continues to pump each day. He owns a broken, twisted piece of me that nobody could ever come close to.
“When this is all over, I’m going to spend every single day of my life proving myself to you,” he says above the shouting. “I want to be the man you deserve, blackbird. The person I should have been all along.”
Pecking his lips again, I sit back. “You always have been that man, Hud. I never wanted the good parts of you. Your darkness is my home. The rest is just an added bonus.”
“I fucking love you.”
“Ditto, dickhead.”
Our tender exchange is interrupted by the boom of Bancroft’s voice through a speaker. We both turn to look from our hiding spot in the trees. He emerges from his swarm of guards, attempting to appease the angry crowd. Placards and pumped fists announce their fury as the protest grows even louder.
“People are really mad,” I comment.
“Why wouldn’t they be?”
“I just figured nobody would care.”
His hand finds mine. “Shit like this gives me hope that there might be a chance for us out there. People need to stay angry; it’s the only way the truth will come out.”
The spark of flames breaks through the evening gloom. Someone has lit a Molotov cocktail and thrown it straight at Incendia’s goons. Bancroft is shoved out of the way, with two terrifying slabs of muscle descending upon the guilty culprit. I can spot the batons and tasers in their hands from here.
We watch for several minutes, each second adding fuel to the flames of indignation. More protesters are getting physical and attempting to assault Bancroft’s hired skins. Every snap of a camera infuriates Bancroft as he attempts to shout meaningless platitudes, claiming this is nothing but a smear campaign.
Hudson taps his earpiece. “Status update? Things are getting hairy out here.”
Radio silence.
Dread sinks in as we wait, watching the tensions escalate further. Incendia doesn’t care if they have the authority or not, resorting to violence to tame the crowd. At the back of the protests, the cameras continue to capture the ordeal. People are finally paying attention.
“Why aren’t they answering?” I ask after several minutes.
“Signal may be disrupted in the basement.”
“Sadie was supposed to meet them fifteen minutes ago. I don’t like this. Something is wrong.”
Glancing at Theo’s nondescript van in the distance, it remains unmoved from the thick cover of shrubbery. I hate not being able to see my guys inside. Anxiety itches along my skin, causing my fingers to quake.
“We can’t just sit here. Come on.”
Hudson growls his frustration as I take off, making a beeline for the van. We have to take the long way around to remain concealed in the trees. All three guys inside flinch when I slam the door open. Theo’s wired into one of his contraptions, with a dozen different video feeds open.
“Are you okay?” Kade immediately reaches for me.
“Our comms have gone down.”
“Us too,” Theo grumbles. “I’m boosting the signal, but still nothing. They must be running a blocker inside the institute. I’m trying to hack their system.”
I watch as Kade’s eyes stray to the rapid lines of computer code racing across the screens. He locates a laptop and digs in, exchanging low whispers with Theo. Eli is sat with his back against the van wall, impatiently flipping his penknife in one hand.