Secrets and Sins: Malachim (A Secrets and Sins Novel) (Entangled Ignite) (19 page)

Loath to give him her back, she didn’t have much of a choice but to sit and hope he didn’t assault her from behind. But whatever his plans, they didn’t appear to include a blitz attack at the breakfast table, for he lightly pushed in her chair and returned to his own. Underneath the table, she adjusted the letter opener so the tip didn’t poke her in the thigh.

Fluffy eggs, crisp bacon, cut and cubed pieces of cantaloupe and strawberries filled the plate in front of her. And they might as well as have been rotten and moldy for all the appeal they contained. Her throat tightened, and her belly convulsed at the thought of ingesting even a bite.

“Eat, Elena,” Alex ordered, picking up his fork and knife.

“I’m not hungry,” she said, sliding her hands in her lap. Her elbow nudged the weapon in her pocket.

In an instant, his eyes slitted, glittering beneath his lowered dark eyebrows. His thin nostrils flared, and the wide mouth flattened. Terror swelled inside her, threatened to overwhelm her at the telltale signs of his rising temper. Like Pavlov’s dogs, her fight-or-flight instinct clanged at the warnings. Before she could prevent it, she shrank into the chair back. Only when a hint of triumph flickered in his gaze did she recognize her error. Like a shark, he detected blood. And it wouldn’t be long before he zeroed in and attacked.

She thrust her chair back and shot from the table. Space. She needed space. And the sudden move would’ve thrown Alex off guard. Both would work in her favor.

“Get back here,” he barked, rising and following her into the sitting room. “Elena.”

“Why are you doing this, Alex?” she asked, edging closer to the sofa and placing the sturdy furniture between them. As she talked, she toed the stilettos from her feet, pushing them to the side and out of her way. “Why can’t you just let me go?”

“Let you go?” Alex
tsked
, shaking his head as he advanced on her, a lion stalking its unwary prey. “In just a year, did you forget rule number one? You’re mine, Elena. Neither a divorce paper, a jail cell you put me in, nor distance will ever change that.”

“So what’s your plan?” Her gaze fell to his twitching fingers, and for a second she could feel the cruel, agonizing pain of them wrapped around her throat, squeezing until death hovered above her, a ghostly specter waiting to swoop in and claim her. Unbidden, she circled the base of her neck, rubbing the as yet unmarked skin. “Force me to return with you? How would that make you look? Accepting the woman who charged you with domestic abuse back into your home? No one would believe it.”

“I don’t give a damn what people believe,” he snarled. “All that time I sat in jail with the filth and real criminals, I could only think about the day I found you. Make you pay for your lies, the humiliation you caused me. You’ve cost me my career, my reputation, my lifestyle.” He crept closer. “You owe me, Elena. Owe me for all I’ve lost. And I did think of killing you, of wringing that lovely neck like I should’ve done years ago. No one would have blamed me once they understood what a classless, greedy whore you were,” he spat. Then, in the next instant, the rage mottling his face disappeared. Evaporated as if someone had taken an Etch-A-Sketch and cleared away all the traces of his fury. He drew up, the movement sharp. Disconcerting. Terrifying. “But then dying would’ve been too quick, too easy. You deserve punishment. It’s the only way your kind learns anything.”

“Carmen,” she whispered. “You killed her.”

A slow, cat-that-tortured-the-canary smile spread over his handsome, evil face. “I warned you. Leave me, and your crack whore of a sister would pay. I’m a man of my word, Elena. You should’ve remembered that when you decided this course.”

“She was innocent.” The pain, the guilt surged in her again, hate for the monster she’d brought into her sister’s life burning her like acid.

His lips twisted into a derisive smirk. “Your sister was far from innocent. Take heart, though. She didn’t give up your secret even when I held the gun to her head and pulled the trigger.”

Though she tried to barricade it, a grief-stricken, pain-riddled cry emerged from her as a strangled sound. But Alex heard it; he grinned.

“And she was only the beginning,” he crooned.

“Pat,” she said numbly. “Malachim.”

The rage suffused his features again. His lips drew back in a vicious snarl. “
Don’t say his name.
Don’t ever say his name to me. The man you’ve been laying on your back for, fucking. Breaking your vows with. I always knew you were cut from the same cloth as your mother and sister. And as soon as you thought I was out of the way, your true nature was revealed. Oh, you’ll pay for that, too, Elena.”

