Secrets and Sins: Malachim (A Secrets and Sins Novel) (Entangled Ignite) (16 page)

A mounted television, paisley couch, and miniscule table were crammed in alongside beeping machines and an IV pole. None of it captured her attention like the large, too-still form on the bed. The nubby white blankets particular to hospitals covered Malachim from ankle to waist. Slowly, her inspection eased further up his body, past the muscled, hair-dusted arms on either side of his hips to the wide chest clothed in a blue gown. When she reached his face, she couldn’t contain her gasp.

Pain punched her in the stomach, and she stumbled to a halt.

She clutched her hands over her chest where a fissure seemed to have opened, and cracks zigzagged over her heart in a maniacal maze. Instead of blood, the organ pumped hurt, grief, and rage.

A bluish-purple bruise smeared the hard line of his jaw. Dried blood dotted the crack in his swollen bottom lip like rust. An angry scrape marred his left cheekbone, and a discolored contusion darkened his forehead over his right eye.

Jesus
. The beating he must’ve endured…

A sob pressed against her sternum, threatened to burst through bone and skin, demanding an outlet. To be freed.

“Malachim,” she whimpered.

His lashes lifted. Cold, surprisingly clear eyes studied her.

“Who are you?”

Shock robbed her of her voice, parted her lips. What did he mean? What did he know?

He shook his head, winced in pain. “Wait. Before you say anything. I have a pretty good idea your name isn’t Danielle Warren.” At the blunt statement, she couldn’t have said anything even if she could squeeze words past the knot tightening her throat. “I assume because there doesn’t appear to be a record of Danielle Warren until fourteen months ago. I also suspect you’re not a legal assistant, because you’re too knowledgeable and experienced to have just passed the certification exam. Most likely, you’ve had some legal training, if not passed the bar. And I know the paralegal lie is probably the tip of the iceberg when it comes to the ones you’ve told me since we met.”

“Mal—” she croaked, but he held up a hand, halting the lame apology that would’ve tumbled from her lips.

“I’m not finished. As incredibly fucking naïve as this probably makes me seem in the eyes of my friends—especially after what happened with Tara—I know you. Even with the lies and the secrets, I know
you
, no matter what name you call yourself. You’re scared, have been hurt in the past by a lover…or maybe even a husband. You don’t trust easily. But you’re also beautiful, brilliant, kind, brave, and unselfish. So unselfish I think you would sacrifice yourself to protect those you cared about.” He paused, and his eyes narrowed. “I know about your meeting with Christopher.”

She gasped. “How did you find out?” she asked.

“Rafe viewed the security camera footage. I also know about the phone call Christopher made to the office.”

She shook her head. “He cornered me that day—it wasn’t planned. He wanted me to spy on you…” She couldn’t wrap her mind around what he was telling her. He knew about Christopher. He couldn’t know the extent of the conversation, but to him the meeting probably appeared as if she planned to hurt him—like Tara. Yet he called her beautiful, brave…unselfish. “Wait. Why aren’t you furious?”

“If I believed you intended to betray me, I would be.” Her lips parted in surprise, and a wry grin curved his mouth. “What I believe is you’re in trouble. And the trouble that’s hunting you is also hurting people in your life—Pat, Carmen, me. I can imagine what Christopher said to you outside the office that day, what he asked you to do—I’m guessing the same thing he put Tara up to. The difference is…you’re not Tara.”

She lowered her head, and tears stung her eyes. He believed in her. Even in spite of how ugly the situation appeared, he’d
trusted
her.

Joy, shame, and fear swelled inside her chest. He’d called her courageous, but she didn’t feel it. She’d hoarded her secrets for so long, she was scared to pull back the covers on them and expose the ugly truth beneath. Still… This was another of those moments—the moments where a person’s life would converge down one path or another depending on the decision they made.

“I trust you,” he murmured. “Trust in me.”

The fork in the road. To the left was the tenuous safety of anonymity. But loneliness and emptiness lay down that path as well. To the right was truth and intimacy. But the terrifying fear of exposure and trusting in someone other than herself resided along that road, too.

“Tell me your name,” Malachim said.

She lifted her head.

Chose.

“Elena Rainier.”

Chapter Twenty-three

Funny how Danielle had never wanted to utter that name again, yet it seemed as soon as she voiced those two words, a huge weight tumbled off her chest. She inhaled, and for the first time in a long while it was light; it was free without the heavy yoke of her secret burdening her down.

“When I went on the run from my ex-husband a little over a year ago, my name was Elena Rainier.”

Malachim’s lashes lowered, and his swollen mouth moved around a hushed but blistering curse. When the dark fringe lifted, the ice in his eyes had melted. A hot flare lit the indigo depths, and when he stretched his arm out, his scratched palm up, she approached the bed like a moth to a flame. Except she didn’t fear burning in its heat; she longed to bask in it.

Placing her palm on top of his, she lowered to the chair next to his bed. After maintaining her secret for so long, it should’ve been harder to admit the truth to him. But guilt greased the way. And weariness. If anyone could understand the weightiness of bearing a lie, and how it could wear a person out, Malachim should. And she was so tired of being isolated. Tired of never being able to trust anyone. Tired of watching those she cared about suffer.

