15. Malia
FIFTEEN
Malia
Endless darkness stretches beyond the oval window, broken only by the rhythmic flash of the light on the jet’s wingtip.
Red. Dark. Red. Dark.
Walt’s blood pulsing onto the asphalt.
I press my forehead against the cool glass, letting the subtle vibration of engines rattle through my skull. Anything to drown out Malikai’s quiet breathing across the polished wood table. Anything to block the image of Walt falling, of blood spreading beneath him like spilled wine.
The thought brings bile rising in my throat. I swallow hard, focusing on the steady drone of engines that cocoons us at thirty-five thousand feet. The sound should be soothing, like white noise masking the universe’s chaos. Instead, it reminds me of distance—every minute carrying me further from Walt and any hope of rescue.
Has it really only been hours since dinner at Salvatore’s? Since Walt’s hands teased me under the table, since his dark promises made me ache? My body still tingles with phantom sensations—his fingers sliding up my thigh, his breath hot against my ear, the weight of his presence overwhelming my senses.
Now, all I feel is numb.
The silk of my dress has gone stiff where Walt’s blood dried. I couldn’t bring myself to accept the fresh clothes they offered. These bloodstains are all I have left of him.
“Sissy…” Malikai’s voice breaks the artificial quiet.
I squeeze my eyes shut, pressing harder against the window. The glass fogs with my breath, creating a halo around the distant wingtip light.
Red. Dark. Red. Dark.
Like a dying heartbeat.
Is that what Walt’s heart looked like, struggling to keep beating as his blood painted the pavement? Did someone find him in time? Or did he bleed out alone in that parking lot, reaching for where they dragged me away?
“Please.” Kai’s voice cracks on the word. “Talk to me.”
I curl tighter in the wide leather seat, knees drawn to my chest despite the designer dress. My bare feet—they took my heels during the security search—press against the soft leather. The position feels defensive, childish maybe, but I can’t bring myself to care.
What is there to say? That I trusted him?
That I never imagined my brilliant, gentle brother could be involved in something that would get a man shot? That would get me kidnapped?
The guard on my right shifts slightly, his expensive suit rustling. They move like soldiers despite their civilized appearance. Every motion is precise, controlled, and lethal. Just like the casual way they gunned Walt down.
Tears burn behind my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. Won’t give these men the satisfaction of seeing me cry. Won’t let Malikai see how deeply his betrayal cuts.
The endless Pacific stretches below, invisible in the darkness but felt in the vastness pressing against the window. Thirty-five thousand feet of empty air between me and the waves. Between me and any chance of escape.
How many hours since takeoff? Two? Three? Time blurs in this pressurized cocoon of leather and polished wood. In the window’s reflection, I catch glimpses of the cabin behind me—the guards bracketing Malikai, their faces impassive as marble.
The fresh scent of coffee drifts through the cabin—rich and familiar enough to make my throat tight. How many mornings did I craft the perfect roast at The Guardian Grind? How many times did Walt come in to flirt over ridiculous drink orders?
The memory hits like a physical blow: Walt’s smile as he leaned against my counter, the way his eyes darkened when I bent to retrieve fresh beans, how he found any excuse to linger...
“Miss?” A voice intrudes, cultured and professional. “Would you like a beverage?”
The flight attendant moves gracefully through the cabin as if this were just another charter flight for wealthy executives. Her uniform is crisp, navy with gold accents, and her makeup is perfect despite the late hour. She could be serving champagne to CEOs instead of coffee to kidnappers.
I ignore her just like I ignore my brother. Let the silence stretch until she moves away.
Red light flashes against the window again. Like an emergency beacon. Like the strobes of police cars arriving too late. Like Walt’s blood…
I press my fingers against the cool glass, watching my prints fade into ghostly shapes. How many miles now? How much ocean between me and the man I love?
The thought catches me off guard.
Love?
When did that happen? Somewhere between his cocky smiles and gentle hands? Between his dark promises and desperate protection?
