Page 53 of Gilded

MALIA

W hen Luka steps into the hallway and closes the door behind him, the malaise I’ve been under melts in the face of anxiety. My inner scaffolding skews and snaps. My heart drops. My fear skyrockets.

It takes everything left inside me to keep myself from ripping that door open and begging him to come back.

“Don’t.” I squeeze my hands into fists until my nails cut into my palms. “ Don’t .”

Loss flows through my veins and tears I didn’t know were collecting escape my eyes.

“God, nothing makes sense.”

I wish I had someone to call. Someone to talk to. But I have no one. No one but Luka.

I cross my arms, pace to the window again, and stare at his building.

I used to think his money was dirty. The fact that it isn’t goes a long way toward trusting my intuition again.

Toward hoping it’s accurate. But my mind is still partially hidden behind a thick curtain, fighting to keep images of my father pulling Luka from his home by the arm while his father and brother lie dead on the floor.

It reminds me of Yari and watching him die on the dock. My throat thickens, making it hard to breathe.

To distract myself, I wander around the suite. It’s luxurious—the furniture, the finishes, the space, the view. But I feel nothing. No comfort. No joy. No excitement.

Numb, I walk into the bathroom and look around. A big shower fills one wall, and a deep soaking bathtub fills another. But I end up returning to the bedroom and just sitting on the edge of the bed.

Fatigue drags my lids closed. I groan, forcing myself to move toward the pillows, then roll onto my side and stare out the window at Luka’s building.

I let my mind wander and get lost in the white noise, a break from concrete thoughts.

This is one of his Blackhawks, parked at the Cengkareng Heliport in Indonesia, loading up with guys in camo head to toe, M-4s on their shoulders…

I pull in a sharp breath and sit up. The movement leaves me dizzy, but the words still ring in my head—in James’s voice.

I look around, confused for a long moment while I try to place myself. This time, I’m not in an ambulance or a hospital. I’m in a hotel room. And flashes of my recent past flood in—wedding, knife, blood.

On a deep exhale, I press a hand against the pain in my head and find a clock that reads 3:00 a.m. “Christ.”

In the living room, I pull out the prescription ibuprofen they gave me at the hospital, then look around for water. There are two bottles of something upscale on the kitchen counter. Along with wine.

“Well, that’s an easy choice.” I pour the wine and take the pills. The action brings Luka to mind and how panicked he was when he thought I had overdosed. That emotion wasn’t faked.

My mind returns to James and the clear accusation in his tone when he confronted Luka about the helicopters. “Why was he so ang?—”

He went out of town the week Tabuni was hit.

Snippets start popping up in my mind, and I frantically try to collect them all to form a picture. A picture that I know is somewhere inside my head.

“Oh my God.” The words float out of me while pieces are still connecting. Only, my brain hits another wall, and I can’t get a full picture.

I push my hands into my hair and yelp when I hit my bump. I feel like I’m going crazy.

In the living room, I grab the phone and press the button to speed-dial Luka.

He answers on the first ring, as if he’s been waiting for me to call. “Are you okay?”

“Are you that phantom thing?” The question comes tumbling out.

“That’s kind of complicated.”

“Then come here and explain it, right now, or I’ll be insane by 5:00 a.m.”

“I’m already here.”

“What?”

“I’m in the hallway.”

I press my hand to the pain in my head. “What hallway?”

But I already know. I lower the phone and hurry to the door, pulling it open. I’m confused when Luka isn’t standing there. I start to lift the phone again when I glance past the doorway—and find Luka sitting in the hallway with his back against the wall, legs outstretched, ankles crossed.

“ What are you doing?” When he gets to his feet, I see he’s taken off his tie and his suit vest and unbuttoned his shirt at the neck. “Were you here all night?”

When he’s standing in front of me, he lifts his hand to my face and looks at me like he hasn’t seen me in a year. “I decided five minutes flat wasn’t close enough. Did you take some medicine?”

“What?”

“Looks like you’re in pain. Did you take the meds the doctor sent home with you?”

“Yeah.” I’m both surprised he would notice and touched that he did. “Just now.”

“Good. Did you get some sleep?”

“I don’t know about that. My mind is?—”

“Spinning,” he finishes for me. “Been there.”

I step aside, holding the door open. “We have a lot to talk about.”