Page 75 of Malachai
I let out a heavy sigh and held the phone out toward Malachai’s chest.
“He wants to talk to you.”
Malachai stared at the screen for a long second before taking it.
“What?” Malachai said flatly.
I stepped back, crossing my arms over my chest as he walked a few feet away into the sand, talking quietly. I couldn’t hear a single syllable of Cooly’s voice, only the cold, clipped finality of Malachai’s responses.
“No,” Malachai said.
A long pause stretched between them. Malachai’s jaw flexed once.
“I know.”
Another heavy pause. Malachai slowly turned his head, his gray eyes locking onto me.
Then—
“…I said I know.”
He listened for a few more seconds to whatever threat or promise Cooly was delivering from across the ocean.
“Goodbye, Cooly.”
Malachai lowered the phone, ended the call, and handed the device back to me.
“What did he say?” I asked immediately, demanding the truth.
“Nothing important.”
“Malachai.”
He looked down at me, his fingers reaching out to trace the line of my jaw with a gentleness he was still learning how to master.
“He said congratulations.”
“That’s not all he said.”
“No,” Malachai admitted, but left it at that.
Epilogue
Malachai
I sat in the dark of Cooly’s secret high-rise apartment like I owned it. Nobody was supposed to know this place existed. Not even his father. But secrets don’t stay buried when I want them dug up.
Indigo was in Jamaica with Maya and the kids.
Perfect timing.
The second he stepped through the door, the red dot from my Glock’s laser sight settled right between his eyes.
Cooly froze.
Then the crazy bastard started laughing—low, unhinged, the same kind of madness that lived in my own chest.
“Bang,” I said quietly. “You’re dead.”