Malachim deserved the truth; if she’d been honest with him earlier, maybe he would’ve been more vigilant and perhaps could’ve avoided the attack tonight. Or at least been more aware he had a potential bulls-eye painted on his back.

And then, maybe before she left Boston, she yearned for him to finally know the real her. Without lies or secrets between them. It was selfish. It was unfair. But there it was.

“I want to say you don’t need to tell me anything else,” he rasped, his fingers curling around her hand. “But I would be lying. I want to know. I want to know everything.”

“I met Alex during my first year of law school at the University of Alabama. I landed an internship with his firm, which was a phenomenal and coveted achievement. His practice was well-known not just in Birmingham, but the state. Interning there was a dream come true. And when Alex took me under his wing, I was floored. Here was a successful, wealthy attorney from one of the best families, and he’d taken an interest in me—poor, student-loan-burdened, from-the-wrong-side-of-Hoover Elena Guerrero. And when that interest veered from professional to personal, I pinched myself on a daily basis to make sure I hadn’t fallen down the proverbial rabbit hole.”

That naïve, impressionable young woman’s wonder and delight filtered through Danielle, transporting her back to a time of excitement and hope.

“As clichéd as it sounds, Alex did open a new world for me. Professionally, he allowed me to sit in on his consultations and assist on multimillion-dollar cases with some of the most prestigious clients. I’d always imagined my career taking a different path than civil law, but with Alex as my mentor, I wanted to soak up everything he knew, glean every bit of knowledge I could. And…I wanted to please him. And I ended up loving it.”

Jesus, her gullibility had been astounding. Even then, Alex had been molding her into who he wanted her to be, not who she desired to be. But the stars in her eyes had blinded her to his intentions.

“Personally, he was older, wiser, more experienced. And he granted me a golden ticket into an existence I’d only seen on television and read about in celebrity and society magazines. He escorted me to the most expensive and exclusive restaurants, social events, and functions. He also insisted on dressing me for the part. At first, I objected to the clothes and jewelry. But he was adamant, claiming if I intended to be successful, I had to look successful and not like a destitute imposter. It made sense, and eventually I accepted. Those gifts—they were the first links in the chain he forged to imprison me.”

Regret and sadness shoved each other for dominance in her chest. God, how she wished she could borrow the DeLorean, travel back in time, and warn her younger self about the pitfalls and traps awaiting her. Danielle had been enthralled and lured by the gilded package Alex had presented her, and she’d willfully ignored the early signs of his control. Taking over her wardrobe, her schedule, her free time, and her career had been a sign of his concern, his affection, she’d convinced herself then. Danielle shook her head, disgusted. It was so damn Lifetime Channel.

And so obvious…now.

“We married right after I graduated from law school. I came to work for him as an associate, and for a little while, our marriage was good. If he had terrible mood swings, could sometimes be condescending in the way he spoke to me, insisted I dress and speak a certain way, demanded I accept cases with only female clients, and controlled my finances, I believed they were small quirks newly married couples had to adjust to. Besides, I had grown up in squalor, had been neglected by my mother, then ‘put up with’ by my aunt. I’d never been the center of anyone’s attention before. I felt—” She frowned, searching for a word. “Honored. I know that sounds weird, but in a totally dysfunctional way, I felt honored he’d chosen me to guide, to teach, to escort on his arm, to marry. To love. Because I’d never felt loveable or wanted. Alex gave me that on top of the material luxuries. Both were strong narcotics.”

“I’m not judging you, Danielle,” Malachim murmured. He whisked the pad of his thumb over her fingers, and though she imagined the movement caused him discomfort at the very least, he smoothed his other hand over her hair. Grazed her cheekbone with his scraped knuckles.

“I know, but I need you to understand.” She loosed a short, hard laugh. “
I
need to understand how I could stay. How I could accept the manipulation and control and convince myself it was okay.” She fell silent and, since she’d seemed to have picked up the habit in the past couple of hours, prayed for strength to continue. “Alex had rules that dictated my behavior, and he expected me to follow them without fail. Rainier Rule #4:
Obedience is not a choice
. And I tried to obey, to be perfect. But after a while, nothing I did or said seemed to please him for long. About a year and a half after we were married, he…darkened. The name calling became worse; I was a bitch, whore, a stupid Spic. He accused me of flirting, cheating. The money I earned at the firm was deposited into our joint account, and he doled out a small allowance, which I had to provide receipts for, whether I bought a new pair of shoes or a candy bar. After a couple of years, I managed to open an account at a different bank and put secret money away when I could. I was only allowed to socialize with people he handpicked. I was permitted minimal contact with Carmen because she presented another shackle to control me. I understood that at any time, Alex could have her investigated for drug use and likely thrown in jail. Or worse. And he could get away with it; he had that much power.”

She turned her head, stared at the window as if she could peer past the thick blinds to the night beyond.

