“How to proceed,” I repeat on a growl, dropping the boots to the floor with a thud as I advance on her. “Nah, you tell me, Eshe. You’re the one eventually leaving, right? Like I didn’t understand that ‘atonement’ shit,” I sneer. “Talking ’bout how you love me when you about to get ghost as soon as you what? Get some sleep? Get another nut?” I shoot her a disgusted glare as I fall to the bed and snatch open the bedside drawer. I grab a pair of socks and pull them on and then pick up a boot again. “Get dressed,” I order without looking at her.
My heart lodges in my throat, and I can barely breathe past the blockage. She can keep that fucking love. Like I said, I didn’t ask for it. I don’t want any parts of it. Every person in my life who has every loved or cared for me abandoned me, left me—died on me. Not one exception.
My parents.
Miriam.
Derrick.
All dead. All left me behind to survive in the world on my own. Every last one of them claimed to love me.
Fuck love.
Love isn’t some saving grace or lofty aspiration. It’s a virus, a threat more dangerous than any weapon of mass destruction. People have killed in the name of it, and empires have fallen for its sake. And here she stands, throwing that word at my feet like I’m supposed to… what? Be thankful? Embrace it? Want it?
No. Hell no.
If I allowed it, she would be my fucking kill shot.
And I have no intentions of allowing that.
I need her to get the fuck out before she leaves me.
Get the fuck out before I beg her to stay.
Her scent of cedarwood and musk reaches me before she does, but I keep my gaze trained on the task of getting my boots on. Looking at her clothed in just my T-shirt with all that beautiful brown skin and her thick, gorgeous thighs on display might dent my resolve. And right now, I can’t afford to be shaken. I’m fighting for my survival, and it’s every man for themselves.
As it’s always been.
“Malachi…”
“Since your bike is still where you left it, use one of mine or borrow a car. I have trackers on all my shit, so I’ll know where to pick it up.” I finish tying my boots, stand, and stride back to the dresser and grab a long-sleeved shirt. “That should also give you some padded time with Poison. She’ll be looking for your vehicles, not mine, unless Abena has already passed on the information that I was with you in the compound. In case she has, you need to have your head on a swivel while you get to wherever you’re going. And make sure your people know that, too. Don’t trust anyone they don’t personally know, because no one has seen Poison’s face and can identify her.”
“I’m leaving to protect you.”
I briefly pause midmotion, eyes closing and jaw clenching. My hands fist the shirt so tight, I’m faintly surprised the material doesn’t rip. But after a moment, I jerk the shirt down over my head. Not bothering to reply, I sharply pivot on my heel and stalk for my closet. Shoving aside clothes, I press my palm to a spot on the back wall, and a second later, the panel flickers green. The wall slides open, and I step inside a room that holds an arsenal of weapons.
The door closes behind me, and I scan the walls mounted with various guns, knives, and throwing stars. I quickly grab two duffel bags and store Glocks, SIGs, an AXSR rifle, daggers, and ammo in both bags. Exiting, I move back into my bedroom and find a fully dressed Eshe standing next to the bed. I toss the duffel bags on the bed.
“One is for you.”
I need away from her, but no way am I letting her go out there unarmed other than what she had from her “raid” on the Mwuaji compound. I don’t trust her now that she made that bullshit declaration of love, but the thought of her not being on this side of the veil? A shiver treads down my spine, and I curl and flex my fingers.
“Take it,” I order, pointing to the bag.
“Malachi, look at me.” She doesn’t wait for me to comply but moves into my space and grips my chin, forcing it down so I meet her gold-and-green gaze. The knowledge that if I didn’t want her touch, I could easily remove it—and her—swishes in my stomach like sour swill. That means… that means I still haven’t fully learned my lesson and am a fucking stupid-ass glutton for punishment. “Thanks to me, whatever anonymity or neutrality you enjoyed is gone. Once Abena saw you in her bedroom with me, you became as much her enemy as I am. And not because you failed a job. It’s personal. All this”—she shakes her head—“it’s on me. So it’s on me to protect you in the only way I know how. And that’s to put as much distance between usas possible so you’re not collateral damage in this war between me and her. I don’t know what else to do.”
I listen; I hear her. But all I can see is me and Miriam riding in the backseat of my mother’s car as she glances at us over and over again in the rearview window, tears glistening in her brown eyes. Can see me and Miriam sitting outside the CPS worker’s office as the first of several worthless-ass foster parents walk up to us with smiles that don’t come anywhere near their cold eyes.
Can only see Miriam’s limp, broken, impossibly still body as the paramedics carry her out on a stretcher. Leaving me alone. Without anyone to protect, to love. Without anyone to love me.
With those images moving like a morbid carousel through my head, Eshe’s voice might as well be Charlie Brown’s muthafuckin’ teacher in my ear.
I step back, giving her no choice but to drop her hand from my face.
I don’t need her explanation. I don’t need anything from her but one thing—to get the fuck out. This time, I’m the one walking away. Leaving. If this is someget her before she gets meshit, well, so be the fuck it. I’m not giving another muthafucka the chance to do that to me.
Especially not in the name oflove.