“Danielle, you bastard,” she growled. “Danielle. Elena was the woman you enjoyed beating and raping so you could feel like a man. Elena was the woman you wielded power over with your fists and feet and belts. Elena was the woman who was terrified of you. But you stole everything from her: her dreams, her joy, her dignity, her family. And now she doesn’t exist anymore. You killed her.” She lifted her chin and met his glare and the promise of pain darkening it. “But Danielle isn’t terrified of you. She sees you for the pathetic, weak, bullying bastard you are. She has a life
she
built that
you
can’t take away.”

“Bitch,” he shouted, the evil and murderous rage in his soul etched onto his face. “I’ll kill you for that.” And he lunged.

She darted around the couch, racing for the hotel door. But before she’d taken three steps, brutal fingers grabbed her hair, yanked hard. Agony exploded in her head as the pain from her earlier head injury resurfaced with talons and claws. She gasped, clamped her hands around his wrists.

“Where’s all your mouth now, Elena?” he sneered, dragging her back into the room. He released her hair. Grasped her shoulder, his nails digging into bone and flesh. He shook her. Fire lashed her neck as her head snapped back and forth like a rag doll. “I know how to shut you up.”

His palm cracked across her jaw.

Pain detonated in the side of her face as she whirled around in a broken pirouette, tumbling. Her palms and knees slapped the floor, the vibration from the impact singing a discordant note up her thighs and arms. Blood flooded her mouth, the wet-penny taste hated, yet so familiar. Unable to swallow the bitter fluid, she spat it out on the floor.

Another hard grip in her hair, more wrenching on her scalp. More bullets of agony pummeling her head. She scrabbled for her pocket, clutched the handle of the letter opener.

“Get up, whore. We’re only begin—” His scream reverberated off the walls, his hands abandoning her hair to encircle the silver makeshift knife protruding from his thigh.

Danielle flipped over, scrambled backwards on her hands and feet before leaping up. Animal grunts ripped the air as, with shaking hands, he tried and failed to remove the opener. His blood-slickened palms slid off the handle. Desperate, she scanned the room, hunting for another weapon. Something. Something…

Alex roared, and he tore the weapon free. It clattered to the floor.

“I’ll. Kill. You.” The quiet words dropped into the room like boulders in a still pond. His rage, his intent, his insanity rippled out like sonic waves, flowing over her. Urging her to hurry,
hurry
.

Fear pumped in her, fueling her tired body, sublimating the pain from her aching head. Alex lumbered toward her, and she whipped around on her heel. Raced for the other side of the room.

Fireplace. Poker.

Whimpers clawed at her throat, escaped. She didn’t think. Didn’t pause.

She seized the black iron poker from the set, spun. Swung. Connected.

The force of the blow pulsated up her wrists, arms. Throbbed in her shoulders.

With an outraged howl, Alex crashed to the floor like a felled giant. His body arched, his spine bowed as he groped at his back where her strike had landed. He drew his knees under him, still trying to rise and come for her.

Fury, grief, pain from a hundred atrocities against her and those she loved coalesced inside her breast, blasted to her head, filling it with images of his cruelties, attacks, terrors…murders. Like a banshee had stepped into her body and possessed her, she screamed, the loud, gut-wrenching cry bursting free.

She swung the poker behind her shoulder, brought it down. Over his shoulders. Across his back. Then…

“Baby.” Gentle but unyielding arms encircled her, cuffing her arms to her sides. Soft lips pressed to her temple. The scent of sun-warmed air and fresh, cleansing water surrounded her, sneaked beneath the acrid odor of pain-soaked memories and blood.
Malachim
? “It’s okay, baby. You’ve won. Let it go.”

Whether he referred to the fireplace poker or her hatred of the man who’d terrorized her for years, she didn’t know. Didn’t care. She released them both.

“It’s okay,” he murmured again, turning her around, pulling her into his strong, safe embrace. She inhaled him, wrapped her arms around him. Sobbed and…let go.

Chapter Twenty-seven

“Ms. Warren.”

