49. Malachi
Chapter 49
Malachi
I hear the door creak open, and for one fleeting, stupid second, my heart kicks hard in my chest, my brain fooling me into thinking it’s Connor. A sharp, quick breath fills my lungs, and my fingers curl into the blanket, anticipation sparking through me.
But then reality crashes in, and I know without even turning my head that it’s not him. My heart settles into a wary beat, and I tense, dread unfurling in the pit of my stomach as the door softly clicks shut.
When I finally force myself to look, my breath catches painfully. Standing there, calm as anything, watching me with those sharp, calculating green eyes, is Declan fucking Cunningham.
I push myself up immediately, wincing as my ribs protest the movement. I sit straighter, forcing myself to meet his gaze. I’m not an idiot—I know better than to show weakness in front of a man like this.
Connor might be terrifying in his own way, but this? His father is something else entirely.
Declan takes me in, his cold, green eyes sweeping over me before he moves to sit down on the edge of the bed. I tense up immediately but don’t move away.
“How’re you feelin’?” he finally asks, voice deceptively smooth and casual, that familiar scratch from cigars deepening the timbre.
I force my expression to stay blank, giving away nothing. “Fine.”
He exhales softly through his nose, a hint of dry amusement ghosting briefly across his face before disappearing. “That’s a lie.”
I don’t respond, stubbornly holding his gaze, the tension stretching between us. After another long pause, Declan leans forward slowly, bracing his elbows on his knees. He pins me with that intense stare again, and my nerves coil tighter, suspicion bubbling beneath my forced calm.
“I won’t be wastin’ time with pleasantries, lad. You know exactly why I’m here.”
I swallow hard, keeping my shoulders squared even as anxiety twists deeper. “Do I?”
Declan’s brow lifts slightly, his expression unreadable, yet so sharply aware. “Aye, you do.”
The heavy, cold certainty in his tone tightens my chest, makes my pulse spike. I force myself to remain still, refusing to show the tremor crawling beneath my skin.
He sighs quietly, running a hand slowly over his jaw, thoughtful for a moment before speaking again. “I know what you mean to Connor.”
My pulse kicks up. I force myself not to react visibly, but he sees it anyway. He sees fucking everything. “Which means,” he continues, “as long as you’re under my roof, you’ll stay protected.”
For a second, I’m thrown, searching for the trap beneath the calm assurance in his words. “Why?” I manage finally, my voice steady despite the nerves crawling up my spine.
He lifts an eyebrow, his gaze patient and expectant. “Why do you think?”
Frustration bubbles up in my chest, forcing me to exhale in a short, irritated burst. “I don’t understand.”
Declan leans back, his expression giving nothing away. “You’re a smart lad. Figure it out.”
My patience snaps under the quiet tension. “What do you want from me?” I ask, heart thumping hard, fingertips trembling against the fabric of my blanket.
He holds my gaze for another long beat, eyes assessing, before giving a slight, satisfied nod—like I’ve finally asked the right question. “I’m givin’ you a choice. You can return to your old life, or you can have a safer one. One where your father can’t touch you.”
My stomach twists, and I can’t stop my sharp intake of breath. I quickly school my features back into something neutral, even as panic and hope tangle messily inside me.
“And where exactly would that be?” I ask, my voice steady despite the storm in my chest. “Because if you think my father won’t find me—”
“He won’t,” Declan cuts in smoothly. “Not if you go to Willow Bridge.”
I frown, my pulse pounding in my ears. “What?”
Declan tilts his head slightly, watching my reaction. “I’ll make sure you’re enrolled when the new semester starts in March. You’ll study, you’ll have a future, and most importantly, you won’t have to look over your shoulder every second of the day.”
I hesitate. I don’t know much about Willow Bridge except that it’s elite as fuck. It’s where the best of the best go, the future rulers of the world, the sons and daughters of the kinds of people you don’t ever want to owe a favor to. It’s expensive and out of reach for someone like me, even if I did have my old life back.
“How would I even get there?” I ask, my voice quieter now. “I don’t have anything. No money. No—”
“Don’t be worryin’ about that,” Declan says smoothly, cutting me off.
Something twists tighter in my chest—a strange blend of suspicion and relief I can’t quite untangle. This man kidnapped me, took me away from everything I knew. I shouldn’t trust him. I shouldn’t even entertain his fucking offer.
But I also know how dangerous my father is. If I go back, he’ll find me. I know it deep in my bones. And Declan—he’s offering me safety. A protection I’d never have on my own.
I swallow again, a decision already forming despite my hesitance. “And if I say yes?”
Declan inclines his head almost respectfully. “Then you’ll have everything you need.”
I let out a careful, shuddering breath, nodding slowly as I resign myself. I already know I don’t really have a choice here—not if I want to survive. Not if I want a life beyond constantly looking over my shoulder.
“I’ll go,” I finally say.
He watches me carefully, and then nods once, definitive. “Good.”
Declan moves to stand, already turning away, but suddenly I find myself speaking, desperate to understand. “Why are you doin’ this?”
He stops with his hand already gripping the doorknob, pausing for a long moment. When he turns back toward me, his eyes are serious, guarded—but something in them softens just a fraction, barely visible beneath layers of cold authority.
“Because Connor chose you.”
Then he’s gone, and I don’t know how the fuck to deal with what that means.
Three months.
It’s been three fucking months since I last saw Connor Cunningham.
