Chapter 21
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
MALIK
Indigo lingers longer than she usually does. She watches me, her gaze heavier than it should be, like she’s weighing something unseen. I don’t call her on it. Not yet.
Instead, I finish eating, dusting my hands off on my jeans before nodding toward the room behind me. “Come on,” I say. “I’ll give you the tour.”
She hesitates—not out of uncertainty, but something else. Then, without a word, she follows.
The inside of the house smells like sawdust and fresh-cut wood, the scent thick in the cool air. Sunlight filters through the unfinished windows, casting long, broken shadows across the floor. I’ve spent long hours bringing it back from the ashes. Now, it almost looks like something whole again. Almost.
She huffs a quiet laugh, shaking her head. But steps further in, running her fingers along one of the newly installed beams. The way she moves is careful, almost reverently, like she understands the work that’s gone into this place. I like that about her. Most people don’t notice the details, the hours of sweat and labor, the way every board, every nail has a purpose. But she does.
“Show me the rest?” she asks, glancing up at me.
I watch her for a second too long, then clear my throat. “Come on.”
I nod and lead her deeper into the house, pointing things out as we go. “This’ll be the living room,” I tell her, stepping into the open space. “Vaulted ceilings, lots of natural light. Fireplace over here.” I tap a boot against the brick hearth. “Going for something classic, but with a little modern touch.”
She nods, eyes scanning the unfinished walls. “I like it. Feels... warm. Even now.”
I don’t know what it is about the way she says that, but something about it settles deep in my chest. I clear my throat, moving on before I let myself dwell on it for too long. “Kitchen’s this way,” I say, leading her toward the back of the house. “Big island, custom cabinets. Should be nice once it’s done.”
She pauses in the doorway, looking around. “You do all of this yourself?”
“Most of it. Got a couple guys that help out, but yeah, a lot of this is me.”
She gives me a look I can’t quite read, something between admiration and curiosity. “That’s impressive.”
I shrug, suddenly feeling the need to keep my hands busy. “Just takes time and patience.”
She steps closer, trailing her fingers along the edge of the framing. “Still. It’s a lot.”
I wipe the sweat from my brow with the back of my hand. “You look like you got questions,” I say, my gaze locking with hers.
She tilts her head slightly, arms crossed. “What happened here?”
“It was a new build,” I say, glancing over my shoulder at her. “Supposed to be someone’s dream home. But before the owners could even move in, someone came through and set the place on fire.”
She exhales softly, her gaze sweeping the space, taking in the bones of what’s left. “Why?”
I shrug. “Some kind of criminal, I’m sure. Probably wanted the copper in the wiring, then torched the place to cover their tracks.”
INDIGO
I force my expression into something neutral, but inside, my pulse kicks up, my fingers curling at my sides. Malik talks like he has it all figured out, like this was just some petty crime, some lowlife looking for a quick buck.
Copper.
The idea almost makes me laugh. If only he knew what really happened here. If he could see the masterpiece that was created within these very walls.
A warmth spreads through my chest—through my entire body—at the memory.
Ramon, bound and broken, his arrogance stripped away, leaving nothing but raw, trembling flesh beneath my hands. The way his breath hitched when realization dawned. The moment he finally understood his place in the world—beneath me.
He was the most magical dickhead I’d ever worked on.
My thighs clench at the thought, and I bite the inside of my cheek to ground myself, to keep from losing focus.
Malik is still talking, oblivious to the heat curling low in my stomach, to the memories dancing just beneath the surface of my mind.
“We’re close to being done,” he says, sweeping his hand over the open space. “You’d never know it was a crispy critter when I’m finished.”
Crispy critter.
The words are so absurd I nearly laugh out loud. I press my lips together, swallowing it down.
His hands rest on his hips, his stance easy, confident. He’s proud of this, of the work he’s put into rebuilding something that was never meant to stand in the first place.
I tilt my head, letting my gaze trail along the beams, the framework that now hides the art I left behind. “Yeah,” I murmur. “You do good work.”
He glances at me, eyes narrowing slightly. “What?”
I shake my head, forcing a smirk. “Nothing.”
He watches me a beat longer, then gestures for me to follow as he moves deeper into the house. I trail behind, my fingertips grazing the new wooden railing as we ascend the stairs. The scent of fresh-cut lumber and sawdust fills the air, but if I inhale just right—just deep enough—I swear I can still catch the faintest trace of smoke, of something charred and final.
Malik leans against the doorway, arms crossed. “You’re quiet.”
I blink, snapping myself back into the present. “Just picturing it finished.”
“Yeah?” His eyes flick over me, studying. “You got an eye for this kind of thing?”
I smirk. “Something like that.”
He chuckles, shaking his head. “Didn’t peg you as the interior design type.”
I step toward the window, running my fingers along the new trim. “Oh, I have a vision for spaces,” I say, my voice softer now, more thoughtful. “How they should be used. What they should hold.”
The ghosts of my work linger here. They always do.
Malik doesn’t press, doesn’t dig any deeper, but I can feel his gaze on me, like he’s trying to see something beyond the surface.
It’s been too long since I’ve created. Too long since I’ve carved my art into something deserving. And this conversation—this space, this reminder of what I’ve done—is making me all hot and bothered in a way that has nothing to do with Malik and everything to do with my work.
I need to deal with Elle.
Soon.
Before my urges start bleeding into the wrong places.
I take a slow breath, pushing the thought away for now. Malik’s watching me, waiting, and I realize I’ve let a moment of silence stretch too long. I flash him a small, easy smile, the kind that always works. “I gotta go,” I tell him. “But I’ll see you tomorrow.”
His brow furrows. “Tomorrow? Did you tell me you had plans tonight, and I forgot?”
Shit. Shit. Shit.
I smooth my expression before any panic can show. “Umm, no,” I say quickly. “I just have to work, but I’m off tomorrow night.”
He nods, but I can see the gears turning in his head. “I could come up to the bar.”
I press my lips together, thinking fast. I adore how much he wants to be around me, how he actually listens when I talk about my life, my schedule, the things I do outside of us. But tonight is not the night for him to be watching me from across the room. I have plans.
Plans that don’t involve being observed.
“Malik, handsome,” I murmur, stepping closer, letting my hands smooth up his chest. “I love that you wanna be there and just watch me work, and I mean this in the best and nicest way possible.” I look up at him through my lashes, lips twitching. “But my boyfriend being there all the time cuts into my tips… ya know what I mean?”
He laughs, the deep sound vibrating under my palm. “I feel you,” he says, shaking his head. “Fine, go flirt and make your money, baby. But remember whose girlfriend you are.”
I rise onto my toes, brushing my lips against his in a slow kiss before nipping his bottom one, just hard enough to make him groan.
“How could I forget?” I murmur, letting my fingers tease along the hem of his shirt. “He’s only the best fuck I’ve had and the sexiest man I’ve seen.”
His hands tighten on my waist, and I know if I stayed, I wouldn’t be leaving anytime soon. And as much as I want to, as much as I love teasing him and letting him pull me apart, there’s something else I need tonight.
I swat his ass with a grin, slipping away before he can catch me, and sashay out of the house toward my bike.
Now it’s time to track down Elle.
No one hurts what’s mine.