His gaze shoots from me over the roof of the car, scanning the entire front of the house. This is all Barry’s money; the Georgian-style mansion has an eyewatering price tag, and whilst my blood money could offer me a life of luxury, this is a net worth I’ll never see in one lifetime.
But the marks on his bills are dirtier than mine.
“You wanna go in the back seat?” Saint eyes the back, raising a suggestive brow at me before stepping between my thighs.
For fuck’s sake.
A nervous laugh pushes past my lips. “Absolutely not. Again, how the fuck are you so relaxed?”
He pushes off the door frame, that knee-jerking smirk lacing his lips. “This is fucking playtime, Indie. Now, let’s go.”
He holds his hand out for me, and I take it, steadying me as my boots crunch into the pristine white gravel.
It’s a mockery, if I’m honest.
There’s nothing pure about the people who own this land.
Saint flicks the cigarette sideways and wraps me in his arms, and I freeze when my hand runs over the gun’s grip tucked into his waistband.
A palm ghosts against my cheek as he leans into my face, his other hand finding its way to my ear as he presses something inside it. “Clear?”
“Loud and clear, boss,” Rex crackles through my earpiece.
I fluff up my loose hair when he pulls away, relaxing my shoulders a little. That makes me feel slightly more at ease that we’ll have ears beyond the doors. I had images of everything going to shit, and it being too late to call them in.
“Where’s yours?” I ask, noticing he isn’t putting one in.
He shakes his head. “You’re my priority.”
A familiar, airy voice sounds from the distance, its warmth travelling in the wind as it whips around my hair. “Indie!”
My heart clenches when I see her.
Mom comes walking down the stairs, her short dark hair swishing around her shoulders, dressed in a knitted dress, tights and knee-high boots. My mom is almost fifty, but I swear she could pass as my sister.
The tightness on my shoulders wavers a fraction, hoping her presence means they wouldn’t do anything foolish in front of Mom. “Hi, Mom,” I whisper, leaning into her embrace.
It steals my breath momentarily, the perfume she’s worn for my entire life slinking around me as she squeezes. When she pulls away, it feels too soon.
The minute she wrapped her arms around me, I felt safe. Then I catch her eyes melting the moment she notices the mountain behind me.
Saint’s deep and velvety voice caresses the back of my neck. “Mrs Kent.”
A wry smile forms on her lips, and she shakes her head. “Saint Blackwood, the formalities haven’t changed over the years, young man.” She beckons him with a flick of both hands. “Come here.”
Saint practically engulfs her in a hug, and the image of the two of them shudders off a layer of dust on my heart.
My momlovedSaint; she treated him like he was her own son. When we broke up, I think she was as heartbroken as I was. After my assault, I would hear her calling him late at night to give him updates on how I was doing, howhewas doing.
Our time apart affected her too.
Her light laugh fills the air as she throws her head back. “Good God, what have you been eating!”
Suddenly, my smile doesn’t feel as forced watching them interact, and it’s managed to tame my anxiety into a subtle hum as they conversate, all three of us walking up the stairs.
“How was your Thanksgiving? I’m so sorry I couldn’t stop by,” I say to Mom, side-eyeing her as we reach the open door.
She wafts a hand at me. “Oh no need for that, sweetie. I would rather you were out living your life…It was great! We had a blast.” She leans in as we walk through the foyer, dropping her voice to a low murmur. “Morgan’s here.”
