Savage Hearts: Chapter 42

I can tell something’s amiss the moment Mal walks through the door.

Carrying brown paper bags of groceries, he’s tense. His energy is weird. He won’t look at me.

Sitting at the kitchen table with my yellow legal pad, I watch him drop the bags onto the counter and turn back to go out again.

“Mal?”

He stops midstride. He doesn’t turn around.

“I’m going to ask you what’s wrong, and you’re going to tell me the truth. Are you ready?”

He doesn’t respond.

“What’s wrong?”

I watch his shoulders rise as he inhales. When he speaks, his voice is low and gruff.

“I talked to Pakhan.”

My stomach drops. If he’s talking to Pakhan, that must mean it’s time for him to go back to work. His vacation is over.

Our perfect little bubble has popped.

I stand, cross to him, and curl my hands into the front of his shirt. Looking up into his face, I say, “Are you okay?”

He closes his eyes and exhales in a gust. Sounding miserable, he says, “You worrying about me above everything else makes it all so much worse.”

“I can’t help it. I like you.”

He opens his eyes and stares down at me with a tortured look.

“Okay, wow. That face is scaring me.”

He frames my face in his hands and kisses me. The kiss is achingly tender and freaks me the fuck out.

My heart starting to pound, I say, “Is this about you having to go back to the city?”

When he nods, I’m weak with relief. The way he was acting, I thought it was something unexpected. “Well, if it will put your mind at ease, I can stay here while you have to go to work if you want.”

He just stares at me silently. It seems like he’s waiting for more of an explanation.

“I mean, I’m all healed now. I know how to shoot every type of gun in case another bear decides to visit. And to be completely honest, the thought of staying in that crypt of an apartment of yours while you’re out working doesn’t exactly light me on fire. I don’t want to be away from you, but I’m also hoping never to see Masha the Golden Goddess ever again or live on frozen dinners.”

I smile at him. “And you only ever leave for a day or two at a time, so I think you’ll be able to survive without me that long.”

His voice thick, he says, “I’ll have to stay a while this time.”

I tease, “Such dedication. Pakhan must be so proud.”

He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

I go up on my toes, wind my arms around his neck, and kiss him. “I know,” I whisper against his mouth. “I didn’t want it to end, either. But maybe Pakhan will give you another vacation soon. Since he likes me so much and all.”

With a faint groan, he takes my mouth in a desperate kiss, bending me back at the waist and devouring me. When we come up for air, I’m laughing.

“I should send you to the grocery store more often!”

He stares at me with those tortured eyes again, then releases me abruptly and stalks out.

Staring after him, I debate if I should follow, but decide to give him his space. I put the groceries away and go back to writing.

That night, he fucks me with such intensity, it frightens me.

We lie in the dark afterward, silent and sweaty, limbs entangled. His heart pounds underneath my cheek. I want to say something, but I don’t know what, so I keep quiet and let him hold me in his strong arms.

Near dawn, he rises from bed and stands naked at the window, staring out. His hands clench and unclench, as if he needs to hit something.

“Sweetie? Come back to bed.”

Without turning, he murmurs, “Let me ask you a question, malyutka. If you had a choice between keeping something precious to you safe, but safety would mean letting it go forever, or keeping it in constant danger, but having it close to you, which would you choose?”

“Hypothetically?”

“Yes.”

“Like if it was you?”

He braces an arm against the wall, bows his head, and nods.

His demeanor scares me. I know this isn’t a simple hypothetical question. He’s weighing a choice, and it has to do with me.

I say firmly, “I’d keep it in constant danger.”

His laugh is low and mirthless. “No, you wouldn’t. You’re not that selfish.”

“Yes, I am. I am.”

He turns to look at me. In the lifting gray light, he’s as beautiful as he always is. His eyes are burning. “You’ve never lied to me before.”

“I’ve never felt like it was necessary. What’s going on?”

He doesn’t answer. Avoiding my eyes, he goes into the closet, emerging quickly fully dressed. When he disappears into the kitchen, I fly out of bed and get dressed, too, then follow him, trying not to panic.