Now, I may never get to tell him.
A single tear escapes, sliding down my cheek. I wipe it away before anyone notices, but Malikai makes a soft sound—part pain, part guilt. I curl tighter into myself, refusing to acknowledge him.
The darkness beyond the window offers no answers. Only the endless flash of the red light marking time like a metronome. Like a heartbeat growing fainter with each mile.
I turn my attention inward, away from the inescapable blackness outside.
The private jet’s cabin gleams with obscene luxury. Honey-colored wood panels line the walls, polished to a mirror shine that reflects the soft amber lighting. Twelve oversized leather captain’s chairs, arranged in pairs around polished tables, probably cost more than my yearly salary at The Guardian Grind.
Everything speaks of money and power—from the hand-stitched leather to the crystal glasses arranged on the sideboard. The kind of wealth that makes kidnapping look civilized. That turns abduction into a first-class experience.
I hate how comfortable the chair is, how the leather cradles my body like a lover’s embrace. Hate the way wealth tries to mask violence with elegance.
A plush cream-colored sofa curves along the back wall. The sight of it sends an unexpected pang through my chest—remembering Walt’s promises about what he’d do to me on my couch. How he claimed me against the inventory room wall just hours ago.
Has it been just hours?
It feels like years.
The memory feels distant, dreamlike: his hands pinning my wrists, his body pressing me against rough concrete, his voice growling dark promises in my ear. Now, those promises might never be fulfilled.
The cabin pressure changes slightly, making my ears pop. One of the guards shifts in response, his movement drawing my attention to the holster visible beneath his jacket. These men wear their weapons like accessories—deadly fashion statements to complement their thousand-dollar suits.
“More coffee, sir?” The flight attendant materializes beside Malikai, her crisp uniform and professional smile bizarre in their normalcy.
Kai shakes his head, his hands trembling slightly as he grips the armrests. His glasses catch the ambient lighting, hiding his eyes. But I know my brother—know the tension in his jaw, the way his fingers tap silent equations when he’s afraid.
What kind of research is worth all this? Worth getting Walt shot? Worth trading his sister’s freedom?
The guard on my right adjusts his position, leather creaking beneath him. His shoulder brushes mine—a reminder of my captivity wrapped in expensive fabric.
A crystal decanter of amber liquid catches the light, sending honey-colored reflections dancing across the polished table. The flight attendant’s heels click against the floor as she moves through the cabin, maintaining the illusion of normal flight service.
“Perhaps some wine?” She gestures to a bottle of what’s probably obscenely expensive red. “We have an excellent Bordeaux…”
Her voice trails off as both guards shake their heads. No alcohol. Of course not. Can’t have their prisoners—sorry, passengers—getting drunk at thirty-five thousand feet.
The entire scene feels surreal, like a twisted parody of luxury travel. The flight attendant’s perfect makeup and practiced smile. The guards’ expensive suits and casual violence. The beautiful cage hurtling us toward whatever fate awaits across the Pacific.
Fresh tears threaten, but I blink them back. Focus instead on cataloging details like Walt taught me. Notice everything. Miss nothing. Knowledge is power, even when you feel powerless.
Six men total. Two with me in the back row, two with Malikai in the center row’s captain’s chairs, and two up front. All wearing identical dark suits, but their weapons vary. Shoulder holsters for the four guards in the back. The two up front favor ankle holsters, visible when they shift.
Two emergency exits—one over each wing. A bathroom at the rear.
Would they shoot me if I tried to run?
Where would I run to?
There’s nothing but ocean and sky for thousands of miles in every direction.
The thought sends claustrophobia clawing at my throat. I press my palm against the cool window, trying to ground myself in sensation. The glass vibrates slightly with the engines’ steady drone that should be soothing but instead reminds me of distance—every second carrying me further from home, from Walt, from any hope of rescue.
