But even the strongest dose couldn’t compare to waking up to Danielle snuggled against him. Due to his absolute refusal to let her go, the hospital staff had agreed to allow her to remain with him the previous evening. And every time they nudged him awake for a neurological check, her warm presence kept him from snapping in irritation. She settled him; something deep inside him shifted, calmed, and sighed.
Like now.
Danielle chuckled as she lowered to the chair beside the couch, and the sound squeezed his heart. Danielle… Even after she’d confessed her real name, Malachim couldn’t think of her as “Elena.” She was Danielle—a dichotomy of strong and gentle, passionate and reserved, a stranger and confidante.
She was his.
But not his.
Staring into her lovely dark eyes, he glimpsed the shadows of sadness she tried to conceal behind a smile. For his benefit. Yet her attempt was an epic failure. They’d only known each other for a couple of weeks, but it seemed as if he should have a Bachelor’s degree in Danielle instead of political science.
She was leaving.
He read her intention in the slight downward curve around her sensual mouth, the hint of forced joviality, and of course, the telltale twist of her fingers. Even now, she placed distance between them as if preparing him—and herself—for the separation soon to come. She planned on disappearing again.
After her horrifying story of all she’d suffered under her ex-husband’s hands—a swell of fury surged from Malachim’s gut to radiate in his chest at just the thought of the bastard—he couldn’t blame her for wanting to leave. But damn it, he wanted—needed—to protect her, battle and conquer the monsters like that knight in shining armor he’d scoffed at days ago. He longed to be her fairy tale ending. But they didn’t exist in a world of princes, princesses, and castles in the sky. Here, the princes were imperfect, the princesses didn’t always have happily-ever-afters, and the castles came with top-of-the-line security systems that could still be bypassed if the dragon was clever enough.
Still, he would lay down his life for her.
He loved her.
Like a crafty thief, she’d stolen his heart piece by piece. She’d pilfered the first bit when she’d refused to judge him after he’d revealed the secret of his paternity, instead calling him worthy. The next chunk had found its way into her delicate hands when she’d braved her fears and committed her body into his care, believing he wouldn’t betray or take advantage of her. And the remaining portion had been hers when she’d trusted him with her secret, her truth.
Days, weeks, years—he could’ve known her hours instead of days. Or years instead of weeks. How could he not admire her strength? Desire her beauty? Long for her heart? Even when he’d mistrusted her, he’d wanted her. She’d called to the loneliness inside him; she’d tugged at the shriveled, atrophied part of his soul that yearned to love, to be known…to be accepted.
He brushed the back of his fingers down her soft cheek. “Danielle—”
The doorbell pealed.
“Damn it,” he muttered. With another curse, he pushed off the couch and stalked down the hall. He punched in the security code and glanced out the beveled glass next to the door. His anger dissolved like a fine mist, replaced by the cold slap of shock.
He pulled the door open. “Mom…Christopher.” What the hell was he doing here?
“Hi, honey,” his mother greeted, rising on tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek. “We’re not going to stay long. We know you need your rest. But we wanted to come by and check on you.”
“We,” he murmured, his stare trained on Christopher, whose stoic expression revealed nothing. “How nice. And unexpected.”
She glanced over her shoulder at her husband, a small smile curving her lips. “I know, but Chris insisted on coming and seeing how you were doing.”
“Did he?” He struggled to keep the cynicism out of his voice. Especially when he detected the delight in his mother’s. “Come on in.” He shifted back, allowing his parents room to enter. His mother headed straight for the living room, but Christopher followed at a slightly slower pace as he scanned the elegant foyer. Malachim clenched his teeth, and a faint ache pulsed in his jaw. This was the first time Christopher had deigned to enter his home in the years Malachim had owned it. And if his father expected him to believe concern over his welfare had finally brought him running to his side…
There must be a ton of demons freezing in hell.
