Not knowing what to do, or say, or even think, I sit and stare at the same clouds Malachi was glaring at, suddenly understanding his own chaos through different thoughts. If I die, he dies. And if he died, I would be more lost than I was before him. What a fucking state of play to be living under.
The door suddenly opens again, Malachi’s still angry glower on show and his shirt ripped open. “Get your pretty ass in here so I can fuck it,” he spits, holding the door open for me.
“Really?”
“Really. Now.”
Some resigned, and relatively morose chuckle falls out of me, and I look back for the window instead. “Fucking isn’t going to help anything. You can’t fuck my attitude about this away, Malachi.” I don’t seem to have an option in that, because he comes over and drags me in there with him, not withholding any rage he’s feeling, as he pushes me on the cabin wall.
I’m smothered.
Thinking stops.
Worrying stops.
It’s just him and me again and whatever he needs to get out of his system.
Chapter 17
Malachi
I’m still trying to decide whether to undo the belt she’s tied up with or leave her to figure it out herself, when the plane touches down. At least she’s lost some of her attitude now I’ve fucked it out of her. Or perhaps I’ve just fucked my own out of myself. I don’t know, but this whole scenario is causing a multitude of complications and feelings I can’t process.
She looks up at me from the floor, as I pull my clothes on, training those eyes on mine like the little tiger she is. No fear in them. No remorse for the situation she’s putting herself in either. If I thought for one minute she’d forgive me for doing it for her, without her, I’d do it. She won’t. She, for whatever reason in her own head, needs to own the moment. And whilst that’s infuriating to me, it’s also something I respect and admire about her. It’s why we’re here. Whyshe’shere.
“Can I get dressed now?” she asks.
I look at the new cuts fresh on her skin. “No. I’m still contemplating.”
Her legs stretch out, arms still pinned over her head so I can see all my reds and blues. “What about this time?”
I don’t answer. I walk out the room and look towards the team of guys who are congregating at the bottom of the plane’s steps. They’re all doing their operational things, all talking to each other and synchronising their watches and earpieces.
Leaning on the frame, I watch Chad Benton directing the men, my own head full of concerns and agitations. It shouldn’t be. These men know exactly what they’re doing. They’ve been briefed. They’ve made their decisions. They’ve strategized and formulated the correct route, timings, positions. They’ve done nothing but ensure this journey, and final act, is as safe as it can be to protect me. As far as they’re concerned, my little Alice is an extension of me now. They’ll die for her just like they’ll die for me. It’s quite perverse really that money can buy someone’s life so easily. I’m not sure I even know some of their names. I certainly don’t know their families or loved ones. I don’t care either. They’re bought and paid for to do a job. If that means their death, so be it.
“You’re slipping, Malachi.” I slant my gaze back to her, as she walks out the bedroom fully dressed again. “That belt was loose.”
“Not slipping, Alice. I gave you a choice. Distinct difference.”
She comes up beside me and looks at the twelve men beneath us. “That’s a lot of protection.”
“Yes.”
“For me?”
I turn to look at her, one hand going to her face and caressing her jaw. “No. For me. I suggest you stay close.”
She nods and tilts her head into my hold, smiling a little. “Thank you.” My brow cocks at her quiet tone. “For this. Thank you for conceding.”
I pinch her chin and throw it away to show my displeasure, then start the steps downwards because I’m still pissed about that word. I don’t concede to anything. I’ve never had to. I neither surrender nor yield usually. I play. I win. And, on occasion, I’ll bend my own rules to allow partial victories elsewhere, knowing full well that I’ll gain advantage on some other corner of the field.
But this crap? Thisisconceding.
It goes against everything inside me that tells me to deny what she thinks she needs.
A quiet conversation with Benton and two of the other lead guys and we get in the car, both of them up front to leave us alone in the back. Two SUVs pull out in front of us, and another two join in behind us as we get out onto the dark freeway. Ten minutes into the journey and one from the front and one from the back peel off into traffic to come at Greene from different directions. It’s all fluid. All perfected. All done with as much precision as I’d expect around me.
I’m still not a fucking happy man.