Danielle glanced up from her perch on the side of the hospital bed, wincing at the slight throbbing in her head.
Slow. Move slow
.

She inhaled deep through her nostrils, releasing the breath through her nose. The doctors had already administered a pain medication strong enough to have her imagining rainbows and unicorns. Didn’t obliterate the ache, though.

“Good afternoon, Detective Rider.”

The police officer stepped farther into the room, and the door silently swung shut behind him. The last time she’d seen him, he’d been cuffing a barely conscious Alex, hauling him to his feet, and dragging him out of the hotel room—a hotel room he’d accessed with a pass key from the manager. Thank God.

“How’re you feeling?”

At the question, she touched the side of her head. The wound from the butt of Alex’s gun had required four stitches. Another memento from her ex. Her lips curled in a tight smile. But it would be the last.

She shrugged. “Like someone needs to snatch the pickaxes away from the dwarves in my head,” she murmured. “Damn them and their whistling while they work.”

The detective smiled. “I hear they’re discharging you today.”

“Yes.” She nodded. “No swelling, hemorrhaging, or bleeding. Apparently, I have a really hard head.”

“I’m a married man, Ms. Warren. I know enough not to respond to that statement.”

She grunted. “Good call, Detective.” She dropped her gaze to the floor, stared at his shoes. Black, buffed, square-toed. “You didn’t come to just check up on me, did you?”

“Actually, I did. But no, it’s not the only reason. I thought you might want an update—”

The door opened again, and Malachim stood in the entrance.

Relief coursed through her at the sight of him. Joy fluttered in her chest. He’d ridden in the ambulance with her to the hospital and hadn’t left her side the entire night. Only when she’d gone to take a shower and change into clothes he’d brought her had he withdrawn to handle her discharge papers.

“Detective,” Malachim greeted.

“Hello, Mr. Jerrod.” Rider extended his hand, and Malachim shook it before standing beside Danielle, his arms crossed. “I was just getting ready to update Ms. Warren on the status of the case against Alex Rainier.”

She noticed the officer didn’t refer to her as Elena Rainier or to Alex as her ex-husband. The small kindness and consideration warmed her heart.

“As of now, he’s been booked on attempted murder, assault in the first degree, and a parole violation,” Detective Rider continued. “He’ll be extradited back to Alabama. From the conversation I had with a Birmingham detective, he is now the number one suspect in the death of Carmen Guerrero. They’ll probably contact you in the next week or so for your statement.”

“What about Pat?” she asked. “And Malachim?”

Rider shook his head, disappointment and frustration plain in his compressed lips and drawn eyebrows. “He claims not to have anything to do with those crimes. Won’t cop to either the murder or attack. But,” his forehead cleared, and the sudden glint of compassion in his dark gaze surprised her, “either way, Ms. Warren, Alex Rainier is going away for a long time. You don’t need to worry about him again.”

He was right.

She was safe.

Closing her eyes, she sucked in a deep breath…and soaked in it. Basked in the sweet feeling of freedom.
God
. It’d been so long. Years.

A large, solid hand folded around hers. Squeezed. She looked up, met Malachim’s amethyst gaze. Nodded. Of course he understood. He’d told her about the confrontation with Christopher, about his mother standing up for him and walking out beside him. That night in his living room, he’d forgiven his mother and let go of the anger. But leaving his childhood home for the last time, she imagined he’d freed himself of the resentment, hurt, and bitterness he’d harbored for the man who could’ve been his father…who should’ve been his father.

The day before had been an emancipation day for both of them.

Her from Alex’s reign of terror, and him from the weight of Christopher’s cruelty.

“Oh, one more thing, Detective Rider.” In the chaos, she’d forgotten about the phone call that had brought her and Malachim out of his house so early yesterday morning. He must be so worried. First Pat, now her in the hospital. “I have a friend, Walter Lawrence the Third. We think he might have been attacked by Alex, as well. Would you want to talk to him?” Adding another charge to Alex’s list of felonies couldn’t hurt, either.

Rider removed his small pad and pen from the inside pocket of his suit. “The Walter Lawrence?” he asked, scratching a note down.

“His son,” she corrected. “He should be in this hospital.”

“I’ll check up on him,” he murmured, tucking the pen and pad away. “In the meantime, if you need anything else, please don’t hesitate to call.”