“Hi, Danielle.” Pam crossed the living room and, when Danielle stood, pulled her close in a hug. “You know the only reason I’m not nervous about Malachim is you’re here making him behave and obey the doctor’s order of rest.” She flicked a shrewd look at him, and he shrugged. “That’s what I thought.” She brushed a caress over Danielle’s hand before returning to him and cupping his face between her palms. She studied him, and he caught the worry in her eyes, the relief in her smile.
“I’m fine, Mom.” He whispered the assurance, kissed her cheek, and inhaled the perfume that carried him back to childhood. “I promise.”
“Ms. Warren.” Christopher moved into the room. “It’s so nice to see you again.”
Malachim jerked his head up and met the gleam in Christopher’s gaze. The suspicion that had never fully extinguished flared from a simmer to a flame. He released his mother and slid closer to Danielle.
Surprise flashed across Pam’s face. “You know each other?”
“Yes,” Christopher said smoothly. “Did I forget to mention it? We met at Malachim’s office last week. Although,” he tipped his head to the side, “for some reason, I thought she’d left town.”
“So”—Malachim crossed his arms—“is that why you’re here? To gloat?”
A smile as cold and sharp as a scalpel slashed across his mouth. “That’s harsh. And here I thought the truth might help ease your pain.” His attention shifted to Danielle once more. “I hate it when I’ve been misunderstood…lied to.”
Rage twisted in his chest and gut and the smug smile and gleaming satisfaction his father wore were like bellows blowing the fire higher, hotter.
“You’re a bitter, twisted old man,” Malachim ground out, advancing on the man who’d made his life a living hell with his cruelties.
To the casual eye, Christopher appeared to be a handsome, distinguished, successful man. But if the same judicious observer peered closer, they’d notice the tiny lines pinching the skin around his mouth and between his brow, the jaded wintriness in his blue eyes. Those details aged him, revealed the resentment and anger that festered beneath the affable mask he presented to the world. Only his family glimpsed the real Christopher Jerrod. The man who’d never forgiven his wife for her infidelity and tortured his youngest son for being a living, breathing reminder of that unpardonable sin.
“Malachim,” Pam gasped at the same time a palm gently rested on his back. But his attention didn’t budge from Christopher. Red mottled his father’s cheekbones, and his eyes narrowed to dangerous slits.
“You dare talk to me this way?” Christopher hissed. “You?” he sneered.
“Yes, me,” Malachim countered. This confrontation had been a long time in coming—over twenty years. And now the moment had arrived, and the floodgate on his hurt, disillusionment, and fury couldn’t be lowered. The vitriol poured out of him, and Malachim didn’t try to stem it. “The bastard under your roof. The roof you always made damn sure I understood I wasn’t worthy enough to live under.”
“And you should’ve been grateful I didn’t turn you out.” Christopher’s lip curled, distaste in the gesture and the glare he leveled on Malachim. “It’s what I should’ve done the moment you were born.”
“Grateful?” Malachim’s bleak bark of laughter echoed in the room. “For what, exactly? The verbal abuse? The manipulations? The backstabbings? The attempts at ruining my life and career?”
“You’re not worthy of my loyalty.”
“And you never did a damn thing to earn mine. And now I do
n’t want it or anything to do with you. After today, I don’t care if we ever lay eyes on each other again. But before you leave this house, you’re going to hear me loud and clear.” He was moving before he realized his feet had erased the short distance between, and his hands shot out, seized Christopher’s jacket lapels, and yanked the man forward. Christopher’s eyes widened, his lips parted on an outraged drag of breath. “Your spiteful games end here. No more fucking with my life or the people I care about.”
“Malachim, no,” Danielle whispered as Pam softly gasped.
Christopher jerked free of Malachim’s grasp. Scoffing, he tugged on the end of his jacket, straightening it.
“Blaming me for your terrible taste in friends and women?” he sneered.
“Christopher.” His mother appeared beside them. The shock in her voice blanked her dark blue eyes, bled the color from her face. “What are you talking about?”
