Page 51 of Malachai
I leaned against the counter, half-listening, my mind on Cooly.
The name was a bitter taste in the back of my throat. I could still see that smug bastard smiling while he dismantled my leverage.
The Russians are dead. Malachai’s been lying to you.
I should have painted that rooftop with his brains the second he called her Midnight. Caine’s “diplomacy” was the only reason Balogun was still breathing, and I already regretted the restraint. It was his fault that now, every time she looked at me, I saw a new layer of distrust. It was worse than before, when she just thought I was unfeeling.
I regretted that party. I should have kept her in the dark until the outside world felt like a dream she couldn’t quite remember.
“I want it to be like before,” she said. “We move back to the old house. I get some of my freedom back. I go where I want, when I want—within reason. I’m not asking for an exit anymore. I’ve accepted I won’t get away from you.”
I should have felt something at her words—the resignation, the way she spoke about staying like it was a life sentence instead of an inevitability. But I didn’t. As long as she was still saying she would stay, the rest was irrelevant. She could hate me. She could resent me. She could build walls so fucking high I could barely see her anymore. None of it mattered.
She was still here.
And that was enough.
“Fine,” I said.
She continued like I hadn’t spoken. “And no, I didn’t fuck Cooly. I’m not answering a thousand questions about it. Believe me or don’t. I’m past caring.”
She wasn’t negotiating. She was telling me exactly what would keep the peace.
“I don’t believe you,” I said, my voice dropping into that low, mechanical vibration. “About Balogun. I believe you fucked him. Why else would he be in Florida right now?”
I waited. I braced myself for the explosion—the shattered plate, the scream, the predictable fire of her temper. I wanted it. I needed her to fight me so I could feel the friction of her soul again.
Indigo didn’t even stop chewing. She just swallowed, took a slow sip of her coffee, and looked at me with eyes that were as flat as mine.
“Okay,” she said.
That was it.
Something clicked in my head as I stared at her. The Indigo I knew was a creature of heat and motion. She was a storm that broke things. I realized then that I had been pushing her into a corner for weeks, trying to crush the rebellion out of her, but I hadn’t expected this.
Numbness was worse than hatred. This wasn’t useful.
I needed to recalibrate.
I cleared my throat. “I’ll have the cleaners go to the old house today,” I said. “Everything will be ready by tonight. I’ll get your car out of storage and buy you a new phone.”
She just nodded, staring at the empty plate.
“Do you want me to invite Maya for dinner?” I asked. “To… apologize for how her party ended?”
The words felt foreign, sticking in my throat. I had nothing to apologize for. I knew Maya was the reason he was there, even if she wouldn’t admit it. She should have been apologizing to me, but this was better than handing Indigo a knife again.
Indigo finally looked at me. She stared at me like I was glitching.
“You want to apologize?” she asked, her voice skeptical. “To Maya? You don’t apologize.”
“I’m trying something.”
“Trying what?”
“I don’t know yet.” I crossed my arms. “But what I’ve been doing isn’t working, so I’m trying something else.” I paused, then added, “I’m not going to pretend I’ll give you full freedom. That’s not who I am. But I can give you this much if it stops you fromlooking at me like you’re already gone. I’ll adjust until I get the outcome I want.”
She stared at me for a long moment. “You think a dinner with Maya makes up for lying and trapping and drugging me?” she asked.
