Page 18 of Fractured Onyx

Malia stops speaking, but she's breathing rapidly and looking visibly distraught at the information she just heard. Her uneasiness spreads through the room like a virus, infecting everyone with a seed of doubt that we don't need right now.

Big George and I exchange a quick look that tells me he agrees with my assessment. We need to approach this matter in baby steps, as much as we can. Laying it all on her at once is not a good idea, and I don't want to mess with the newfound confidence that's been carrying her through this up until now.

Malia regards me with skepticism when my hand closes around her upper arm, and I add a subtle pull to my gesture.

"Come, I'll take you back upstairs."

She doesn't pull back or hesitate to follow me, obviously in a hurry to get out of the room, and I don't blame her for that.

"Nate. A word," I hear Daveed's voice behind my back as we're just about to leave the room. I turn around to meet his stern gaze as he waves me over to come to him.

"Alone," he adds with a dismissive glance at Malia.

"I'll watch her," Mike adds. He is already standing next to us, and a little too close for comfort.

I meet him with a suspicious frown, silently warning him not to lay a finger on her, before stepping aside and watching as he escorts her out.

"Don't be so stupid," Daveed sneers next to me, pulling my attention toward him.

"What's your problem?" I ask, crossing my arms in front of my chest. I glare at him expectantly.

"What the hell are you doing?" he barks back at me. "You're fucking her, aren't you?"

"That's none of your business-"

"Yes, it is my business, especially if it puts our mission in danger!" he cuts me off. "Why the fuck would you get involved with her? How could that be a good idea?"

It's not, and I know that. But Daveed is the last person on the planet to whom I want to talk about this.

But I have to tell him something, if only to get him off my back.

"Don't worry," I say. "I have this under control. Didn't you see her just now? She has changed, hasn't she?"

Daveed tilts his head to the side, his eyes watching me quizzically as he tries to figure out what I'm trying to say.

"It's all part of the plan," I explain. "We need her to go along with this, right?"

He nods, but a deep furrow appears between his thick eyebrows.

"We need her to be compliant, and the easiest way to do that is to gain her trust," I go on. "Women are easy to train in that regard, trust me. They turn into obedient mistresses, completely under your spell—if you know how to make them come on your cock."

A dirty smirk spreads across Daveed's face and he offers an approving nod. It is still laced with a hint of doubt, but at least now it is overshadowed with a disgusting kind of comradery.

I hate speaking about Malia this way. It doesn't feel right, even if it's just a story I tell a Covey henchman to get him to stay out of the way.

But the worst part is that I'm not sure whether I'm lying or not.

Chapter 12

Malia

I'm exhausted, physically and mentally. I can honestly say that these past few days have been the most challenging ones of my life.

But they've also been the most interesting, the most intense, the most exciting.

Nate didn't lie when he said that my training would reach a whole new level from now on. While the shooting practice at the safe house was nerve-racking and intimidating on its own, it is now joined by combat training that scares me as much as it fills me with confidence. He started with defensive moves, insisting they'd be the only ones I may potentially need to know. The thought of being attacked by one of the mafia fills me with deep-seeded terror, but at the same time, it's oddly reassuring that I may now be able to defend myself against them. That eye blink of confidence is fueled by the knowledge that Nate is not going easy on me. He was careful at first, displaying worry on his face every time I stumbled, yelled out, or held up my arms in fear when he simulated an attack on me. But it only made him pause when we first started – his assaults grew more violent and more real the longer we practiced.

He keeps assuring me that it's unlikely that I will actually be involved in any kind of physical fight, but he wants me to be ready in case something does go wrong. I try not to think about the what-if-scenarios, because every time I do, my chest tightens with the realization that I'm not cut out for this. None of this was ever meant to happen, and nothing I have experienced up until the kidnapping has prepared me in the slightest.

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