He shrugs, all nonchalant.
“The house is in fake names. I assumed you’d be prepared to make a moonlight flit someday.” He takes another drag from the cigarette.
I mean, he isn’t wrong.
The only thing that has Regina and I’s real name is our official company and the apartment nearby it.
“Don’t you think that’s a bit extreme? There are other homes around here; you could kill innocent people.”
Our street is well spaced out, but the image he’s putting in my head resembles a nuclear bomb type of impact.
The amber bulb flicks down into a drain beneath his feet, and I’m thankful, seeing as there’s a demolition being constructed behind me.
“This isn’t my first rodeo, Indie. The guys will make it look like a gas leak.” He glances at the watch on his wrist. “Should blow in about an hour.”
Watching Saint and the way he speaks so impassively to such a violent act, it pulls me in a trance, piques my interest again on just whathe’sbeen doing since we’ve been apart.
But before I can even ask, voices sound behind me.
Rex comes out of the house, Regina chatting away beside him.
“What about darts? Have you at least gotten any better at that?” She smirks, and the interaction warms my ice heart as they walk side by side.
Like no time has passed at all.
“I practise on people’s faces when I’m bored. Aim’s pretty sweet.”
She snaps her head to me, eyes wide in horror. I guess he’s gone down the same path as Saint; we all have, come to think about it.
“You’re with me.” Saint juts his head in my direction, walking around the front of the car. I mirror him around the back, meeting him as he holds the passenger-side door open.
Well, this is it.
Huffing, I slide into the seat, and when he closes the door, my eyes flutter shut.
God dammit.
His scent.
It’s everywhere.
Those recognisable, intoxicating notes rushing directly through my veins, injecting me with delirium.
His aftershave and the smell of menthol-laced tobacco mixes from the leather of his seats, catapulting me back to simpler times.
Another screw loosens on the box.
I drop my head back against the headrest, and when I glance over to the side, I let out an aggravated groan. Billy is standing at his front window, arms folded, as his whole room is shining brightly against the dark street.
I blow out a breath. The damage is done. Maybe Regina’s earlier stories to him might add to his aloofness on what’s happening here.
Maybe he’ll think we’re being escorted to a private event.
The driver’s door opens, and Saint slides in. The space suddenly feels entirely too small between us, and when he turns the ignition on, I hit the button to crack the window.
The cool air brushes across my face when I angle my head to look at him, and I realise my cheeks are flushed.
It should be a criminal offence for a man to look that good at driving.
