His Greatest Redemption [REUPLOADED]

11

Samantha

1...2...3

I was so tense that my shoulders were beginning to ache, and I had to keep reminding myself to breathe in order to let the weight of it all to go away. I licked my dry lips and thrummed my fingers against the wall.

I didn't like this feeling of uncertainty, this stupid waiting game. I've been here for a week already, and still nothing. It's been four days since I gave Spade the list he asked for, and not even a day later Knight was hauling bags full of clothes into the room. He offered to go through them with me, but I declined.

Designer dresses and skin-tight tops, expensive stilettos and purses that cost more than anything I'd ever owned in my life. I was completely out of my element, and none of it was anything I would've purchased myself.

Though, I guess that wasn't really saying much, considering I owned only one pair of shoes, a single pair of fishnets that were ripped up, about two hoodies and maybe four pairs of cut-off jeans to top it off?

Truthfully, the issue wasn't the clothes. I didn't not like them, even if they weren't comfortable for me.

My issue was Spade. I hadn't spoken to or seen him since three days ago, when we talked in the gym. The only person I'd had contact with was Knight, and I was starting to believe Lucifer forced him to babysit me like I was a child in need of adult supervision. It's not that I wanted to see him, because I didn't, but I hated having to wait.

I had gotten lost in my thoughts one too many times.

I wasn't afraid of death. I'd already passed that stage in my life where the thought of dying scared me. Sometimes I even wished for it. Beating death once was enough to open my eyes wide. Darkness had consumed so much of my soul that I knew I had no room to fear the inevitable.

My papà once told me that fear stops nothing but life. It doesn't stop death.

He was right, I think.

I was created to take everything life threw at me; and whether I liked it or not didn't matter, because I'd never really had a choice.

I was lounging on a black patio chaise, flipping through a motorbike magazine on the terrace of my temporary bedroom. It was all I could find, and considering I needed something— anything— to keep my mind occupied, this was going to have to work.

The patio was the only place I could get any fresh air. I don't leave this room, mostly because half of the time the door is locked, and even when it's unlocked, I don't step foot out there. Maybe it was fear, but I felt safer in here than I did out there.