“The first time he hit me shocked us both, I think. We’d come home after a dinner party, and he’d started in with the usual accusations. When I argued with him, Alex slapped me, splitting my lip. Afterward, he was extremely apologetic; he cried. The next morning, I woke up and roses were on the pillow. It was so textbook, I should’ve seen a red flag waving over my head. But I didn’t. And I stayed. And after that, he was very careful to hit me where the bruises weren’t visible. So a slap became a fist to the chest. And a fist evolved into a belt across the back or thighs. Or a leather strap. And the apologies eventually stopped. Rainer Rule #2:
Have the integrity to bear the consequences of your actions, and don’t inflict them on anyone else
. The beatings were my fault. If I obeyed him—if I respected him—he wouldn’t have to ‘punish’ me.” She swallowed, her mouth dry, her throat tight. “Then…” She shuddered, closed her eyes. Tightened her clasp on his hand. “Then he started demanding sex afterward. While I lay there bleeding, hurting, he’d—” her voice cracked.

“Oh, baby.” Pressure echoed in her hand, and she glanced down. The skin across Malachim’s knuckles had blanched, and she could barely move within in his strong grip. “Baby, I’m so sorry.” He lowered his head, and his chin almost touched his collarbone. Shudders quaked through him, and she feared for any further abuse to his bruised body.

She shot from her chair, gently settling a hand on his shoulder. “Malachim?”

Sorrow and anger tautened the skin over his cheekbones, creased his lean cheeks. His mouth firmed, stretching the cut on his lip until she wanted to smooth a finger over it, afraid it would split open again.

“Please,” he whispered, unraveling his hand from hers and extending his arms wide. “Come here.”

The desire to curl up beside his big frame inundated her, and she swayed forward. But at the last second, she remembered the state of his body. His face bore the markings of his ordeal; she could only imagine what the hospital gown hid.

“I don’t want to hurt you…”

“Damn that,” he said, tone ragged, hoarse. “Just let me hold you. Please.”

His plea echoed the need pulsing inside her. Quickly, she shrugged off her coat and toed her boots from her feet. She lowered the metal railing and gingerly eased onto the bed. He didn’t utter a whimper or grunt as she folded her body against his side, sliding her arm across his stomach and resting her head on his shoulder.

Then his arms were around her.

Under the odor of antiseptic, hospital sheets, and disinfectant lingered
him
. His sun-warmed air and freshwater scent. It surrounded her, offering as much comfort as his embrace.

This shouldn’t feel like home. This shouldn’t feel so right
.

But even as the thoughts flitted through her mind, she brushed them aside, content to selfishly hoard this moment.

“You left him,” he said quietly.

She nodded, her cheek brushing the soft cotton of the hospital gown. “Yes. After a bad beating, I escaped while he slept. I called a cab service, and then two reporters from different papers whose numbers I had programmed into my phone. While I waited on the street corner for the cab to arrive, I left messages on the local journalists’ voice mail that Alex Rainier’s wife was in the hospital, a victim of his physical abuse. Once the press got ahold of the news, I figured neither Alex, the hospital, nor the police could cover it up. I was right. The negative publicity forced Alex to plead out and grant me a quick divorce.” She sighed, splayed her fingers over his heart. “Then I disappeared.”

“And Danielle Warren was born,” he murmured, threading her curls through his fingers.

Again, she nodded. Slowly, careful not to hurt him, she eased up, propping her weight on her elbow. “How did you figure it out?”

“After your first day at work, I called Leah and asked her to run a background check. She called me with the results earlier this afternoon. Danielle Warren didn’t appear to exist until a little over a year ago.”

“I’m sorry, Malachim,” she said softly. “There were times I wanted to tell you…”

“Shh.” He placed a finger over her lips then brushed his over her forehead. “True, I was mad as hell at first, but I can understand making a tough decision in an impossible, frightening situation.” Shadows crept into his gaze. Then he was cradling her face in his palms. “I knew you were beautiful, stubborn, strong, scary intelligent, and capable. But now, I’m so fucking humbled by you. I made a hard decision twenty years ago, but I had Gabe, Rafe, and Chay to share my demons with. You had no one; you shouldered years of abuse, horror I can’t image, and fear—alone. Then you came here, started a fresh, new life from scratch. You terrify me.” He pulled her closer, pressed his mouth to hers in a kiss so gentle, so reverent, tears pricked her eyes. “You amaze me,” he said against her lips. “Thank you.”

“For what?” she asked, voice as low as his.

“For trusting me with your truth. I’m honored. And I won’t betray it.”

Trusting him
. She weighed the veracity behind the idea. Tested it. In the two weeks she’d known him, he’d awakened a desire inside her she’d believed forever lost after Alex’s abuse. He’d protected her. She’d confided in him about her traumatic childhood. She’d laughed with him, cried in his arms. She’d made love to him.

She’d confessed her darkest secret. To him.

At some point, her spirit had decided what her traumatized and cautious brain had struggled with and denied.

“I know,” she whispered, a touch of awe in her voice—in her heart. She cupped a hand around one of his. Brushed a caress over his palm. “I believe you… I trust you.”