Page 96 of Ruined By a Devil

“With all due respect, Mrs. Kavanagh,” Dean says carefully. “I should probably get Malachi to sign off on a route change.”

“Suit yourself,” I shrug, the sudden ping of pain reminding me all over again that I was shot.

As Malachi walks back into the bedroom, he slides his phone into his pocket and stops a few feet from Dean, his height and broad shoulders completely dwarfing the younger man. The casual, careful way Malachi handles me vanishes instantly, replaced by the cold, absolute authority of Malachi Kavanagh.

“What did you just say to her?” Malachi asks, his voice is completely flat.

“I just…” Dean swallows hard. “I was waiting for your approval on the route, sir.”

“My wife gave you an order,” Malachi says, staring down at him. “If she tells you to drive those trucks into the Mississippi River, your only question is which bridge to use. Do you understand me?”

Dean goes completely pale, nodding rapidly. “Yes, sir. I apologize.”

“Apologize to Jade,” Malachi corrects him. “Not me. You apologize to the one you hurt.”

“I apologize, Mrs. Kavanagh,” Dean turns his head to me, bowing slightly. “Please forgive me for my ignorance.”

“We’re good,” I say, picking up a bottle of water from the floor and bringing it to my lips to take a sip.

“Reroute the trucks,” Malachi says to Dean. “Then get out of my house.”

Dean nods quickly, then turns and practically sprints out the door, pulling it shut behind him.

I watch as Malachi walks back over to the nightstand, picks up the pill bottle, and shakes two white tablets into his palm. He holds them out to me along with the glass of water.

“You’re terrifying,” I tell him, taking the pills. “I think I should be scared of you.”

“He needed to learn the chain of command,” Malachi says simply. “And every Beast needs it’s Beauty.”

“Did Malachi Kavanagh just willingly call himself a Beast?” I raise my eyebrow, suppressing laughter.

“Okay maybe no more meds for you,” he takes back the empty water glass “You’re starting to hallucinate things.”

“Liar.”

Later that night, after the staff have left for the evening, and the guards settle into their exterior patrols, I find myself waking up from a very confusing dream. I don’t want to scare Malachi further, but I’m starting to suspect I have insomnia. The pain medication wore off an hour ago, leaving a heavy ache in my side.

Malachi is awake.

He is sitting on the edge of the mattress, resting his forearms on his knees, staring at the dark hardwood floor. He has taken his shirt off, the faded scars on his back barely visible in the dim light.

I reach out and press my hand flat against his warm spine and he instantly turns his head to face me. He just shifts on the mattress, lying down beside me, without saying a word.

“Why are you still awake?” He is careful not to touch my bandaged waist, but he pulls me close, resting his face in the crook of my neck.

“You aren’t sleeping either” I whisper.

His fingers trace a slow, absent path along my collarbone. His breathing is steady, but the muscles in his arms are very tight.

“I survived so much shit,” Malachi says into the quiet room, his voice low. “I thought I knew exactly what fear felt like. I thought I had a tolerance for it.”

He stops moving his hand. He presses his palm flat against my chest, right over my heart.

"But standing in that hangar," he continues, "watching a gun barrel pressed against your head and knowing I was too far away to stop the bullet. That was the first time I actually felt it, Jade. That was absolute terror.”

I turn my head, resting my cheek against his dark hair. From day one, this man refused to give me an inch of ground. He fought me for every ounce of control and now, he is lying in the dark, stripping away every piece of his armor and handing it directly to me.

“I’m right here,” I say softly.