“Thank you. I will.” And for the first time in a long while, she actually meant the words.

He nodded, and with a murmured goodbye, exited the room.

“I still have the number he called from in my phone. I’ll give him a call and let him know you’re all right,” Malachim offered, smoothing a hand up her arm, over her shoulder, and across the nape of her neck.

“Thanks, I really appreciate that.” She sighed. “God, I hope he’s okay. He’s such a great guy, I hate to think of him hurt.”

“Hmm.” He brushed the backs of his fingers across her cheek. “Well, how about you? Are you okay?”

“Yes,” she murmured. “I really am.”

“You know, now that Alex is in jail and you no longer have him hanging over your head, you can take back the name Elena.”

She was already shaking her head before he finished. “I told Alex that Elena Rainier no longer existed, and I meant it. She’d truly disappeared the day Danielle Warren was created. I
am
Danielle. Except,” she paused, closed her eyes, and embraced the image of her sister in her mind. Carmen, young, vibrant…happy. “I’m going to take Guerrero back. In honor of Carmen and of our family. Danielle Guerrero.” She turned the name over in her head, savoring it. “I like it.”

He nodded, a soft smile curving his lips. “I do, too. I didn’t get the chance to meet your sister, but I think she would be honored.” He bowed his head over hers, grazed a kiss over her forehead. “You ready? The doctor has signed off on your discharge. You’re free to go.”

She stood and mentally catalogued every ache and twinge. Her knees remained a little sore after hitting the floor. A low-grade throb echoed in her jaw and lip. And of course, her head.

“If we come into this hospital again, I think they might charge us rent.”

“Danielle.”

She paused in her droll spiel and drew to a halt. Didn’t—couldn’t—look at Malachim. What would he see if he glanced into her eyes? Joy? Trepidation? Hunger?

The last time they were together, she’d admitted she loved him. But he’d supplied her with an out, realizing she wouldn’t be able to utter the words and chain him to her when she was leaving. That’d been then.

Now, she longed to confess to him, tell him she’d fallen for him the moment he’d stepped between his father and her so she wouldn’t suffer distress over an unwanted touch. From then on, her heart had slid down a slope the size of Mt. Vesuvius, picking up speed and power the entire way until he’d made love to her with such care and tenderness. There’d been no turning back afterward; no longer could she deny it: she’d fallen irrevocably in love with Malachim Jerrod.

With the threat of Alex no longer looming over them like a bad omen, she was free to tell him she cared for him, delighted in him. Adored him. But she was terrified. A different fear than the dark emotion that had invaded her when facing down Alex. This fear carved her up inside. If Malachim rejected her—said he didn’t want her—she’d survive. After Alex, she could endure anything. So she’d go on, but she wouldn’t be whole. Wouldn’t know the fullness of joy or realize the complete person she was meant to be.

Damn. If it wasn’t one thing—like a homicidal ex-husband—it was another.

“Danielle,” Malachim said, and he shifted closer, nudged her chin up so she had no choice but to meet his eyes. Those beautiful, jewel-toned eyes that seemed to peer into her soul and not allow her to hide.

“We’re a matching set,” she sighed, trailing her fingertips over his bruised cheekbone, lip, and jaw.

“You’re coming home with me.”

Not a request. No discussion. And his tone brooked no argument. Considering her past, her alarm bells should’ve been clanging. But Malachim wasn’t Alex. He’d protected her, not inflicted hurt. He’d praised her, not humiliated her. And she wanted to be with him, wanted to go with him. Did he mean for one night, one week…or not leave him at all? God, she didn’t know. But right now, she was achy, doped up, and damn it, she needed him. Not for protection or security. No, she’d proven she could manage to procure those for herself. She just needed him—his smile, his humor, his arms…his heart.

“Yes,” she said.

Surprise flared in his eyes, but then a slow smile spread across his face, and her heart rolled over and played dead.

“Good,” he breathed. And brushed his lips over hers, gently tasting her. The kiss wasn’t one of passion, but affection, reverence. Hope. He grazed a caress over her eyelids, cheekbones, and revisited her mouth. On a sigh, he pressed his forehead to hers. “Good,” he repeated. “Because after I saw what you did to Alex, I don’t think I could’ve taken you down if you’d disagreed.”

