Chapter 37
Indigo
The machines around Malachai beeped in a steady, maddening rhythm.
Four days.
Four fucking days.
The doctors said one of the bullets had collapsed his lung. They called it a pneumothorax. I hated the word. Hated the clinical sterility of it. The Hand of God had been reduced to a web of wires, plastic tubes, and flashing monitors.
I sat beside his bed, swallowed up in one of his oversized black hoodies that still smelled faintly of his cologne, my legs pulled up under me in the stiff hospital chair.
His hand was warm beneath mine, the skin rough and familiar.
That warmth was the only thing keeping me grounded, the only proof I had that he’d be okay eventually.
But eventually wasn’t coming fast enough.
I rubbed my thumb gently over his bruised knuckles.
“You’re being fucking dramatic with this coma,” I whispered, my voice rough and cracked from days of crying and a complete lack of sleep. “You know that, right?”
I stared at his face. He looked less dangerous like this, the sharp, lethal edges of his jaw softened by the white hospital sheets.
“If you wake up, I’ll stop fighting you so much,” I rambled quietly into the quiet room.
“I swear I will. No more bringing up Sasha every five seconds. No more trying to piss you off on purpose.” I swallowed hard, a heavy lump forming in my throat as I looked down at our joined hands.
“And I’ll stop talking to Cooly. He don’t even matter that much now that I think about it. ”
Kael was completely convinced Cooly was responsible for this.
He kept bringing up the black box on the porch, the severed head, and the threats.
But I just didn’t think it was him. Cooly was too quiet, too sneaky to organize a messy hit in broad daylight on a highway on-ramp.
He wouldn’t operate that way. Besides, I was only just learning about the depth of his involvement with his father's international network. He had been calling my phone repeatedly for the last forty-eight hours, but I hadn’t answered. Not once.
I reached over carefully, brushing a stray strand of dark hair back from Malachai's forehead.
“You can’t leave me alone now. You’ve completely fucked up my head,” I whispered, trying to force a laugh through the suffocating sting in my chest. “Who’s gonna threaten people just for looking at me too long?”
I leaned forward, resting my aching forehead lightly against the back of his hand.
“Please wake up.”
The heavy wooden door clicked open behind me.
Kael stepped inside, carrying a paper coffee cup, his face wearing its usual expressionless mask. But beneath the stoic front, he looked entirely spent.
“Any change?” he asked, his voice low.
I shook my head, not moving away from the bed.
Kael came farther into the room, glancing once at Malachai’s still form before pulling his phone from his pocket.
“They got traffic cam footage from an intersection two blocks away from the ramp,” he said, tapping the glass. “The quality isn't great, but it’s enough.”
He turned the screen toward me.
My stomach instantly tightened into a sickening knot. The waist-length braids whipping out from beneath the helmet visor were a dead giveaway. My pulse jumped hard enough to make the room spin, a hot wave of adrenaline crashing through my veins, but I forced my expression to stay completely still.
“You know her?” Kael asked casually, his eyes tracking my reaction.
I looked at the grainy picture for one more agonizing second before shaking my head. “No.”
Kael nodded once, accepting the answer. “Didn’t think so,” he muttered, pocketing the device. “Nobody does.”
I looked away from him before he could read the lie written in my eyes. Because I knew exactly who it was. Or at least, I knew exactly who had sent her.
The hospital room suddenly felt entirely too warm. Too small. Like the walls were closing in on me.
“Can you sit with him while I leave for a bit?” I asked, my voice tight. “I need to go home, shower, and change my clothes.”
Kael nodded immediately. “Yeah. Go.”
I stood up slowly, my joints aching and stiff from days of refusing to leave that chair. I grabbed my purse from the floor and leaned over the guardrail of the bed one last time, my lips brushing gently against Malachai’s cool forehead.
“Wake up before I change my mind and run away again,” I whispered against his skin.
Behind me, Kael snorted softly. “Threats. That might actually work on him.”
I walked out of the room before either of us could say anything else.
The elevator ride down to the garage felt endless, the mechanical hum vibrating through my skull. But by the time the doors slid open and my feet hit the concrete of the parking deck, my frantic heartbeat had settled into something icy, lethal, and entirely focused.
I climbed into the driver's seat of my car and immediately locked the doors.
Without a second thought, I popped open the glove compartment. My Glock sat exactly where I had left it, the black steel cold and unyielding in the shadows.
I stared at it for a long, heavy second. Then I grabbed it, checking the magazine with a practiced, fluid motion.
The engine roared to life, the exhaust echoing loudly off the concrete walls as I shifted into drive. I peeled out of the hospital parking lot, the tires screeching against the pavement, heading toward the highway because I already knew exactly where I was going.