Page 8 of Malachai
Except for my attention. We had fun together. He reminded me of Miami somehow. I kind of got used to being on his arm in public when we’d go to dinner, parties, or just chill.
He got his feelings hurt when I didn't fall for him around year two. I saw it in his eyes every time I said no. Every time I changed the subject. Every time I walked past him without touching him.
But he never pushed. Never got nasty about it. He just stopped coming around, and the texts became scarce.
I felt bad for him sometimes.
Not bad enough to give him what he wanted. But bad enough to feel guilty about it.
"Diamond, I gotta go. I'll call you back." I switched lines.
"What you get into, Ma?" His voice came through low, smooth. He had this crazy New York accent that his deep voice made sound filthy. I just knew he was the type to talk you through it.
"Nothing."
"Nah. You ain't nothing. I heard what happened. The whole city talking about it. You went crazy in a Russian's penthouse. Sliced his throat and ran out after killing a couple of his men. They’re looking for Indigo Gao, not Midnight,” he continued. “Every hitter from here to Jersey is racking their slides right now, licking their chops at the thought of a seven-figure payday. What the fuck did you get into?”
What the fuck?
Barely two hours had passed.
How the fuck did they already know my real name?
I had been hiding in plain sight for three years.
Malachai couldn’t find me.
So how the fuck could they?
“Maybe they got the wrong person.”
"You’re Indigo Gao, right?" It wasn’t a question. I actually think he’d known the entire time, but I answered anyway.
"Yeah."
He was quiet for a long time. I could hear him moving around. The creak of a chair. The clink of glass.
"You should've called me soon as you got out. Soon as you hit the street. You should've called me, Midnight."
"And tell you what? That I just killed a man?"
"Tell me you need me." His voice dropped. "I would've come. You know I would've come."
"I know."
"Then why didn't you call?"
"Because it ain't your problem to solve. I ain't trying to get you killed."
He laughed. "Ask me why I think that’s funny.”
“Because your husband ain't the only killer out here.”
"How long you known about me?"
“Since that first night. I met you once. In Miami. At your father's house. You ignored me then.”
I tried to remember ever seeing him, but I couldn’t.