Three months since I watched him walk out of my room in all his black tactical gear, since I turned my head when he tried to kiss me, since I let my pride take control and refused to say goodbye.
It was the right choice.
It was.
I remind myself of that every day, just like I remind myself that this—this new life at Willow Bridge—is better than the alternative. I remind myself that I made the smart decision, the safe decision.
And yet, as I sit on the small balcony attached to my dorm, staring out at the dark expanse of the lake, I can’t help but feel like I’ve just traded one cage for another.
Declan Cunningham kept his word. I have everything I could ever need here. My tuition is covered. My dorm is nicer than any place I’ve ever lived in before. I’ve got state-of-the-art equipment, more books than I know what to do with, and my meds are always refilled on time. I even have fucking contacts now—actual prescription ones.
I should be grateful. But gratitude has always been a foreign fucking concept to me.
I lean back in my chair, stretching out my legs and feeling the familiar ache in my muscles. The past couple of months at the Cunningham estate had been quiet ones. Without Connor there, I had nothing to do but exist, and I quickly realized I hated existing in a body that had spent years being weak. So I used the time wisely, using the gym on the estate and pushing myself harder than I ever had before.
The result? I’m leaner now, and stronger. Not built like the hulking monsters I see around campus, but I can hold my own. Not that I talk to anyone. I could. The opportunity is there and people have tried, but I’m not here to make friends.
I don’t belong here, not really.
The students at Willow Bridge are cut from a different cloth, raised in power, and bred for the kind of world I was never supposed to be part of. I see the way they move, the way they talk, the way they know they’re untouchable.
I don’t fit and I don’t fucking care.
I take another sip of my coffee, letting the warmth settle in my chest, and exhale slowly. It’s late—past midnight—but I don’t sleep much these days. Not that I ever did.
It’s not insomnia. It’s not my brain refusing to shut down.
It’s silence.
I got used to hearing Connor’s voice. To the teasing, the taunts, the fucking constant presence of him. Now, I just have my own thoughts.
I fucking hate my own thoughts.
Shaking my head, I set my mug down on the small table beside me and push to my feet, stretching my arms over my head. I should go to bed. I have class in the morning—marine biology, my first love, the one thing I do give a shit about. I have no idea what strings Declan pulled, but I’m in the same year I was before they kidnapped me.
My life is so goddamn weird now.
I step back inside my dorm, closing the balcony door behind me.
It’s nice here. Too fucking nice. The bed is huge, the desk is sleek and modern, and the shelves are filled with books I didn’t even have to ask for. The walls are bare, but that’s on me—I don’t own anything personal, nothing to make this place feel like mine.
Maybe I should. Maybe I should put something on the walls or buy something that makes it feel like I actually live here instead of just existing in this space.
But then what? Then it feels permanent, and nothing in my life has ever been permanent. I sigh, running a hand through my hair, and turn toward the bed, ready to at least pretend I can sleep.
That’s when I hear a soft knock at my door.
I frown. No one knocks on my fucking door this late. For a second—just a second—my heart skips a beat. But then I shove the feeling down. Because it’s not him and it’s never going to be him.
I cross the room, my pulse slightly elevated for reasons I refuse to acknowledge. My hand tightens on the doorknob, and I force my face into something neutral before pulling it open.
It’s not him. Of course, it’s not fucking him.
Instead, I find my dorm mate, Aiden, standing there, his dark eyes meeting mine with the same unreadable expression he always wears. He’s taller than me, broader too, built like someone who could throw a solid punch and not feel a damn thing afterward. His dark hair is slightly messy like he’s been running his hands through it, and he’s wearing a hoodie despite the warmth of the dorm.
He jerks his chin in greeting. “Hey.”
I arch a brow. “Hey.”
Aiden and I have lived together for two weeks now, and in that time, we’ve exchanged maybe a handful of sentences. It’s not that we dislike each other, we just exist in the same space, separate and undisturbed. He does his thing, I do mine, and that works just fine.
He leans against the doorframe, crossing his arms. “Mind if I play for a bit?”
It takes me a second to register what he means, but then I catch sight of the guitar case slung over his shoulder. He plays almost every night, sometimes softly enough that I barely hear it, other times loud enough that it fills the entire dorm. But never this late.
It doesn’t bother me. If anything, it’s one of the only things that makes this place feel less… empty. I shrug. “It won’t keep me up.”
He nods like he expected that answer, then pushes off the doorframe. “Alright. Night then.”
I nod back. “Night.”
He disappears down the hall, his door clicking shut behind him and I hesitate for a moment, listening.
Aiden doesn’t talk much about his life, but I know enough. His father is someone important in the Irish mob—not at the level of the Cunninghams, but well-respected. He hasn’t said anything about whether or not he’s involved in that life, and I haven’t asked. I don’t want to know.
I shut my door, pressing my back against it for a second before sighing and dragging myself to bed. The mattress dips under my weight as I settle onto my side, staring at the bare wall in front of me.
This is my life now.
Wake up. Go to class. Study. Exist. Repeat.
It’s not a bad life; it’s not even a hard one. But something about it feels… unfinished. Or maybe I’m the one who feels unfinished.
I close my eyes, willing my brain to shut the fuck up, but sleep doesn’t come easily these days. I listen to the faint strumming of Aiden’s guitar from the other room, the sound is slow and careful, like he’s playing for himself and not for an audience.
It reminds me of someone, and I fucking hate that.
I sigh and shift onto my back, staring at the ceiling instead.
Where the fuck does my life go from here?