He scowled, switched his focus from Malachim to his wife. “This is none of your business, Pam.”
“Anything concerning Malachim is my business. Now what is he talking about?” she demanded.
Christopher’s scowl darkened. “Your son can’t seem to inspire a woman’s loyalty. And he must have a thing for liars and con artists. Just like the one he’s taken up with now.”
Malachim shook his head and huffed out a disbelieving laugh. “Still trying to get your digs in, to inflict as much damage as possible. Too late, Christopher. I already know everything about Danielle. She told me.”
“Danielle.” Christopher scoffed, the rude sound scathing, mocking. “I asked your receptionist, and when she told me a Danielle Warren worked for you, I laughed. Once again so fooled by a pretty face you didn’t even know who you had working for you. That you had Elena Rainier working for you.”
Pam’s head whipped toward Malachim. “Elena?” she asked. “Who is Elena?”
“It’s a long story…and it’s Danielle’s to tell, Mom,” he said, sparing a glance for his mother, even now hating to hurt her. But maybe his mistake had been in not telling her about the depth of Christopher’s deceit before now. She had a right to know the true character of the man she’d remained married to all these years out of some antiquated sense of duty or loyalty. “But as for Christopher, he tried to pay Danielle to spy on me and my business for him. But it’s not the first time. A year ago, he paid Tara to supply him with information about my clients and firm. That’s why I ended the engagement. Because she was his puppet.”
She paled as she transferred her wide gaze to her husband. “Is this true?” When he didn’t respond, just firmed his lips into a thin, angry line, she stumbled back a step, her fingers circling her throat. “How could you?” Pam whispered, staring at her husband as if she’d never seen him before this moment. “How could you?”
“Please, Pam,” he spat. “If he’s not man enough to hold onto his company and face healthy competition, then he shouldn’t have it.”
“Let’s be honest for once, Christopher,” she interrupted. “This isn’t about rival law firms or business schemes. This has everything to do with your continued, baseless grudge against Malachim and your resentment of me.”
Christopher sliced a hand through the air as if he could cut through her words. “Don’t be silly.”
“I loved you. God knows I loved you.” She lifted a hand, fingers trembling. But after a moment, she lowered her arm back to her side. “I know my affair hurt you. No matter my reasons, I was wrong, and I’ve tried to atone for it, make you forgive me. I’ve even witnessed your cruelties to an innocent boy, helplessly watched as you ignored him, belittled him, hurt him. Out of guilt, I’ve stayed, hoping you would forgive and change. Hoping my penance would melt the ice surrounding your heart. Hoping one day the man I fell in love with would reappear. But”—she shook her head—“that’s not going to happen. And I’m through waiting. Through hoping. I won’t just stand by and allow you to hurt my son again.”
“Pam, you don’t know what you’re saying.” For the first time, his arrogance wavered, dipped, and uncertainty peeped through the cracks.
“No, Christopher. You’ve hurt him—and me—for the last time.” She gently twisted her wrist, loosening his hold. And stepping away. To align herself next to Malachim.
She trembled next to him, and he slipped an arm around her waist, offering what little comfort he could. Behind him, he heard the quiet shush of feet over carpet before Danielle’s hand settled on his hip.
“Pam, you don’t know what you’re saying.” For the first time his arrogance wavered, dipped, and uncertainty peeped through the cracks. He held his out toward her. “Pamela.”
But she shook her head, remained at his side even as her shivering increased.
Pain spasmed across Christopher’s face as he lowered his arm. Without another word, he turned and left the room. Seconds later, the door clicked shut.
Pam sagged.
And Malachim caught her.
Chapter Twenty-five
Malachim stood in the open doorway of his home, one hand on the knob of the front door, the other cupping the jamb. He stared at the taillights of the cab as it disappeared down the street, his mother tucked safely inside.
