Page 112 of Desecrated Saints
“Hunter’s going to kill us one by one,” I add.
“Fuck him,” Hudson snaps. “We’re adults. Let’s live a little.”
Considering him, Seven nods. “What did you have in mind, pretty boy? Better not get us killed.”
Stifling an eye roll, Hudson takes a beanie from his pocket. He slides it over his overgrown black mop before tugging the hood of my jacket up, covering my face. Seven dons a baseball cap and tilts it down for coverage.
“Follow me.” Hudson smirks.
Heading into the city’s madness, we have no choice but to trust his sense of direction. He knows this place like the back of his hand after being adopted by Kade’s family. I’ve heard the stories of their wild, drunken weekends away from the suffocation of the mansion.
Walking with a skip in his step, Hudson eagerly soaks in the surroundings.
“Did he drink or something?” Seven says in a stage whisper.
“What makes you think that?”
“He’s far too happy. I don’t recognise him.”
“Heard that,” Hudson calls back. “Keep your eyes on my girl and your opinions to yourself, dickwipe. I’m tolerating your existence, but that can soon change.”
“Charming,” Seven responds coolly.
More people start to appear as we rejoin the central strip. London is a riot of activity and endless variety. In the time I’ve spent here, even hiding for fear of our lives, I’ve never seen two people alike. I love the chaos.
Seven slings his arm around my shoulders. His amputated hand is tucked away in the pocket of his jeans, hiding it from the world. With our cuts and scrapes concealed, we could be three normal, everyday people. For just a moment, I want to live in that fantasy.
“Can we get food?”
Hudson lights a cigarette. “We can do anything, but there’s someone who wants to see us first.”
Cutting down a side street to avoid the crowding of bodies on the main roads, he leads us to a quieter borough. Seven looks on edge, acutely aware of every face that passes us.
I have to physically hold him back when a pair of police officers clock us from their patrol car. I hope we’re far enough away for them not to see our stupid faces that are plastered all over the news.
“They don’t recognise us.”
“How can you be sure?” he growls. “Can’t I kill them just to be safe?”
“I seem to remember you promising to be a better man not so long ago.”
Blanching, his shoulders slump. “Yeah.”
Everyone is handling Sadie’s death differently. While her dying face has haunted my dreams since, I know that Seven has barely slept. Even when I try to coax him into bed for a few hours, he just stares outside at night, unblinking and silent. It’s like he’s waiting for her to return and give him another chance.
“You can talk to me,” I remind him.
“There’s nothing to discuss.”
“We used to talk, late at night. No topic was off-limits.”
Seven sighs. “I remember, princess.”
“Nothing has changed. I’m still… whatever you need me to be.”
“What if I don’t know what I need? Everything has changed.”
“My feelings haven’t.”
