Page 142 of Desecrated Saints
Kade’s gaze is locked on the darkened reception desk, behind a closed shutter. I uncurl his fist to let our fingers entwine. The memories are so close to the surface, I can see them bubbling in his hazel eyes.
“You looked so lost the day you arrived,” he whispers. “All I wanted was to hold you.”
“I’m glad you latched on and wouldn’t let go.”
He offers me a crooked smile. “I love you.”
“Ditto, Mr Knight.”
None of us can stand to look at the repaired offices and treatment rooms down the low-lit corridor. I hate to think of what lies below us. Smouldering ruins have been reborn in a new vision of depravity. No matter what, I won’t allow any more lives to be ruined in these hallowed halls.
“Sounds like the party is outside.” Hunter checks his gun holster. “I’d say stick to the plan, but at this point, I’m not sure there is one. So, I’ll say this. Don’t get caught alive.”
Enzo chuckles. “Cheery.”
Their shoulders bump together.
“We’re screwed too, old friend.” Hunter shakes his head. “I won’t let Alyssa down again.”
“The SCU can chase us here and see for themselves what they’re enabling,” Theo agrees, smoothing his bouncy curls. “Let’s go kick some corrupt ass and hope to hell this stupid plan works.”
We pass another two guards who note our presence and murmur something into their earpieces. The moment they open the doors for us without a second glance, I know our doom awaits. Outside, bright lights reveal the party in full swing. The once quiet, peaceful quad is bustling with activity.
Benches and picnic tables have been cleared to make way for two huge marquees, the pure-white fabric rustling in the cool breeze. Glimmering lights have been strung to provide a warm ambiance for the circulation of champagne and appetisers on polished, golden plates.
There’s even a string quartet, the gentle croon of violins accompanying the hum of laughter and conversation. Guests mill about in floor-length gowns and tailored tuxedos, admiring the grand architecture and impressive surroundings. There isn’t a speck of evidence from the fire.
“Stick together.” Hunter eyes the crowd. “We’re going to check the place out, look for any big fish. The more of Incendia’s corrupt officials we document, the easier our jobs will be.”
“Be safe,” I beg them.
Enzo offers me a dazzling smile. “Don’t get into trouble without us.”
“Somehow, I think they will,” Theo jokes.
Sandwiched between slabs of muscle and defiance, we leave them and head for the upper crusts of society. It isn’t long before I start recognising people in the melee. Several familiar faces spot me in turn. I remember the middle-aged, pot-bellied men that Augustus introduced me to at his fundraiser.
“Investors,” Kade mutters. “I know a few of them.”
“Me too. Keep moving.”
Grabbing a glass of champagne from the nearest waiter, I down it in three fast gulps. There’s a buzz of whispers around us as we enter the nearest marquee, our hardened expressions and casual clothing betraying us to the stuck-up wankers attending Bancroft’s power trip.
Kade guides us towards the pop-up bar at the back, helping himself to a bottle of whiskey before the attendant can say a word. He fills several crystal glasses, and we knock them back, needing the liquid courage. It won’t be long before someone finds us.
We wait even less time than expected. This entire parade of wealth and power has been laid out for our benefit. A deliberate throat clear has Kade’s unsteady hand hesitating over his glass. I recognise the smug, brutish voice before he says a word.
“Care to pour your father a drink, son?”
The bottle hits the bar with a thud.
“My days of tending to your demands are over,” Kade responds coolly.
“Your time in the real world has given you a backbone, has it?”
Huddled together for strength, we turn as a united front to face the infamous Leroy Knight. He’s standing a few metres away, dressed in an impeccable suit and blood-red bow tie. His salt and pepper hair has been slicked back to highlight his handsome, ageing face.
There’s a willowy blonde woman hanging off his arm, too busy eyeing up the waiter to listen to our conversation. Her satin dress and designer handbag betray her shallow motives. She’s just another exploit, one in a long line of people to be controlled.
