I don’t understand any of it. Why we’re here. Why he’s let me get away with killing his wife. Why he feels the need to protect me. And more specifically, why he’s the only place I feel safe.
Staring out the window in one of the many lounges, I fiddle with the bottom of this huge sweatshirt I’m in. It’s comforting, and considering the howling wind and rain out there, I’m still content to be drowned in anything Malachi for now. Even if I don’t understand that.
Brandon comes into the room after a while. He stands quietly behind me somewhere and hovers, as if he’s got something to say. “Spit it out, Brandon.”
“Whit thinks we should leave.” My head lolls sideways on the chair to look at him. “It’s like a fucking prison, Ally. I can’t even leave without a bunch of guys with guns following me around.”
I look away again, smiling a little. “That’s Malachi’s way of protecting you, Brandon. It’s fine.”
“The fuck it is. I’m not being held fucking captive.”
Yeah, I suppose to him it would feel like that, but to me, after what happened, it feels kind and thoughtful. I don’t think Malachi really cares about them, and certainly not Whit. I’m not even sure he feels anything solid for me. This could all just be another thing to amuse himself with. But the one thing I do know, the one thing I’m absolutely sure about, is that while we’re here and shielded, Franco Greene can’t come knocking or get to us.
And I can find myself again.
“We need to leave. We can’t stay here forever, Ally.”
I do nod at that, accepting inevitability. He’s right. There is no staying with Malachi Jones forever. For a start, there’s no future for a girl like me and a man like him. We’ve just helped each other out is all. Or I tried to help. And secondly, I shouldn’t be putting my life in his hands. The baggage that comes with it is too much for the likes of him.
A kafuffle of noise begins in the hallway somewhere, and I lift myself to go stand in front of Brandon as the noise grows louder. A blonde man arrives in the room, several bags in his hands.
He looks me up and down and smiles. “Are you Alice?” Brandon steps in front of me again. “You’re clearly not Alice. Who are you?”
“Brother. Who the fuck are you?”
Malachi walks in at that moment, shaking his head and chuckling. “Brandon, leave.”
“Fuck off.”
He leans on the door frame, glaring a little. “A reasonably fair response, and I’m glad of your protective instinct, but this is about your sister getting herself undressed. Let’s assume she doesn’t want you around for that.”
I move sideways, unsure what that meant but relatively happy again now that Malachi’s here. My hand goes to Brandon’s arm, attempting to calm him down. “It’s okay.”
“The fuck it is.” I roll my eyes and get in front of his face. “Any chance you can get a sentence out of your mouth that doesn’t involve cursing?”
“What?”
“Jesus, Brandon. It’s like a train wreck coming out of your lips. Go. I’m fine.” He huffs beside me and walks straight at Malachi, who does nothing but stare in response to that threat coming at him. “Brandon. Don’t,” I spit. “Give your host some respect.” Not that he could win any fight he might be thinking about anyway.
He eventually, having eyeballed Malachi, leaves us alone.
I look at the floor, embarrassed by his behaviour. “Sorry.”
“Hmm. This is Antony. He’s my tailor, and he’s going to dress you. The rest of his team is upstairs waiting for you.”
“What, why?”
“Because we’re going out for dinner and, as nice as it might be to look at you in my clothes, you can’t live in them or go to Radicchios like it.” I shrink back to the wall, not ready for leaving these walls at all. I’m not doing it. It’s safe here. And there isn’t anyone here who isn’t the people I know. “I told you that you had a week, Alice. That week is up.” A panic rises in me. It floods me with adrenalin and spikes the calm I was enjoying into a rush of anxiety. “It’s also been a while since we fucked. I’m becoming restless.”
My eyes widen, a part hysterical laugh falling out of me.
Antony chuckles, then coughs, making me swing my face to him then back to Malachi.
“No,” comes out of me. “I’m not ready for any of that.”
What was soft and amenable on his features, turns wicked. He walks at me, the devil back in his eye, and pinches at the back of my neck so hard I wince at the pressure. “It’s not your decision anymore.” Everything about me freezes under the harsh contact, but I can’t do anything other than be guided like I once was before by him. The stairs get closer, and before I know it I’m walking up them in a haze of frustrated energy at his command.
“Better to go too far than not far enough,” he says.