With a tired sigh, he closed the door and set the alarm. Scrubbing a palm over his head, he returned to the living room. God, it wouldn’t shock him if he glanced in the mirror and glimpsed a gray-haired, stooped man staring back at him. At least then his outside would match his insides.
He dropped to the couch beside Danielle and immediately regretted the abrupt action when his bruises loudly objected. He swallowed a groan.
“Your mother get off okay?” Danielle murmured.
“Yes.” He absently rubbed the left side of his torso. “She’s going to stay with Aunt Ana for a couple of days while she decides what to do next.”
“Do you think she’s going to go back to Christopher?”
Malachim shrugged. “I don’t know. She’s…” He sighed, shaking his head. “Hurt. All I can do is be there for her.”
“I’m so sorry,” she said, grazing her fingertips along her jaw.
“For?”
“All of this you’ve had to suffer. The face-off with Christopher, your mother in pain. And all this after getting out of the hospital. I’m—” She shook her head, enfolded his hand in hers and offered him a smile.
“Stop looking at me like that,” he murmured.
Her smile dimmed. “Like what?”
“Like you’re about to break down in tears but are sucking it up for my sake.” When she didn’t reply, he sighed. “This isn’t your fault,” he said softly. “That confrontation was long overdue, and being jumped? I repeat, not. Your. Fault.”
Her head snapped up, met his gaze. Several long moments passed, the silence fraught with her denials. “We both know that’s not true,” she finally replied, her voice just as low. Just as adamant.
“You didn’t crack my head open. Or plant a foot in my side.”
Her flinch was almost imperceptible, but he noted the reaction and the guilt that flashed in her eyes. “But I’m the reason behind the attack.” Her fingers weaved together. “And the description of one of the men who hurt you matches the intruder in my apartment. The slimmer one with the hood.”
“Wrong. You’re the excuse behind the attack, not the reason. Rule number two, right?” he growled. “The fucker is breaking his own statutes.” He inhaled a breath, ordering himself to calm. She didn’t need his anger—but she did need his honesty. The time for deception between them had passed. “We don’t know that for a certainty, but I believe you’re right.” He’d surprised her with his capitulation; she’d expected an argument, not agreement. “Last night, the smaller one said ‘she’s mine.’ Since you’re the only woman I’ve been involved with in a year, and it was my ass being kicked, I figured out pretty quickly who the guy was referring to.”
Her eyes widened. Then she shot off the chair, nearly ran across the room to the window, dra
gging her hands through her hair. A ragged sound caught somewhere between a sob and a groan echoed in the room.
“Why didn’t you say anything?” she demanded, whirling around. “You should have told me.”
“Why?” he asked quietly. “So you could run sooner?” He slowly pushed to his feet, paying little attention to the ache in his torso. “You think I don’t know what you’re considering?”
She gripped her midnight curls before dropping her arms. Eyes closed, sorrow and pain flattened her full lips into a grim line. She lifted her lashes, and his palms itched to cradle her face, pull her close, and erase the despair in the chocolate depths.
“Alex’s found me,” she whispered. “Before going to jail, he promised he would. He threatened that the police couldn’t protect or keep me from him. I thought Boston was far enough, but it wasn’t.” Her voice lowered, fear weaving through the tone like the threads of a spider’s web. “Rainier’s Rule #1.” She paused. “You’re mine.”
The fury nearly overwhelmed him as he stalked across the room, jerking to a stop in front of her. She didn’t shy away from him, and grim satisfaction glowed and pulsed within him, combating the anger.
“Fuck his rules,” he growled. “Let me…” Stand watch over you. Shield you. Love you. “…help you.”
Her mouth softened, her eyes glittered. “Oh, God,” she whispered. “You already have. You have no idea what you’ve given me. But I won’t let you give your life, like you almost did last night. Like Pat did.”
Secrets and Sins: Malachim (A Secrets and Sins Novel) (Entangled Ignite) Page 20