46. Malachi
Chapter 46
Malachi
I stare at the wall, curled up on the bed, my arms tucked tight against my chest. It’s late—past midnight, probably—but I haven’t been sleeping much these past few days anyway.
It’s been three days since I last saw Connor. Three days of silence, of watching cars come and go from the estate, of seeing glimpses of him through the window, talking to men I don’t recognize. Three days of wondering who the fuck Sofia is and why he left so suddenly when she showed up.
Three days of nothing.
I should be used to it by now. He’s always had the power to pull me in, to make me feel like I matter, only to disappear and remind me exactly where I stand. It’s a cycle. One I swore I wouldn’t fall into.
But here I am.
The door opens softly, the hinges barely making a sound, but I don’t move. I don’t even look up. I know it’s him before he says a word, before I hear the quiet exhale of breath, the shuffle of his boots against the floor.
I can feel his hesitation before the mattress dips as he sits beside me. But I keep my eyes on the wall, my heart hammering despite the numbness settling heavily in my chest.
“Babyface,” he murmurs, his voice lower than usual, rough like he’s been running on fumes.
I don’t answer.
He sighs, and I feel his fingers twitch against the sheets like he wants to reach for me but isn’t sure if he should. “I know I’ve been gone,” he says. “I should’ve come to see you sooner.”
I don’t react.
He shifts beside me, his body warm even through the space between us. “There was some family shit I had to deal with,” he continues, voice careful, as if he’s picking his words before he says them. “It got… complicated.”
A laugh tries to claw its way up my throat, but it dies before it makes it out. Family shit. Of course. It always comes first. I mean, he’s an heir to a fucking criminal empire; of course, that will matter more.
“I’m sorry.”
It’s not enough.
I swallow against the tightness in my throat, my jaw clenching, but I still don’t look at him. I want to believe him. I want to let this go, let him pull me back in like he always does. But something inside me refuses to move.
“I should’ve checked in and let you know what was happenin’,” he says, softer now. “I didn’t mean to just… disappear. My days just bled into each other and the next thing I knew, I hadn’t seen you in days and—”
He hesitates again before breaking my heart once more. “Now I have to leave for a bit.” His fingers lightly graze my arm, like he’s testing to see if I’ll pull away. “I don’t know how long. It’s important. But I’ll be back.”
My stomach twists, but I force myself to stay still. I should ask him where he’s going. I should demand answers. But what’s the fucking point? I already know I won’t get them.
So I say nothing.
His hand tightens slightly on my arm, the heat of his palm bleeding through my sleeve. “Malachi.”
Still nothing.
I can feel it now—his anxiety creeping in, the way his breathing shifts, the way his grip tenses like he’s waiting for me to snap, to argue, to react in any way at all. But I still don’t give him anything.
His breath hitches slightly, and he moves closer, his other hand reaching out, ghosting over my side like he wants to pull me into him, but doesn’t know if he should.
“Please,” he murmurs, voice raw now. “Say somethin’.”
I blink slowly, forcing down the lump in my throat. “Good luck,” I say finally, voice flat.
I feel him flinching as if I just struck him. “That’s it?”
I exhale, curling in on myself. “What else do you want me to say?”
He moves then, shifting onto his side so he’s hovering over me, close enough that I can feel his breath against my skin. “Anythin’,” he says, desperation bleeding into his voice. “Tell me you’re mad. Tell me to go fuck myself. Just—” He grits his teeth. “Don’t shut me out like this.”
I finally turn to look at him. His face is closer than I expected, green eyes searching mine, brow furrowed, mouth pressed into a tight line. He looks… lost.
Good.
I lift my chin slightly, holding his gaze. “Why?”
He exhales sharply. “Why what?”
“Why does it matter?”
His expression twists, and something flickers behind his eyes. “You really think I don’t give a shit?”
I stare at him for a long moment. Then I shrug. “You always leave, and I’m still stuck in this prison cell.”
His jaw clenches, his fingers tightening on my arm. “And I always come back.”
“For how long?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
He stills, and I shake my head, moving away from his touch. “It doesn’t matter, Connor. You’re gonna do whatever you have to do, and I’m gonna be here. Waiting.” My chest aches, but I shove it down. “That’s how this works, right?”
His fingers flex, then curl into fists. “That’s not—”
“It is,” I cut him off. “That’s exactly what this is.”
His breathing turns shallow, his eyes darkening. “You don’t fuckin’ get it.”
I bark out a laugh, but it’s bitter. “No, I think I do.”
