Page 47 of Malachai
“Why the fuck didn’t you tell me Cooly’s daddy is a high-ranking member of the Black Axe?” she whispered.
I blinked. “The Nigerians?”
“Yes, bitch! Like, the Nigerians.”
My stomach dropped. “How do you even know that?” I knew Cooly was somebody, but not that type of somebody.
“Because Raziel and Priest were talking about it. His father’s people were asking questions about the Russians, and Malachai… and about you. Then Cooly called me about the Russians. He told me to tell you he was still looking into it. I asked him straight up. He didn’t even try to hide it. His real name is Chinedu Balogun. I googled him—didn’t find much except that he came to the States to go to NYU and owns some kind of tech company. But his father? That man is the devil. I went down the rabbit hole. They’ve got connections all over Europe, Canada, money laundering, sex trafficking rings, hits… They’re straight killers. I’m talking international power.”
No wonder he told me he could handle the Russians for me.
Maya grabbed my hand, squeezing tight.
“I asked him why he’s helping you. He said because he wants you, Indigo. He wants you.”
Before I could even process that bomb, a deep, smooth voice cut through the noise behind me.
“Midnight.”
I froze.
Maya’s eyes widened.
I turned slowly.
Cooly stood there in a perfectly tailored black suit, locs pulled back, gold chains gleaming. His eyes locked on mine with that same intense, patient hunger.
“There you are,” he said, voice low and warm, like we were the only two people in the room. “Been looking for you, Midnight.”
Chapter 22
Indigo
Malachai came out of nowhere.
The crowd seemed to part for him instinctively, a collective shudder rippling through the room as if everyone could feel the sub-zero chill radiating off his skin.
“Who the fuck is this?” His voice was dead flat.
He sized Cooly up in a fraction of a second, his entire posture shifting into something instantly lethal. The air in my lungs turned to dust.
Panic flashed hot in my throat. I took a quick step back, putting distance between myself and Cooly, my mind scrambling to fix a situation that was already sliding off a cliff. I tried to smooth things over, forcing a tight, artificial smile. “He’s a friend from New York. Cooly kept me safe while I was up there. He helped me when things got really bad, Malachai.”
Malachai didn’t blink. He didn’t even acknowledge that I had spoken. His gray eyes stayed locked on Cooly like he was already measuring him for a pine box.
Cooly just smiled—that same calm, unbothered grin I’d seen a thousand times in New York. “Chinedu Balogun,” he said, extending a hand.
The moment the words left his mouth, cold dread dropped into my stomach. His thick New York accent was gone, replaced by asmooth, melodic Nigerian cadence that sounded infinitely more dangerous.
Who the fuck was this man?
Malachai’s head tilted slightly, a predator recognizing another wolf. “And what exactly did you do for my wife while she was playing runaway?” His voice dropped an octave, the wordwifesounding like both a claim and a threat. “And why are you here?”
Cooly shrugged, voice entirely too smooth. “Gave her new papers. New name. New life. Made sure the wolves didn’t eat her.” He paused, then dropped the bomb like it was nothing. “I’m here to tell her the Volkovs are dead, Malachai. Every single one of them. You’ve been lying to her this whole time. Keeping her scared and caged for no fucking reason.”
The air went ice cold.
Every ounce of guilt I’d been carrying for the last two weeks evaporated, replaced by pure fury. He had lied to me.
