Chapter 7 Malec
Malec
Bay’s hand presses against my shoulder as she parks in front of the small bar Kayla’s at.
“You get out here. I’ll circle to the back and meet you here at the entrance.”
I nod and don’t waste a second. The moment the car stops, I’m out, eyes scanning the street before stepping onto the curb. No risks. Not now. The Russians definitely know by now that we’ve got Solas.
Bay has Myko—she’ll be fine.
But Kayla?
Kayla’s reckless. Too reckless.
She might be a royal, but for some damn unknown reason, she still can’t control her powers. And the worst part? She trusts people too easily. Even if this isn’t a trap, even if it’s technically safe—I’m still not letting some random bastard lay a finger on my sister.
“Malec.”
Bay rolls down the window just as I shut the door. Her tone sharpens into full-on mom mode—the same one she uses on her son, Alessio.
“Wait at the entrance. Don’t make a scene. Clear?”
I roll my eyes. “Yeah, yeah. I’m waiting.”
That is a lie. A full-on, bold-faced lie I’ll probably get scolded for later.
The second she pulls away, I’m already inside. It’s barely 8 p.m., and this bar is already packed. Dim lights, slow music, and voices rising louder than the bass.
“Please tell me I can make this bar my open buffet,” I mutter to Myko, rubbing my temples. “I swear, I don’t know how to handle this hunger lately.”
Hopefully, he doesn’t share that one with Bay, as he only growls back at me in a warning.
I glance around, scanning for Kayla—and then I see the reason for the early chaos. An ‘All You Can Drink Thursday’ sign is proudly hanging over the bar. Seriously?
A drunken free-for-all.
And that son of a bitch thought it was a good idea to bring my minor sister here?
I bite the inside of my cheek hard to regain control. I can't afford to lose it now. Not in public. Not where my mother would drown me alive for causing a scene.
Inhale. Exhale.
“So you’re a soccer player? What team?” Kayla’s voice cuts through the noise from the right.
I move fast, slipping into the nearest chair without revealing my face. I can’t let them see me. Not yet. I promised Bay.
“You don’t watch soccer much, do you?” the fucker laughs. “You’d recognize me right away if you did.”
Oh, really? He thinks that’s impressive?
She’s heir to the Mal-El royal bloodline, and she’s giggling like he’s some kind of god?
She needs lessons. Serious ones.
“Hi there, handsome.”
A raspy, drunk voice drags me back to the present. I turn toward it.
A dark blonde girl sways beside my table, clearly—just like Kayla—too young to even be in this place, using my table for balance.
“Are you here alone?” she asks, followed by a hiccup.
Gods. Not now. I take a slow breath.
I need to speak to the bar owner after this—letting minors in this freely means someone is protecting him. And that someone? Isn’t one of our famiglia.
“Am I not pretty enough to get your attention?” she pouts. “I asked you a question...”
Shit. She’s loud. Too loud. She’s going to draw attention.
“You should take a taxi home. Now.” I pull a hundred-dollar bill from my wallet and slide it toward her, hoping she’ll take the hint.
She gasps like I just pulled a gun. “I’m flirting, not giving services,” she snaps, eyes wide as they flick from the bill to my face. She wobbles forward, barely catching herself. Her breath hits me—and it reeks of alcohol, sharp and sour, making me curl my lip.
I hate alcohol. I hate strong smells.
She opens her mouth again, but I cut her off with a sharp wave of my hand.
“For fuck’s sake—you’re a minor. Go home. Study something. Stay out of places like this until you actually understand what it means to approach a man in a bar drunk.”
Another hiccup slips out, followed by a hiss of displeasure.
She doesn’t like the truth.
Too bad.
“You’re not my fucking shitty father. And you’re no fun at all.”
She spins on her heel to stomp off toward another table, leaving the bill behind. But the second she lets go of my table, her balance gives out—and she falls back.
Instinct kicks in. I reach forward and catch her just before she hits the ground, my arm sliding behind her back. She throws her head back, eyes wide as she stares up at me, stunned.
“T-Thank you,” she breathes, not moving, not even trying to stand. Just... frozen. Her brown eyes locked on mine.
