Page 51 of A Taste Of Truth

Opening closet doors in an attempt to find clothes leads me nowhere. Nothing. No full set of women’s dresses and shoes in this one. No drink either. The only thing that’s of use is a mirror that lets me see the reflection of myself. Hair full dead leaves, old make up smudged and showing a broken vision. I stare, transfixed by the sight of myself. He did this to me – took me, hurt me. I don’t even know if I mean Malachi or this new guy. Either way, it doesn’t stop me noticing the bruising around my neck. Finger prints, as if I’ve been strangled. I don’t remember that, but I can feel it as I swallow, feel the dull ache restricting my throat.

When was that?

Doesn’t matter, I guess. I’m alive.

For now.

I sit back on the bed, almost defeated at the prospect of having to deal with this crap. We’ve stayed under the radar for years, survived them looking for us, and now, because of Malachi and his freaky ass games, I’ve been found.

If I wasn’t almost pining for him for some pathetic reason, I would kill him with my knife. His knife. Whatever. I can’t think about that now. Don’t have it anyway. Where is it? I liked that knife. It meant something to me. Made me feel safe and protected around him, or he did because he asked me to hold it over him. I don’t know. And what is that need I feel, anyway? That feeling that still seems to stretch in my veins? It makes me feel severed without him. I don’t like it. Didn’t before, and don’t now. And yet I still can’t disconnect from it. Or him apparently. Fucking irritating considering he’s not here to protect me from anything, and I’m not entirely sure he’ll give a shit that I’ve been taken from him either.

Slowly, I stand back up and pace the small bed cabin, still trying to keep this breathing in check so I don’t pass out. Maybe I should. At least I won’t have to see the face of dead men then. Unhelpfully, or helpfully considering the situation, Malachi inside my veins seems to help. I feel less freaked out by all this, able to manage my breathing and my state of mind about the tin box I’m in. Sadly, what the constant lag of Malachi Jones doesn’t do, is change the fact that I’m in this tin box in the first place.

Hours go by while I sit here. Or it feels like hours. Maybe it’s not, but either way it is just me and the humming of the engines around me. The darkness outside begins brightening into some semblance of daylight. Not bright enough for me to see land beneath us but the sight of the sun emerging brings a sigh out of me. We must be getting closer to where we’re going, closer to the streets I grew up on, and I don’t know what to do about that. There isn’t any plan to make this go away, or one that gives me the ability to change the potential outcome. Whit’s the only thing I had to defend myself with. And all he ever said was to keep my head down and get on with life – he’d keep the wolves away, he said. He hasn’t. In fact, as it fucking happens, he’s sent me too close to them without even realising he has.

Gritting my teeth, I sweep my eyes around the cabin again, looking for something that might be useful as a weapon. There still isn’t anything, but eventually my neck cracks under the thought of being useless. I’m not. I’m trained, by both my father and Whit, and should be ready for this because it’s over if I can’t escape. My life, my brother’s lives. Everything I’ve held close and tried to protect will be finished.

That’s not happening today.

The door opens after a while longer, pulling my gaze from the sun still climbing outside. I look down at the floor, almost refusing to look at him or acknowledge what he means.

“You’ve barely changed in all these years,” he says. Something gets dropped on the bed next to me. “Where have you been hiding?”

I slant my eyes to the right, gaze taking in the pile of men’s clothes that are beside me. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” And I certainly don’t remember this guy even if I do know what he’s talking about.

“Yes you do, Alice. You remember well enough. My cousin’s death is still there on your hands.” Cousin? The thought makes me look at him a little more, taking in his looks. Blonde hair, green eyes. I suppose he could be Tommy’s cousin, but it was a long time ago and they were just a group of assholes to me. Didn’t matter who was around me or in the way. I took the gun and used it for revenge. I wouldn’t change what I did to this day, no matter the consequence that’s been chasing us ever since. I lost a mother and father to that family. They lost one son.

My head turns away, eyes looking at my fingers, as I twist the sheet in my hands. They only lost one. Still doesn’t seem fair. Even after all these years. It should be an eye for an eye – a life for a life. My father wouldn’t be dead if it wasn’t for the Greene’s, and my mother wouldn’t have taken her own life either. Maybe it’s time to rectify the fucking balance before I die if nothing else.

I stand and drop the sheet to the floor, ready to get on with whatever this is, and walk from the small room in my robe. He follows until we’re in the main cabin, still calm in his demeanour, still thinking he’s in control of me and my families’ fate. He isn’t. I am. If dying is on the fucking cards, he’s coming straight to hell with me.

“Were you one of them?” I ask, scoping out the area. “Did you watch him die?” He sits to the side of the plane, his pale, grey suit blending with the leather upholstery. Doesn’t answer me, though, just frowns and casts his gaze outside. “I wish I could have stayed to see him bleed out. I missed that. Always wondered if he choked out pleas for his life.”

“He didn’t deserve to die, Alice.”

“Maybe not, but it was easier than trying to get his father.”

No reaction. He’s too cool, almost unfazed by the thought.

I walk closer and slip into the chair opposite him. Maybe if I can ruffle him first I’ll have a chance, but at the moment he’s far from an easy target. Not like Tommy was. He was just there with his tribe, hanging out, doing whatever fucking thing guys like that do on a Saturday night. He was laughing, though, I remember that. My father was dead – murdered by his father, and my mother was stone cold on a mortician’s bench - the blood drained from her and glazed eyes staring lifelessly - and Tommy Greene was laughing.

“At least you’re owning it now,” this Temple guy says.

My legs twist up into the seat, attempting to make me look smaller, meeker, and fearful for my life. “Someone deserved it. I lost my family because of yours. I don’t regret a thing.”

He looks at me. Stares far enough into me that I swear he could rival Malachi’s threatening scowl. It doesn’t work, though. He means nothing to me now but another target to get my vengeance out on if this is the way it’s going to be.

I laugh a little, snort really, disgusted with his clothes and his shoes and the way he’s trying to grace the world with his wealth. He’s nothing but another member of the Greene’s. Another jerk from the streets who pulled himself out of the gutters on the back of a mob family intent on trying legit.

The thought makes me chuckle again, mind reeling back to memories of eastern seaboards and oil and half of Manhattan. Malachi. He wore wealth properly, owned it as if it was bred into him from birth, Guess it was. Fucked boots and shirts or perfectly crisp suits and tailored class. “He’ll come for me, you know,” I muse, glancing at the gun strapped to him. “Not because he wants me, but because you dared to take me before he’d finished with me. He’ll consider that bad-mannered.”

I laugh a little more, cheering myself on. Well, he might come for me, and that’s enough for me to feel lightened by the situation I’m in. I mean, fuck it. This was always going to catch up with me someday, and my only regret – the one thing I keep thinking about – is that we didn’t finish whatever we started. We were two, becoming one maybe.

Acute sensations rush over me at the thought, pain splintering my back as memories come to remind me. Our mouths, the taste of each other. The feel of him so hard and heavy in me, his hands holding me. My knife at his throat. We bled – I bled – for him. We were something out of the ordinary then – something not normal.

Idling in the memories, I remember his sounds, his words, his gruff groans and breathing as he came inside me. “He’ll come with his power and he’ll wipe you all out if he has to, Mr Greene. I pity you that. You should have taken me before he gave a damn about my being alive or not. His life belongs to me, you see. I saved him. He’ll save me back.” I hope that’s true. Even if I die now, if I lose my own battle for survival, I hope he’ll destroy them all as mercilessly as he treats all his freaks. Malachi likes his games, and I have a feeling this just became one he’ll enjoy far more than me alone.

Chapter 18