“Are you sure I can’t get you anything?” The flight attendant is back. Her smile never wavers as she hovers near my seat. “We have an excellent selection of?—”
“She’s fine.” The guard to my right cuts her off, his voice carrying the same emotionless tone I’m learning to hate. These men speak like machines, their humanity stripped away by whatever training made them into weapons.
I study them through lowered lashes, noting how they maintain perfect posture despite the hour. No slouching, no casual adjustments. Their vigilance never wavers.
“The galley is always open.” The flight attendant’s voice carries that particular tone of high-end service—helpful without being pushy. “Just let me know if you change your mind.”
Her heels click softly as she moves away, the sound oddly normal in this abnormal situation. She reaches the forward galley and begins preparing something. The domestic sounds of coffee brewing and china clinking floats back to us.
The flight attendant returns, pushing a cart laden with fine china and crystal. “Dinner service will begin shortly.” She maintains that perfect flight attendant smile. “We have a five-course meal prepared by our onboard chef.”
Of course, they do. Because why serve prisoner rations when you can maintain the illusion of civilized behavior?
“I’m not hungry.” The words come out sharper than intended.
“You should eat.” The older guard’s voice carries no emotion. “It’s a long flight.”
A threat? A warning? Or just practical advice from men who view me as cargo to be delivered intact?
The flight attendant begins setting out linens and silverware. Real silver. Real crystal.
“The chef has prepared a lovely, seared ahi tuna with wasabi cream for the first course.” She recites the menu like this is a Michelin-starred restaurant instead of a prison at thirty-five thousand feet. “Followed by?—”
I tune out her words, focusing instead on the guards’ positions. Their perfect stillness. The way they watch everything while appearing to watch nothing.
Four hours down. Eleven to go before we reach wherever they’re taking us. Eleven hours trapped in this beautiful cage with men who kill as casually as they adjust their silk ties.
The flight attendant places a glass of water near my hand, condensation beading on crystal. Such a normal gesture in such an abnormal situation.
“Just let me know if you need anything.” Her smile never reaches her eyes as she moves to serve the others. Professional to the end, even when serving kidnappers and killers.
The guard on my right straightens imperceptibly as she passes. Always alert, always watching. These men don’t rest, don’t relax, don’t show any sign of human weakness.
I wonder if they were born this way or if someone trained the humanity out of them. Stripped away everything until only the weapon remained, wrapped in expensive suits and casual violence.
The flight attendant disappears behind the galley curtain, leaving us in that artificial quiet unique to private jets. Just the steady drone of engines and the soft clink of crystal as she prepares dinner service.
My voice breaks the artificial silence, startling even me. Kai’s head snaps up, hope flashing across his features before guilt shadows them again.
“What did you do?”
“Sissy, I?—”
“No.” I cut him off, leaning forward. “No pet names. No deflections. What did you do that was worth getting Walt shot?”
One of the guards shifts, a subtle warning. “Miss?—”
“She deserves to know.” Kai’s voice cracks. He starts to reach across the table but stops when I flinch back; he retreats. “I never meant… God, Malia, I never thought they’d find me so fast. I thought I’d have time to say goodbye.”
“That’s not an answer.” My hands clench in my lap. “What kind of research gets a quantum physicist kidnapped? Gets his sister taken as collateral?”
“That’s enough.” The older guard’s voice carries steel. “His work is classified.”
“Classified?” I laugh, the sound brittle. “Is that what we’re calling this? A classified flight to God-knows-where while Walt bleeds out on American soil?”
“Malia, please.” Kai’s fingers drum equations on the armrest—his tell when he’s struggling to find words. “I can’t… There are things I’m not allowed to explain. But I need you to understand—I tried to protect you. I thought dinner would be safe. Public. I thought?—”
“You thought wrong.” The words come out raw. “You knew they were coming. That’s why you kept checking your phone.”
“Miss,” the younger guard cuts in. “No more questions.”
