Page 32 of Gilded

MALIA

M y ears still ring from the gunshot, joined by the sound of my blood pounding through my veins.

When I reach the dorm where others are huddled, I take the boy’s face in both hands. “Uko salama?”

My hearing comes back in time to hear him say he’s okay. I kiss his cheek. “Ulikuwa na ujasiri sana.”

Telling him he’s brave gets a shaky smile. That’s when the crash hits me. I’m good under pressure, but the fallout is hell.

I’m sweating and weak, my brain is in a haze, and my stomach feels queasy, but I return to the door to make sure Luka is safe. I find him pointing a gun at James’s head as all three men walk out the gate.

A fresh sense of panic roils inside me. This is going to erupt into ugliness.

The men already hate me. They’ll hate me even more now.

It won’t matter that they were the ones in the wrong.

They’ll spin it to be my fault. Soren will be angry.

There will be yelling, threats, violence.

They could refuse to work with Luka. They could send him away.

That idea, more than the others, undoes me. I move to a side door and step outside to a patio, rest my back against the wall, and cover my face with both hands. It’s so hard not to burst out crying.

I hear Luka’s voice, and I look inside. He’s on one knee in front of the boy, squeezing his arms in reassurance.

He pulls the boy’s forehead to his own, all while he says something that makes the boy nod.

Then he hugs the boy, and the child wraps his arms around Luka and starts to cry.

Luka stays with him until the boy has calmed.

Until he’s gotten the boy to smile again.

This is a vivid look into Luka’s soul. This is the man I’m so drawn to. There’s no mistaking the feelings pouring out of Luka now. He loves this boy like I do. Protection for an innocent child. A need to do what he can to send the boy off with a feeling of strength and safety.

He finally stands, ruffles the boy’s hair, and glances around until his gaze halts on mine. His expression shifts to something I can’t quite read, but whatever it is has my eyes watering again, and by the time he reaches me, tears are streaming down my cheeks.

He tries to hug me, but I push him away. “I told you not to show me any favoritism. When Soren hears about this?—”

“He’ll want to canonize me.” He grips my biceps and gives a reassuring squeeze. “I just saved him a billion a year. And I fired them even though I wanted to kill them.”

Fear coils in my chest. “You can’t fire them.”

“Just did.”

“My father?—”

“Will be grateful you didn’t die before your twenty-first birthday. They would have let you get chopped into little pieces.”

God, he’s right. I’m shaking and cold despite the heat. I press my face to his chest, using his strength to cope.

The feel of his arms around me gives me the security I need to let go, and I sob out the pent-up fear and anger, just like the boy did.

He strokes my hair. “You’re safe now. Everything’s okay.

I know it doesn’t look like it now, but everything’s going to be okay.

I’m taking you to the hotel. We can rest and regroup.

We can go home anytime you want.” After an extra millisecond of pause, he says, “In fact, it’s just you, me, and the plane. We can go anywhere.”

I look up and meet his gaze. I feel like he’s put a hook in my heart and pulled it toward my throat. The urge to scream Yes is so intense, I can’t breathe.

I don’t understand any of this, especially his assertion that everything’s going to be okay. That is unfathomable, but I guess okay is a subjective term.

I need to remember his livelihood is at stake and that I’m in this position because he was willing to do anything to hold on to that livelihood.

He could take my desire to flee straight to Soren and my father if it would get him something he wants.

I’ve seen how ruthless the men in this business can be. I’ve also watched Luka’s moods seesaw.

I don’t know who I can trust. I don’t know what repercussions that trust may create. I’m just so naive. So, so, so naive.

“I…” I have to swallow the plea that wants to spill from my soul. “I…”

He cups my face, and those silvery eyes search mine. “Say it.”

“The hotel sounds good, but I need to talk to Abebe to increase the security, and I’ll have to change the budget?—”

He drops his hands and straightens, seemingly disappointed. “Already done.”

“What?”

“I told him to add razor wire to the walls.”

“We don’t have the money in the budget for that. I have to make changes?—”

“I paid for it. Consider it a donation.”

I exhale, and my shoulders fall. He’s so…thoughtful. So…generous. Yet, so deep in this sick business.

I say my goodbyes to kids and staff with promises to check in tomorrow.

