If I really were nothing more than those broad facts, I’d be worried for my welfare, too. Instead, my fears evaporated with one cry. ‘Don’t you fucking touch her.’
It’s hard to see how Malakai could go from that to hurting me.
Except it’s the kind of thing Rod would say in public, too.
True. Rod never beat a friend to death for me, though. Maybe my thoughts should take a chill-pill and let me have this.
Let me have this just because I’m starting to want it and it’s been far too long since I felt that way. About anything.
Even if I’m compiling the most stupid wish-list in the world, it won’t matter in a few days. We’ll be caught or killed and either way, once it goes down, we’ll never see each other again.
It’s the perfect road trip fling if I want to position it that way. A night, possibly two or three. Then he’ll be gone out of my life, or I’ll be gone from his.
No messy emotions to tangle everything in their strings. Just the chance for my body to have something it hasn’t experienced before and probably won’t again. Joy in its own physicality instead of me being permanently lodged in my head.
I wipe down the bench as Malakai searches through the cupboard, still needing something to fuel his body. As I take a seat at the table, I watch him, not bothering to hide it since he’s turned away from me, intent on his task.
The smooth muscles of his back ripple under the shirt I found upstairs. The one that’s a size too small, delineating every inch of his form instead of sheltering it from my curious eyes.
His skin doesn’t sag and concertina in on itself as it moves. It stretches out and snaps back into place without a single wrinkle.
He pushes his arm along the top of the cabinets, going on to tiptoe, head so close to the ceiling that I hold my breath. The movement turns his calves to rock, wide as one of my thighs. Even when he relaxes down, I can’t stop stealing glances.
Where was he when I was in the height of my youth?
Incubating in his dad’s balls.
I burst out laughing at the thought, clapping a hand over my mouth in guilt as he turns my way, eyebrows raised at the fuss.
“Nothing,” I say. “Just thinking.”
“Wish I could run a gag-reel in my head,” he says as though thinking is a privilege he doesn’t have time to indulge in.
“What are you searching for?”
He shrugs, hands on hips, swivelling to eye the room in panorama. “Just checking for anything. I’ve got cash but any more will be helpful.”
“I’ve got my ATM card,” I offer a second before realising that won’t be a good idea.
“Razek gave me cards, too,” he says, all trace of amusement disappearing. “Somehow, I doubt they’ll work.”
His death is right there. Between us. As insistent as if someone had plonked his dead body on the floor.
“I’m sorry about your friend.”
“Sorry he was a traitorous piece of shit? Yeah. Me, too.”
“I can…” I break off, frowning at the floor. “If we’re caught, I’ll tell them you did it in defence of me. I won’t let them blame you for something that’s my fault.”
“Your fault?”
I hum in agreement, but his puzzled expression is back in place, so I hasten to explain. “If I hadn’t tried to escape—”
“Then he would have pulled the gun on me in the kitchen and we’d both be dead.” He dismisses the incident with a flap of his hand, turning back to the kitchen cabinets. “And you’re meant to try to escape. That’s what anyone would do if they’re taken hostage.”
“You’re not angry?”
Now he’s staring at me like I jet-ported in from an alien planet. “No, I’m not angry at you. Why would you—” He breaks off, shaking his head. “Can you help me sort out what to take from these? We’ll be off-road for a while so something that doesn’t need cooking would be great.”