“That’s a weird place for a tattoo,” she murmurs, gaze drifting up to my forehead.
Too drunk. Way too drunk.
“That’s it. I’m calling a taxi.”
I lift her and ease her into the chair across from mine.
“I’m. Not. Goin—”
“Diana!”
A voice cuts through the music.
We both turn. A woman is pushing through the crowd, zeroing in on us.
Shit. Too loud. Too much attention.
I flick my gaze toward Kayla’s table. Good. She’s still there.
Eyes only for that asshole.
Smile now, seaslug. It’s your last night.
“You made me so worried!” the woman says as she reaches us, crouching down to Diana’s level. “Who let you drink here?!”
“I’m fine, Ror. What are you doing here?” Diana crosses her arms like a sulking kid.
“Tatiana called me the second she saw you weren’t at her room earlier! What were you thinking coming here alone?!” Her voice rises, frustration spilling over as she grips Diana’s shoulders. “You know how dangerous it is!”
“Apparently, she doesn’t.” My words cut flat between them, slicing through their family drama.
Now that they’re side by side, I see the resemblance. But Ror—taller, sharper, curves poured into a dress that demands attention—leans over Diana, and my gaze betrays me. My chest tightens, pulse kicking against my ribs. I should look away. I don’t.
Every detail drags me deeper: the angle of her neck, the ripple of muscle beneath smooth pale skin, the faint glint of light woven into her hair.
The air feels thinner; my body is on edge, as if it knows something my brain refuses to admit.
She’s magnetic—dangerous in a way that makes me want to step closer instead of back.
Then she turns. Her eyes catch mine, hard and accusing, snapping the tether like a whip crack. Her soul flickers—erratic, loud, impossible to read in here.
“You better not even dream of touching my sister.” She rises, planting herself between me and Diana, spine straight, jaw set.
I snort, rolling my eyes. “Relax. I don’t touch minors. And I definitely don’t touch drunks.”
I scoop the bill from the table, then catch her hand. Her palm is warm, firm, resisting even as I press the money into it.
“Call a taxi. Go home.”
Her face shifts, confusion flickering through her eyes as she looks between me and the bill. Then, like she’s waking up, she snaps out of it and scoffs.
“We don’t need pity. And definitely not charity.” She slaps the bill back on the table like it’s trash.
Then her eyes meet mine—really meet them—and for a second, everything slows. Her irises are a striking, almost ethereal blue. Bright enough to cut through the dim light of the bar.
“Done playing prince charming?” Myko’s voice crashes into my head. “We’re at the entrance. And you didn’t follow your aunt’s orders.”
His timing makes me chuckle under my breath.
“What’s so funny?” Ror snaps, clearly offended.
I shake my head, trying to focus past Myko’s snide commentary.
“It’s not charity,” I say, voice low. “I have a younger sister, too. If she were ever in a situation like this… I’d want someone to help her get home safe.” I shove my hands into my pockets and nod toward Diana. Not that I'd ever let Kayla get into one.
It isn't a lie. I just needed her off my table. But still… no way in merhell I’d ever let Kayla end up like this.
The woman studies me, like she’s trying to sniff out a lie. She won’t find one.
“Thanks,” she mutters after a long minute. “But I have a ride. I’ll take it from here.”
She leans in, whispering something to Diana that definitely sounds like wait until we get home and I kick your ass.
“Malec.”
Bay’s hand lands on my shoulder.
I turn—and immediately choke back a laugh.
She’s wearing a pink baseball cap. The one I’m certain she swiped from Kayla. She really committed to the undercover act.
“Yeah. You definitely don’t like them young,” the woman throws at me, glaring at Bay like she’s judging her now, too.
I sigh as she walks off with Diana, leaving me alone with my aunt.
People and merfolk have misread my relationship with Bay and Myko for most of my life. It comes with the territory. I’m used to it. They must be near me most of the time, and she looks too young to be a mother.
“Who’s she?” Bay asks, watching the pair disappear through the doors.
“No idea,” I shrug, already scanning the bar again.
Kayla’s side of the table—empty.
She’s gone.