When we walk out the gates, there’s a different SUV waiting. With a different driver. The man stands from the car and holds one of the doors open. He’s rugged, attractive, and stony. No telling what ethnicity he is. Like Luka, he could be Italian, Hispanic, Middle Eastern, Eastern European…

He opens the rear door, and I slide in. Instead of sitting beside me, Luka and the driver talk at the back of the car. The air-conditioning helps my angst come down.

The drive to the hotel is short and completely silent. Not a sound from either man. Not even a radio. But Luka is holding my hand, and it’s hard to pull my gaze away from the sight of his big, tattooed hand holding mine. Hard to tuck my heart back into the shadows where it belongs.

Outside my windows, the slums transition into a more stable neighborhood where a farmers’ market fills the streets with colorful umbrellas. Then to the business district, where buildings grow taller and more modern, and most pedestrians wear business casual or suits.

When we turn into the drive of the hotel, I decide the name, Dusit, meaning heaven, is fitting. It feels like heaven to have a safe place to rest and someone to share it with.

When I visit charities like this, I prefer hotels that are less expensive. Less luxurious. Places less likely to cause culture shock when I go back and forth to the school.

The driver stops at the hotel’s roundabout and opens my door while I’m still staring at the grand entrance.

When I stand, Luka is there, and the driver hands him room key cards “I’ll get your bags.”

Luka takes my hand and leads me into the hotel. “Are you hungry?”

I don’t answer, still trying to get used to the feeling of a man holding my hand and these luxury surroundings when I know the reality just a few streets away.

Luka stops and looks at me with concern. “Malia?”

“What?”

His expression softens, and he slides his knuckles along my cheek. “We’ll order room service.”

In the elevator, I ask, “Do you know the driver?”

“I’ve worked with him before.”

“Doing what?”

He doesn’t answer.

“I’m in the fucking middle of this.” My fear is breaking through as anger. “I should know what happens.”

“You don’t need to know anything about it,” he says, his own frustration rising. “You need to stay as far out of it as you can get.”

“ Why? ”

“Because it’s dirty.” He bites out the answer with more frustration than anger, and I realize that in our three weeks together, I’ve become comfortable with the anger he shows.

Probably because he doesn’t act on it like others.

“It’s fucking dirty and disgusting, and it makes me sick that you’re in the middle of it all. ”

The elevator stops on the fifteenth floor, and I follow Luka to the room, where he pulls the card from his pocket and opens the door.

I’m a little stunned at the grandness of the space. The ceilings have to be fifteen feet tall, with one wall all windows, looking out onto vast plains as far as I can see, and I breathe a quiet “Oh.”

It’s getting dark, but I see movement in the distance and go to the windows. “Oh my God. Is that a… I think that’s a…”

“Giraffe,” Luka says from behind me, then points to the right. “There’s a herd of zebras over there.”

“Oh, they’re beautiful. What else do you think is out there?”

“Lions and rhinos, probably.”

I put my hands against the glass, my nose an inch away. “I wish it wasn’t getting dark.”

“How many times have you been here?”

I can only catch the giraffe’s silhouette as he saunters from tree to bush to tree. “I don’t know. At least a dozen since we started donating to the school. But I’ve never seen anything like this.”

“Don’t you ever take time to do something while you’re here? Like a safari?”

I sputter a laugh. “Hardly.”

“You’d love it.”

“What I would love is being free to have the choice to do it.” I turn and find him right there. So close, I have to look up at him. His gaze is distant out the window. “Have you ever been?”

“No. But I’d like to do that someday too.”

“Why haven’t you?”

“There’s always something else that needs doing.” He runs a hand over my head. “But you make me see things differently.”

“How do I do that?”

“You’re so…fresh. Young and fresh, with an open and curious mind.”

He leans in and presses a kiss to my forehead. It’s so unexpected, so sweet, I close my eyes and soak in the feeling of being cared for before reminding myself it’s temporary.

“Do you want to look at the menu?” he asks. “You didn’t even finish your smoothie last night. You’re going on twenty hours with barely anything to eat. You need to take care of yourself.”

I’m not the least bit hungry, but from experience, I know that’s the stress. “I’d rather take a shower.” When it looks like he’s going to argue, I add, “I’ll eat after. I promise.”