His hand moves to my jaw, gripping me just enough to hold my gaze. “I need you to get it,” he says, his voice low, unsteady. “I don’t want to leave, but I have to.”
I force myself not to react, not to lean into his touch, not to let myself believe the things I want to believe. “Then go.”
His eyes flash with frustration and heartbreak tangled into one. “You’re making this harder than it has to be.”
“Good,” I whisper. “Maybe you’ll actually fucking feel it.”
His breath stutters. He looks at me for a long moment, searching, reading me like he always does. Then he curses under his breath, pulling back slightly, raking a hand through his hair. “You’re impossible.”
I let out a slow, shaky breath. “No, I’m just being realistic.”
Connor stares at me like he wants to shake me,and force me to understand something he hasn’t even put into words yet. But I do fucking understand.
I understand that I’ve been a secret since the day he kissed me. I understand that no matter how much I want to believe him when he says I’m his, I’m still a prisoner in his family’s estate, still wearing a ring that means everything to me and nothing to the world outside these walls.
I feel like a fool.
His fingers twitch against my skin before he exhales sharply, shaking his head. “This isn’t fair.”
I let out a dry, humorless laugh. “Oh, now you care about fair?”
He clenches his jaw, his green eyes flashing. “I never wanted you to feel like this.”
“Then maybe you should’ve thought about that before keeping me locked up in here,” I snap, the words cutting through the thick tension between us. “Before you gave me this.” I lift my hand, showing him the Claddagh ring. “Before you made me believe this meant something.”
Connor’s face twists, pain flickering behind his eyes before he looks away. “It does mean somethin’.”
“To who?” I demand, my voice rising now. “Because to me, it means I’m yours. But what the fuck am I to you? A kept fuckin’ secret?”
His nostrils flare. “You’re not a secret.”
I scoff, shaking my head. “Then what am I?”
His hands flex like he wants to reach for me, but he doesn’t. Instead, he curses under his breath. “I don’t know how to fuckin’ do this, Malachi.”
“That’s not my fuckin’ problem.” My voice cracks, but I don’t care. “You don’t get to claim me in private and pretend I don’t exist outside of this fucking room.”
“I’ve never pretended you don’t exist.” His voice is rough, barely controlled, and fuck, he looks wrecked, but I can’t find it in me to care right now. “You don’t fuckin’ understand what I’m trying to protect you from.”
I glare at him. “I don’t want to be protected, Connor. I want to fuckin’ live .”
Something in his expression shifts, like my words just hit him somewhere deep.
I shake my head, my chest aching. “Do you even realize how fucked up this is? You go out and live your life, handle business, take on missions, and I’m just here, waiting for you like some kind of afterthought.”
His jaw tightens, his hands curling into fists. “You’re not a fuckin’ afterthought.”
I bark out another bitter laugh, shaking my head. “No? Then what am I?”
He looks at me, really looks at me, and for a second, I think he’s going to say something real, something that actually matters. But then he just exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. “You’re mine.”
My stomach twists. “Then fucking act like it.”
His nostrils flare, frustration bleeding into his expression, but I don’t back down. I hold his gaze, refusing to let him brush past this, refusing to let him make me feel like I’m the one being unreasonable when all I’ve done is ask for something real.
His throat bobs. He looks like he wants to argue and push back, but instead, he just clenches his jaw, his shoulders rising and falling with his uneven breaths.
Silence stretches between us, thick and suffocating. Then, finally, he whispers, “I don’t know how.”
The admission punches the air from my lungs and for a moment, I can’t move, can’t speak. Because I don’t think I’ve ever heard Connor Cunningham admit to not knowing something before.
I shake my head slowly, my voice hoarse. “Figure it out.”
His hands twitch, his lips parting like he wants to say something, but I don’t let him. I push myself up, ignoring the pain radiating through my ribs, and step past him, walking to the window. I need air. I need space.
I hear him sigh behind me, the bed shifting as he stands. For a second, I think he’s going to leave, but then the warmth of his body presses against my back.
I stiffen, my breath catching. His hands settle on my hips, his chest rising and falling in time with mine. “I don’t want to leave like this,” he murmurs, his lips brushing my temple.
I squeeze my eyes shut. “Then don’t.”
He breathes out, his grip tightening for a second before he loosens it. “You know I have to.”
I don’t respond. I don’t have anything left to fucking say. Connor lingers for a moment like he’s waiting for me to break, waiting for me to let him in.
But I can’t. Because even if I do, he’ll just fucking leave again.