𝐍𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐁𝐥𝐮𝐞 𝐒𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐬 | 𝙷.𝚂.

eighty four - the conference ordeal

okay, it's official. the "signs", "lines", and "binds" that have been titled in multiples of three are over.

YES they mean something. Some of that meaning will be addressed before the end of this book. Some of it will not for mystery/sequel reasons.

some things might begin to feel a little chaotic/rushed more so than they may already have. the end is near dear readers.

-ky

_______________________

"Please don't tell me you're high right now," Gwen's low voice murmured in his ear as other guests of the conference sat down around them in a large, closed-off circle.

He couldn't do that.

In fact, he also had a shot of some bourbon he'd hidden from Gwen in his dresser right before Niall picked him up, hoping to have some minor effects of a cross-fade.

Typically, Nine wouldn't think these actions to be smart. He'd been down this road before where his dependency on the green drug fucked over a mission and he vowed to never do it again. But Nine wasn't thinking at all, nor had he much since Gwen agreed to stay at the apartment.

He thought with that, she'd continue to be around.

But no. As a matter of fact, she's been around the least she ever has. Less than when she first moved in and avoided him like the plague.

And the only thing Nine could think to do to suppress the unnerving fact that he missed her was to drink and smoke a little. He hated missing her.

Somehow, even when she wasn't around she was still making his life a living hell, a vow that he never thought would play to be true this long.

"Then I won't tell you."

He heard Gwen huff air out of her nose before retreating back to her upright position behind his chair, her hand gripping the wood just next to his shoulder aggressively. 

Tonight, she was required to be submissive to him.

And even though Nine had seen her in the most private of circumstances, she was the least submissive person he knew. She hated being told what to do, especially if she didn't want to do it in the first place. She's hard-headed and has a strong will. She's endlessly stubborn and argumentative.

Additionally, she asks the most questions he'd ever heard come out of a person's mouth.

All of this goes to say that Nine no longer thinks about any of that in a negative light. Now, it only made him think of her chocolate brown eyes when she peered up at him and the onyx color of her hair trailing through his fingers while they kissed.

Never in his life did he think that he'd miss the sound of her voice so badly.

But he had.

"That man right there," Cecelia Berkshire was leaning in from her seat beside him, pointing towards a large, fat man with a pipe sticking out of his mouth, "is one of Oswald's right-hands. He sells a lot of information at these."

Nine eyed the man a moment before nodding and shifting his gaze forward, observing every other person in the room.

It was nearly full, and he could tell by the way the guards at the entrance that have frisked everyone were holding a red rope that they were almost ready to shut the doors and begin the ordeal.