Page 185 of The Unravelings

“Right. So, custody, then,” Malic chirps happily again, leaning his elbows on the table. “I get Sundays. All day. She’s mine. In my bed.” He gives her a pointed look. “Wilder can join, too. Only if he wants, though. We do make quite the tripod.” Malic beams at his reference.

“A fucking tripod?” Wilder rolls his eyes. “Have you been watching stupid 2000s movies again?”

“It’s a possibility.” Malic shrugs. “Don’t act like you hate watching them. If I do recall, your One Tree Hill marathon had you in tears.”

Wilder huffs a few breaths. “Shut the fuck up, Malic. I swear to God.”

I chew several times, trying to not only to digest the fucking delicious pancakes but also what he’s saying as he continues to ramble about custody of Olivia. Not to mention the tripod reference that has my mind reeling with realization.

Tripod.

Wilder blushing?

My gaze darts to Olivia, who continues to look anywhere but at us, her cheeks stained red. There’s a rigidity to her muscles, and her fingers curl into fists.

Fuck.

I’ll worry about that later. Olivia and I are still not on the best terms yet. I can delude myself into believing that she’s coming around, but something traumatic happened to her in the final hours that cut her off from trusting me. Even with this.

“And we get her the rest of the days? You don’t mind if she initiates into our Syndicate and works for us? Then she can come back here and let us know what you two are up to.” I grin when Malic’s smile drops.

Gotcha.

“Hmmm. Fair point. No spying,” he says, pointing at Olivia, who watches the entire conversation with her lips parted and a redness coating her cheeks. “You’re not allowed to run back to them and tell them what we’re doing.”

“And vice versa,” I add, earning a nod from Malic.

“Fuck you!” she says again, throwing her fork down. “I am sitting right here. You can’t talk about taking custody of me when I’m right here, and I have a fucking say in this. I’ll spy if I fucking want to. I’ll do whatever the hell I want to do.”

“She has a fucking point,” Wilder mutters under his breath.

“But I know your answer, Crumpet. You’d say no.” Malic shrugs a shoulder, taking another bite. “And you really don’t want to say no. You want to visit me often and let me sex you up.”

“Never fucking say that again,” Olivia groans, throwing her head back in frustration before slamming her hands on the table and demanding all of our attention. “Also, I wouldn’t say no. I’d say hell fucking no. Are you arguing about custody or whatever bullshit you’re saying? I’m my own woman, and I won’t let people ever drag me down or hold me back. Not again,” she says through gritted teeth. “I had a father for that, and you know what he did? He put bars on my fucking window to keep me locked away. I had a family legacy for that, too. Fucking Mafia assholes who thought they owned me and my body and thought they could marry me off to the highest bidder. So, no. I won’t be used like that again. You don’t get to do that.” Her chest heaves with agitation by the time she’s done speaking.

Reaching over, I put my hand in hers and squeeze her fingers with mine, trying to reassure her that no one would ever be able to take advantage of her like that again.

Malic slows his chewing as he seems to digest her words. “You’re right,” he states, taking another bite.

“Whoa. Wait,” Wilder says, sitting tall now and looking between the two of them. “You…agree with her? That she’s right?”

Malic chews slowly and nods. “Yes, Keeper. Quite the phenomenon, isn’t it? But she’s correct. Olivia shouldn’t be caged again. She should be free to do as she pleases.”

“So you won’t blackmail her?” I ask, raising my brows. “Or fight for her attention?”

“Never said that, Enemy Number Three,” he quips, shoving more pancakes into his mouth. “You see, Olivia has never been built to be a one-man woman. She’s built for more. More men to handle her, and I’m willing to share that. For now, at least.”

“When the fuck did you get so agreeable?” Wilder gripes with a frown. “You fight everything. And sharing? Pfft. That’s not in your fucking repertoire. Especially with the damn enemy!” He rubs his temples more now. “You’re going to give me an aneurysm. Who the fuck are you and what have you done with Malic? Do you have a goddamn fever?” He puts his hand across Malic’s forehead with a huff.

Malic finishes off his pancakes with a scoff, scooting the plate away. “Same old Malic, old chap. I’m changing. Pivoting. Or whatever the hell you’d like to call it. I can share. I shared nicely last night.” Wilder blushes again, fiddling with the unlit cigarette behind his ear. The same cigarette he darted off to his room to retrieve before we sat down for our talk. “See? I can be accommodating. Obviously, old love doesn’t die.” He nods to me like he’s the wisest fucking person in the room. “So I humbly request your presence here on Sundays.”

“Why Sundays?” she asks, narrowing her eyes.

“Cuddles. Nakedness. Fucking. Sucking. Reporting to me what you’ve found. Meals. And I do mean eating you, of course, Crumpet.” He grins, listing off everything with his fingers.

What I wouldn’t give to cover my ears and never hear those words come from Malic ever again. It’s odd, though. To see him so ensnared in Olivia that he wants her all to himself for a day. I’ve never seen him with anyone else but Wilder. In fact, I don’t know much about these two except that they work for our enemy. The Shades. Mack hates Wilder for…

Olivia blushes. “For fuck’s sake,” she grumbles, rubbing her temple. “This is stupid.”