Page 94 of His Black Onyx

Chapter 49

Nate

~ 39 days later ~

She never told me the exact date. And she didn't have to.

Once I figured out everything else about her, this became nothing but a minor detail, easy to track with the skills someone like me has at his disposal.

Looking back now, I feel like a part of me always knew. Like a part of me always understood that it wouldn't really come to it in the end, that things would not turn out the way the Covey—or I—would expect them to.

Maybe that's why I never saw it. Maybe that's why I never really saw the image of Malia in that house, surrounded by Scivolas and subjected to the enemy's hand. I trained her for it, I prepared her for everything that could come with it, but I never saw her actually having to go through with it.

But this. This I could see right away, when she told me about it. The sea, blinding me as it reflects the penetrating sunbeams, plants bending to the will of the cool breeze that covers the shore with its salty caress.

She described it to me, all of it. The beach, Easton's I think they call it. The little path at the shore that turns into the so called cliff walk, passing New England mansions that belong to the richest of the rich.

And one of them is Jayson Bowlan, her best friend's husband. I know that now, because I've had time to learn, time to conclude my research on everything I needed to know.

He was the one who orchestrated the ambush against us, because he found out that we were the ones to kidnap Malia from the hotel where they were celebrating his wedding. I always knew this guy was trouble and that he was dangerous to our mission—but now I can't help but feel grateful for him.

Because if it wasn't for him, we might have had to go through with it. If he hadn’t pushed the investigation in our direction, and if he hadn't figured out our deal with the Scivolas, my situation would be entirely different right now.

Because I would be on the run. But thanks to him, I'm not. I'm cautious, yes, and I have no interest in running any risks, but as far as I know, there's no one looking for me right now. The Covey's operation has been blown apart, and the only person who hasn't been taken into custody is Big George, because he has resources at hand that can keep him out of sight and out of reach of the police. And while the police may have found out about our deal with the Scivolas, it seems that they do not know about my role in it.

Rats are ostracized in our world, but still, I trust neither Mike nor Daveed to keep their mouth shuts forever. Especially as Daveed has never been a friend of mine, and if they offer him a deal that would reduce his sentence, I'm sure it'll be hard for him to keep his mouth shut.

But her?

The only person who could really hurt me and hand me over to the police is Malia. And with the way we had to separate on the day of the mission, I'm not entirely sure where we stand.

I told her to trust me. And she jumped out of the car to save me, not to save herself.

Or so I want to believe.

I have been hiding up until now, taking advantage of the fact that I'd plotted my exit from the Covey for months. I have all the cash I need, clean papers and the chance to start a new life.

All I'm missing is her.

I need to know whether she wants to be a part of that life—or not.

But I wanted to give her time. Time for the dust to settle, time to readjust to her old new life, time to rest from the horrible things I put her through.

Time to think about us.

Time to miss me, if she ever would.

It has been more than a month, and today is the day on which I decided to put an end to my wait. Today is Malia's birthday.

And if what she told me was right, then she should be here now. She should be strolling along the path that leads up to the cliff walk, most likely in the company of her parents, and she should be waiting in line for ice cream. There's only one vendor here that matches her description, and I've been lingering in eye sight for a while now.

I'm sitting on a bench, hiding behind sunglasses and with a book in hand, if only to explain the fact that I've been hanging out here for hours now. I couldn't focus on reading even if I wanted to.

My gaze keeps scurrying through the crowds, hoping, waiting, while my pulse dictates the ever changing beat to a dance I've never danced before.

I hate waiting. I hate being out of control.

What if she doesn't show up? Or worse—what if she does show up, but runs away screaming once she sees me? What if she calls out for the police? What if she will get me arrested after all, once she's presented with my face again?

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