Page 105 of Avidian
For a second, everything stills. Then chaos takes over.
Marco is still breathing,and I frantically search for a weapon. Now is my chance to end him. I hear footsteps coming down the hall and quickly run to hide next to the bed.
Malachi’s voice in the hall sends a wave of adrenaline coursing through me. “Keep clearing the property. Come to me when you find her.”
I press myself flat against the side of the bed, my heart pounding as the door swings open. His tall frame fills the doorway, but his sharp eyes zero in on Marco slumped in the chair. His jaw tightens, the flicker of rage barely containedbeneath his calm exterior. Then his gaze shifts to me, crouched by the bed, and everything in him changes.
“Kat.”
He strides across the room in several quick steps, pulling me to my feet and into his arms. His hold is crushing, fierce, like he’s been fighting the entire world to get here. Before I can say anything, his mouth is on mine, desperate and consuming. All the tension, the fear, the anger—it all melts away in the heat of him. My hands clutch his shoulders, and I kiss him back like I’ve been starving for this.
Malachi pulls back enough to meet my eyes. “You’re okay?” His voice is rough, strained.
“I’m okay,” I whisper, but my voice trembles with everything I need to say. Relief, anger, the questions. He looks at me like I’m the only thing that matters.
He moves quickly, lifting me and setting me on the edge of the bed. His hands roam over my body, pulling me closer, fingers tangling in my hair as his lips crash against mine. The kiss is so fierce, so consuming, that I forget to breathe. My chest tightens, desperate for air.
“Malachi,” I gasp when he pulls back, my lungs burning but my heart racing for more.
“When I got back to the cabin and you weren’t there…” He pulls me against him, wrapping his arms tightly around me, and his lips press to the top of my head. “You don’t know the hell I went through, the things that went through my head.”
I melt into his embrace, taking in the sight of him—fully dressed in black tactical gear from head to toe, his chest rising and falling with the weight of his breaths. He looks like a soldier, a man ready to face war. The image sends a pang of something sharp and unfamiliar through me.
“I know,” I whisper, my voice barely audible. “I’m sorry?—”
“Don’t.” He cuts me off, his grip tightening. “You don’t have to apologize. Not for this.”
“I know,” I say, nodding as my eyes scan over him. I’m torn, debating whether this is the right time. “I saw what happened to Carmen. I saw who killed them, and I read Carmen’s journal. Her boyfriend was in Solace. Why did you keep all of that from me? Why did you want Damien dead?”
I immediately realize that wasn’t the most tactful way to ask, but the questions are burning in me.
His eyes soften, and I can see the conflict in him. He’s wishing we could talk about this another time, but I can’t hold back anymore. I need to know. At least the short version.
“You’re right,” he says, running a hand over his face. “I haven’t told you everything, and that’s because, in the beginning, I didn’t know if I could trust you. And once I could... Well, there are things we haven’t talked about yet. Things we need to talk about, but not like this.”
His hands gently cup my face, and I force myself to swallow the lump in my throat.
Sighing, he continues, “I thought I could trust Damien. He hated his father, wanted to make a difference. I thought I could recruit him into Solace, make him a double agent, get intel on Viktor. He was being shady. I had to send one of my men in undercover. He saw a girl who worked there and used that as an in.”
“Carmen,” I say.
He nods, his face drawn. “Yeah, he posed as her boyfriend. Used her to get close to Damien, to find out if we could trust him. And it turns out...we couldn’t. Damien was playing both sides, planning to sell us out to Viktor. I had to make it look like an accident, and I?—”
The truth hits me like a freight train. “So you didn’t do it. You sent one of your men, Brian, to kill them that night, and all thistime Damien’s been toying with me because he knew the truth and hates all of you.”
“Brian—no.”
A faint rustling pulls our attention to Marco. He stirs, his head rolling to one side before his eyes flutter open. Malachi moves instantly, striding over to him with purpose, pulling thick rope from his bag.
“Come on, we’ll finish this conversation later,” he says, motioning for me to follow as he starts binding Marco to the chair.
“How is he like this?” I ask, still reeling from the breakneck turn of events.
“We drugged his whiskey. Then we watched and waited.” His voice is clipped, leaving no room for further explanation. There’s more to this—so much more—but now isn’t the moment for follow-up questions.
Marco’s eyes slowly regain focus, roaming the room until they land on us. His expression hardens, his gaze settling on Malachi with a disarming calm.
“Son,” Marco wheezes, “you didn’t have to go through all this effort to get my attention. If you wanted my pet so badly, you could have asked.”
