Page 57
“Yes. It fucking was!”
Rhett laughs, causing her to look at him then to me with narrowed eyes.
Good. She’s curious. Curiosity has always been the easiest hunger to feed.
“Who’s your friend?”
Rhett looks at me… Ezra doesn’t.
“Malakai,” Rhett tells her.
“Does Malakai talk?” She asks.
“When necessary.” I say and her brows lift. I assume my voice surprises her. They always expect silence from me. Silence frightens people. Words frighten them more when you’ve made them wait for it.
She looks me over slowly, and I let her. Her gaze moves from my boots to the dirt on my hands, then higher. “You work here too?”
“Yes.”
“What do you do?”
Rhett makes a sound that suspiciously resembles a laugh and I glance at him.
“Don’t,” Ezra says.
Sage looks between us. “What?”
“Nothing.” Rhett says.
“Why do I feel like I’m missing every inside joke tonight?”
“Because you are,” I tell her.
Her attention returns to me. “And you’re not going to explain?”
“No.”
“Rude.” She lifts her cup to her lips, only to realize there’s nothing left. Her nose wrinkles as she peers inside. “That’s disappointing.” She holds it out, and I reach to take it from her.
Our fingers brush and the Earth bucks. Not beneath my feet.
Inside me.
The force of it tears through my body so violently that my hand closes around the cup on instinct. Plastic cracks between my fingers.
She jerks back. “What the fuck?”
Ezra grabs my arm. “Malakai.”
I barely hear him. I can’t take my eyes off her.
She stares at the broken cup crushed in my hand before her gaze slowly lifts to my face.
“You okay?” She asks.
No. I haven’t been okay since 1791.
“Yes.” I lie.