“Malachim!” She slapped his chest, a bark of laughter bursting free past her lips.

And it felt so damn good.

…

“I’d like to reiterate my objection over doing this the same day you’re released from the hospital,” Malachim grumbled.

Danielle nodded, opened the passenger door, and stepped out of his car. “Objection noted, counselor.”

Her request to stop by the diner and her apartment hadn’t been met with enthusiasm. Vehement censure would probably be more accurate. And his displeasure hadn’t dissipated since she’d announced her decision in the hospital parking deck.

“For the moment, let’s just put aside the fact your friend was murdered in that place. How about we just concentrate on you not being in any shape to pack, lift, and really move anything for godssake,” he muttered, rounding the car and settling a hand on the small of her back. The comforting warmth seeped through her coat and sweater, soaking into her flesh and spirit.

“I’m not packing anything up, Mal,” she said. He hadn’t asked her to stay with him.
Go home with me
and
stay with me
contained totally different connotations. One said,
let’s have a sleepover and hot sex
. The other stated,
I want you in my life for the long haul, and I’m not letting you go
. “I’m gathering some of my clothes. I already owe Leah for the shirts and jeans she bought me last week. And,” she flipped up a hand, palm out when he frowned and parted his lips, preparing to object. “Forget it. I’m paying her back. But I need my own toothbrush, shampoo, and underwear, damn it. I can’t come back here to live…” She shook her head, wrapped her arms around her as a chill that had nothing to do with the cold wind shivered through her. “So whether I go to hotel or a new apartment after your house, I need my things.”

He cupped the nape of her neck, tilted her head back. His blond brows were drawn down into a fierce vee, his eyes blazing a hot purple. “You and I have some talking to do when you’re through here,” he growled.

She nodded, glanced over his shoulder toward the diner. “I shouldn’t be too long.”

Malachim heaved a long, exaggerated sigh. Then dropped a kiss on her mouth. “While you’re up there, I’ll go order us some lunch from the diner. Don’t lift a thing—not a bag, a box, nothing—until I come up there.” He arched his eyebrows, waiting for her agreement.

She popped three fingers up side-by-side. “Fine. Scout’s honor.”

He rolled his eyes and guided her through the diner’s doors. She greeted several of the regulars, but since they reminded her too much of Pat and her time there with the cantankerous but loving owner, she didn’t linger below. Julie had left on an errand a few minutes earlier, so Danielle continued through the back of the restaurant and up to her apartment.

She hesitated on the landing for several seconds, the front door key clutched in her hand. For a quick, breath-strangling moment, she was in that dark living room again. Ears ranging, head hurting. Watching helplessly as Pat was shot down.

“It’s over,” she whispered. “Alex is in jail. He can’t hurt you or anyone you love ever again.”

Her death grip on the ridged piece of metal didn’t ease, but she did slide it into the lock and open the door. And stepped over the threshold.

Dim shadows shrouded the tiny entryway, and she flipped on the light switch, needing light to beat back the dark as well as the memories. Stale air wafted around her, and the place had that certain air of disuse, of abandonment.

Inhaling deeply, she moved into the living room, and her eyes zeroed in on the spot where Pat had fallen. Someone, probably Julie, had thrown a rug over the floor that would surely be stained with her husband’s blood. Her heart thudded, tears pricked her eyes like tiny bee stings. It was so hard entering this place after…after…

Turning away, she strode toward the back of the apartment and her bedroom. Desperation and a disquieting sense of unease fueled her movements. In spite of the twinges in her knees and the dull ache in her head and jaw, she hurried through throwing clothes and toiletries in the suitcase she dragged from under the bed. In fifteen minutes, she had enough clothes for the week packed. She returned to the bathroom for the last few items, and in the distance heard the front door open and the quiet snick of the lock as it closed.

Malachim
. She heaved a sigh, relieved. She couldn’t return here; she’d been right about that. Just these minutes inside the apartment had her on edge. Ready to leave, she left the zipped suitcase on the floor since he’d made her promise not to lift anything.

“Hey, Mal,” she called, strolling down the short hallway. “I’m ready. My suitcase is on…”