The flight attendant chooses that moment to appear with the first course. “Seared ahi tuna with wasabi cream,” she announces, as if this were just another dinner service. “Chef’s specialty.”
“I told you, I’m not—” My protest dies as Kai’s eyes meet mine across perfectly arranged plates.
“Please eat something.” His voice softens to the tone he used when I was sick as a kid. “You need your strength.”
“How do I know it’s not poisoned?” I stare at the artfully presented food, my stomach churning with equal parts hunger and nausea.
“No one’s going to poison you.” Kai picks up his fork with trembling fingers. “They’re professionals, not monsters.”
“No, they shoot people and kidnap their families.” But I lift my fork anyway; the silver cool against my palm. If I can’t fight, can’t run, I can at least keep my strength up.
The tuna melts on my tongue, perfectly prepared. I hate how good it tastes.
“I really liked him, you know.” Kai’s words come soft, meant just for me. “Walt. I could see why you chose him. The way he looked at you…”
“Stop.” My voice cracks on the word.
“He’s alive.” Kai sets down his fork. “Men like that—they don’t die easily.”
“Men like, what?” The words come out sharper than intended. “You don’t even know him.”
“I know enough.” Kai’s eyes meet mine, steady for the first time since takeoff. “I watched him trying to protect you even after they shot him. He would’ve kept fighting if they hadn’t…” He swallows hard. “If they hadn’t used you to stop him.”
“Sir.” The warning in the guard’s voice could cut steel. “That’s enough.” His hand shifts toward his weapon.
The tension within me finally snaps, a coil wound too tightly for too long. I push back from the table, the silverware clattering as I glare at the guard.
“Why?” My voice cuts through the stale hum of the cabin. “Why are you even reaching for your weapon? What are you going to do? If that thing goes off, we all go down. The plane, you, me, your boss—everyone.”
The guard’s hand freezes, his expression unreadable, but the warning in his posture remains stiff and unyielding. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t dare.
“That’s what I thought.” My heart pounds as I drop back into my seat, the cushion squeaking beneath me. Crossing my arms tightly over my chest, I lean back, staring daggers at the guard until he shifts his gaze away.
Kai watches me, his eyes wide with worry, but he doesn’t say a word. The plane feels impossibly small, the recycled air choking as I settle deeper into the seat, my pulse still hammering. I refuse to let the guard—or anyone else—see the trembling in my fingers as I clench my hands into fists.
“I’m sorry.” Kai’s voice breaks on the words. “God, Malia, I’m so sorry. For all of it. For Walt. For dragging you into this. I never thought… I should have known they’d use you. Should have protected you better.”
“You should have told me what was happening.” Tears blur my vision, but I refuse to let them fall.
“I couldn’t. Not without putting you at risk.” His fingers tap out another equation—probably calculating odds of survival or escape trajectories. “I’m sorry.”
The flight attendant appears to clear our plates, her movements precise and practiced. For a moment, the only sounds are the clink of fine china and the steady thrum of engines carrying us farther from home.
Kai’s eyes meet mine across the table, and for a moment I see my big brother again—the one who taught me quantum mechanics using coffee beans, who chased away playground bullies, and explained the mysteries of the universe.
“Well, seeing as we’re here…” I gesture vaguely around the cabin. “I deserve an explanation.”
“They’re collecting us.” Kai’s voice drops low as the flight attendant retreats with dessert dishes.
“What?” I lean closer, keeping my voice barely above a whisper. “They? Who’s they?”
“Theoretical physicists. Fusion specialists.” His fingers trace equations on the tablecloth. “First, it was Dr. Chen from Berkeley. He just—vanished.”
“Sir.” The guard’s warning carries deadly promise.
But Kai continues, his words rushing out between sips of coffee, disguising the conversation. “Three months ago, Rodriguez disappeared. They took his daughter. Then Williams and his wife…” He swallows hard. “I thought I could protect you by staying away. But I couldn’t—couldn’t leave without saying goodbye.”