He wanders deeper into the suite, and I follow. The bedroom is huge, with a beautiful king bed, the style both modern and rustic, with a wood-and-metal frame that seems to fit the setting perfectly.

“How ’bout a bath?” Luka says, walking into the bathroom. “You can even watch the giraffes from the tub.”

I follow him and find an oversized bathtub surrounded by windows.

Luka turns on the water and checks the temperature with his hand.

I wander in and look around as he pours a complimentary bottle of soap into the water, creating instant fluffy bubbles.

The room bursts with the scent of eucalyptus and flowers.

My chest squeezes with that sense of longing I often feel around him. I open my mouth to say…something, but nothing comes out. He straightens and runs his hand under my hair and along my neck before he lowers his head and kisses me, making my chest ache.

“Mmm,” he hums against my lips. His phone rings, and he breaks the kiss with “Sink into those bubbles. I’ll get you a glass of wine.”

He’s gone before I can respond, and I’m left staring at the African grasslands while my life continues to unravel. I’m so tired of it all. The fear, the uncertainty, the secrets, the lies. If I’m not in his arms, I feel like I’m going to shatter into a million pieces.

I shut off the water, and Luka’s voice drifts in. “I just saved you a billion a year.”

I move through the bedroom and into the living room, where I can see Luka in the kitchen, his back to me, uncorking a bottle of wine. But it’s the other familiar voice filling the kitchen that makes my feet stop: Soren.

“You’re welcome,” Luka says, all sarcasm. “Calm the hell down. You’re going to have a heart attack before the wedding.”

I close my eyes. If only. Right now, if I had to make a choice, I know in my soul, I could kill Soren. I could kill my father too. And a sliver of hope creates light in my chest because it cements the different ways I can escape: run, kill myself, or kill them.

Maybe there’s more of my father in me than I want to admit.

“As far as Malia is concerned, we agreed I’d do this my way. I promise you’ll prefer this result to your caveman method.”

There it is. The reminder that he’s pretending and doesn’t care about me. Despite what I see as signals that he does, Luka is in this for himself.

“Speed it up,” Soren says. “She needs to be ready. The wedding is just a week away, and if I get a sniveling bitch as a bride, you’re out.”

“Save the drama.”

“Have you started training her in multiples? I have several friends interested. It wouldn’t be a bad idea to give her a test drive before the wedding.”

My throat closes. Fear tingles along my skin before it sinks into muscle, then bone.

“Sure, if you want Hugo to kill you,” Luka says.

I tune out the following small talk, trying to get my feet back under me. Luka and Soren disconnect, and Luka turns with two glasses of wine, halting when he sees me.

I cross my arms, disappointed. Disillusioned. Depressed. “Looks like eavesdropping is still the only way I’m going to learn what’s really happening.”

He hands me a glass. “You don’t need to know any more than you need to know.”

I put my wine on a side table. “Hours ago, you got pissed at me because you thought I was doing exactly that. But it’s okay for you to do it. Guess I didn’t expect that double standard from you.”

Luka looks at me for a moment of extended silence with something that feels like fear simmering inside him. He sets his own wine down next to mine and grips my biceps gently.

“I know I told you your chances of escape from Soren are zero, but let me make it painfully clear. If you try and fail, your life will drop into the bowels of hell. He’ll hunt you, and he’ll find you.

And when he does, he’ll beat you, rape you, and starve you to the edge of death, just to bring you back so he can do it all over again. ”

Anguish rolls through my belly. “Then I guess I’d better not get caught.”

His eyes spark with anger and his grip tightens. “Like you didn’t get caught trying to escape with Yari?”

Pain breaks open inside me, and it takes me a minute to mutter a rough “Wow.”

“Do you even know how you got caught the first time?”

That question stuns me silent, because, no, I don’t know how we got caught. And in all the melee after, I haven’t tried to figure out how that happened. Though without Yari, I doubt I’ll ever know.

He reads my silence for what it is. “Then how the hell do you think you won’t get caught again?”

Despair sinks deep, and I go numb. Listless. Hopeless. But there is a new determination underlying all of it—killing them before they kill me.

“I guess I’ll just have to plan better.”