I find him standing at the kitchen sink, staring down into it, unmoving.

“Mal. Malek.”

He doesn’t respond. It royally pisses me off.

“I’m going to stand here repeating your name until you tell me what the hell is going on.”

Sounding resigned, he says, “I have to go back into town again. I left something at the grocer yesterday.”

“I’m coming with you.”

He turns his head and peers at me. His expression is unreadable.

“I’m coming,” I insist. “If you think you’re leaving me here after dropping that bomb about letting something precious to you go forever, you’re nuts.”

A smidgen of my panic is relieved when he smiles. He says softly, “All right, malyutka. You’ll come with me.” He holds out an arm.

I cross to him and hug him, wrapping my arms around his back and burying my face in his chest. My words are muffled by his shirt. “When we get back, will you promise to talk to me?”

He draws a deep, slow breath. When he exhales, he whispers, “I promise.”

I don’t understand why it sounds so anguished.

The drive into town is spent in silence so loud, it’s deafening. I sit right beside Mal, gripping his hand, shooting an occasional worried glance at his profile.

It’s as hard as granite. He’s unreachable, retreating somewhere inside his head where he obviously doesn’t want me to follow.

I know this new distance has to do with his call with Pakhan.

Maybe Mal’s in trouble. Or maybe there’s something exceptionally dangerous he’s been tasked to do. The specifics don’t matter as much to me as why he won’t talk to me about it.

His silence is the terrifying part. He’s up in his head, playing with his monsters, and he won’t let me in.

We arrive at the grocer as they’re unlocking the doors. Mal parks the truck in front, shuts off the engine, and says, “I’ll be right back. Stay here.”

“The hell I will,” I mutter, opening the passenger door. I jump out, slam the door behind me, and stand there waiting for him with my arms folded over my chest, scowling.

He stares at me through the windshield for a moment, then shakes his head and gets out.

Taking my arm, he leads me into the grocery store.

It’s small and charming, with a mom-and-pop feel. There’s a coffee bar on one side, across from the cash register, and a big display of veggies in round baskets up front. Other than us and the old lady turning the sign in the front window, the store is empty.

Mal greets the woman with a few words in Russian. She nods, smiling, and shuffles off toward the back of the store.

“I need to use the restroom. Stay out of trouble.”

He kisses me on the temple, inhaling against my skin for a moment and giving me a squeeze before pulling away abruptly and heading to the back of the store.

I watch him enter the men’s room and close the door, then I turn to the display of vegetables.

After a moment, an uncomfortable sensation raises all the hair on the back of my neck. Frowning, I look up and around, then suck in a shocked breath.

Dressed in black combat gear from head to toe, including the boots and bulletproof vest, Spider stands motionless beside the cash register, staring at me.

He looks terrible. Thinner, strung out, and wild eyed as a junkie. A ragged pink scar snakes two inches down his temple.

With a flash of horror so cold, it leaves me frozen, I realize what Mal’s done.

I breathe, “No.”

Spider jolts into motion at the same time I do. I don’t even make it out the door before he’s got me.

“Mal!” I scream, thrashing in Spider’s arms. “Mal! No! No! Don’t do this!”

Spider is saying something to me, speaking rapidly in a low voice as he drags me out the door, but I can’t pay attention to it, because I’m too busy screaming and trying to get away.

It’s useless. Thinner or not, Spider’s still far stronger than me. His arms are iron bars. I kick and twist, but he manages to wrestle me into the black van that’s idling at the curb, its side sliding door open. He pushes me in and slams the door closed.

I fall on it, panting and yanking, but it won’t open.

It’s locked.

On my hands and knees over the bare metal floor of the van, I scramble to the pair of swinging doors at the back. They’re locked, too.

Spider guns the engine. The van peels out, slamming me against the back window.

Mal steps out of the store.

He stands motionless, staring at me with anguished eyes as I scream his name over and over and pound my fists on the windows.

I’m still screaming long after he’s out of sight.