The pieces click, each one slotting into place with horrifying clarity. My breath catches in my throat as I stare at Kai, the weight of what he’s not saying pressing down on me like a physical force.
My mind races, connecting dots I wish I could unsee. When humanity harnessed nuclear power, it lit up cities and fueled entire countries, but it also birthed destruction—the atomic bomb, a force capable of wiping out everything in its path.
And now fusion. Fusion energy that harnesses the power of the sun itself.
Clean, limitless energy—or a weapon of unimaginable scale.
My chest tightens as the implications hit me like a freight train. Whatever breakthrough Kai has been working on, whatever he’s caught himself in, it’s bigger than I could have imagined.
The guard shifts, his warning gaze drilling into me, but I barely notice. My eyes lock on Kai, his exhaustion etched into every line of his face. The slight dip of his head confirms it—he knows exactly what’s at stake.
This isn’t just about his research or them using me to control him.
It’s about power—power to change the world or obliterate it.
The guard’s hand twitches toward his weapon again, his jaw tightening. I sit back slowly, struggling to pull air into my lungs.
My brilliant, gentle brother—who taught me electron configurations using coffee beans, who still calls me ‘Sissy’ even though we’re both adults—is caught in something bigger and darker than his quantum calculations could have predicted.
I reach across the table, not quite touching his hand. The first gesture of connection since takeoff. His fingers still, and for a moment I see the boy who used to chase away schoolyard bullies, who explained particle physics using Halloween candy.
“I understand,” I whisper. And I do. Not the quantum mechanics or the fusion breakthrough, but the need to say goodbye. To have one last moment before everything changed.
I just wish Walt hadn’t paid the price for that goodbye.
Exhaustion hits suddenly, the adrenaline of the past hours crashing through me. My eyes feel gritty, my limbs feel heavy with fatigue. Even keeping my head up becomes a monumental task.
“Sleep.” Kai’s voice carries that familiar big-brother concern. “I’ll watch over you.”
“Like you watched over Walt?”
Pain flashes across his features. “I’ll do better this time. I promise.”
I want to argue, to stay angry, but my body betrays me. My eyes drift closed despite my best efforts. The last thing I see is Kai’s face—torn between guilt and fierce protectiveness.
As for my dreams? They come in fragments: Walt’s blood spreading across the pavement. His arms reaching as they dragged me away. His voice calling my name, growing fainter as he slips away.
I jerk awake with a gasp, momentarily disoriented. The cabin lights have dimmed to a soft glow. Most of the guards seem to doze.
Kai still watches me, his glasses reflecting the faint light. He hasn’t slept. Probably won’t until we land. The sight stirs something in my chest—anger and love tangled so tight I can’t separate them.
He’s still my brother. Still the boy who explained the universe to me, but he’s also the man who got Walt shot. Who knew danger was coming but took me to dinner anyway.
How do you reconcile those truths?
His fingers tap out another equation—this one I recognize from childhood. The quantum formula for uncertainty. For all his brilliant calculations, he couldn’t predict this outcome. Couldn’t protect me from the consequences of his genius.
But he tried to say goodbye. Tried to give us one last moment before everything changed.
I close my eyes again, letting the engine’s drone lull me back toward sleep. The last thought before unconsciousness claims me is a prayer:
Please be alive.
Please find me.
Because I’m not sure I can save us on my own.
When we land in Honolulu, they don’t let us off the plane. I watch through the window as they refuel, the tropical paradise beyond the tarmac feeling like a cruel joke. So close to civilization, to phones and police and help—but might as well be a million miles away with armed men watching our every move.
“Almost halfway there,” one suit comments as we take off again, heading west into an endless night. Somewhere ahead lies another country, another life I never asked for. Somewhere behind, Walt might be dead or dying, with no way to know where they’ve taken me.
Please be alive.
But even if he is—even if he survives… How will he find me on the other side of the world?