Kingstone is more corrupt than I could ever have imagined.
My jaw grinds, my breathing coming in short, sharp bursts when I think of how they run that entire society. This sick, twisted, fucked-up delusion they’re living in.
Saint mentioned this had been going on for years, and if they’re heirs to this, it can only mean the entire bloodline was involved, before it handed down the reins to both those spawns.
The judge is also on my own personal list.
I haven’t forgotten his words, even after all this time.
Regina doesn’t know. He’s one I’m going to get on my own.
I’ll make sure he’s well aware who’s responsible for exposing their sick acts to the entire world. I’ll make sure he watches as I take the last of his name, that their family name will end with me.
My raging eyes trace the lines that spread outside the society’s structure. Another photo has been removed, but the one that remains pulls me in, a woman.
She looks to be in her early thirties, dark hair, and absolutely beautiful.
She’s smiling in it, and she looks familiar, though I can’t put my finger on it. I’ve never seen her before.
This photo looks old, like it was taken on a disposable camera.
I step in closer until awareness prickles up my spine, and I already know who’s in the room with me.
“Who is that?” I ask, dragging my eyes from the photo to Saint.
He has the stealth of a panther. It’s something he’s obviously mastered in our time apart, only letting me know he’s there when he wants me to.
He’s leaning against the desk, tattooed muscles entirely on show from his tank shirt; he’s either had long sleeves or T-shirts the entire time I’ve been here.
Alwayshas a bulletproof vest on, like he sleeps with the dang thing.
My eyes greedily take him in, his once bare skin completely inked as the designs snake under the hems. His voice is rough when he speaks.
“My mum.”
Every muscle in my body stiffens, letting that statement seep in.
“What?” I breathe, finally able to look back at the picture.
Oh my God.
I see it now, why she seems so familiar.
He has the same eyes.
The smile.
It was always a rare occasion to see Saint smile, always a smirk or a wry one intertwined with wickedness. Those rare moments he would offer a genuine one, it felt like a blessing, a gift he saved for only those closest to him.
He pushes from the desk, slowly walking towards me as he leans his shoulder on the wall, facing me. The greys in his eyes hum as he glares at the photo.
“She was a lecturer, spent time at our university for a research opportunity. She was only supposed to be there for one term.” The muscles ripple along his jaw. “She never got on the flight home.”
He plucks the photo of her from the wall, rubbing the glossy paper between his fingers. “Dad spent weeks over here. Reported it to the police. They weren’t much fucking help.” He scoffs, and a shiver runs down my spine, a familiar unease gripping my throat.
“He searched the entire city, asking people if they’d seen her”—he taps the photo with his thumb—“tracked down her colleagues to get some information. One of them mentioned she’d dropped a student off, gave a vague direction that led to the Archives.”
When Saint eventually drags his gaze up to me, he looks murderous.
