Page 68 of Malachi (Outsiders MC #1)

Candace

I’m curled into the far end of the couch, knees tucked under me, surrounded by the soft thrum of voices and the quiet presence of the girls.

Frankie’s scribbling in her notebook, Ruby’s painting her nails with a color she claims is called Venomous Vixen, and Darla is flipping through an old tabloid, treating it as though it’s the gospel.

The air smells of coffee, something sweet baking in the kitchen, and the faintest hint of antiseptic drifting up from the basement.

It’s the kind of setting that should be calming.

Should feel safe. But my skin feels too tight.

Like I don’t belong in this moment of peace or I’m waiting for something to shatter.

Sloane’s still down there with Malachi. Still with Donovan.

The name curdles in my stomach. I press my palms harder into the cushions, grounding myself in the scratch of the fabric and the distant hum of voices I can’t quite make out.

Somewhere below this floor, pain is being answered.

Part of me wants to look away, the other part wants to listen.

I press my fingers to the bridge of my nose and exhale slowly, but it doesn’t do much. The pounding in my skull isn’t from exhaustion. It’s from pressure; internal, relentless, and laced with the fear I keep trying to swallow.

I should be down there with him. But I’m not. Because if I see the truth in his eyes, the truth about her, I’m not sure I’ll survive it.

“Girl, you good?” Ruby asks, pausing mid-stroke to look at me.

“Just tired,” I lie, not very convincingly. The words fall flat.

Ruby disappears without a word, no dramatic flair, no snarky one-liner.

Just gets up and leaves the room on a mission.

I watch her go, confused but too emotionally drained to ask.

A few minutes later, she’s back with my guitar in hand.

My breath hitches. Just seeing it, worn wood, dulled strings, makes my chest tighten, it feels like something inside me is pulled too far.

She doesn’t say anything. Just sets it gently beside me, placing it with care, then returns to her spot as though she didn’t just unravel me with a single gesture.

The strings vibrate faintly as they settle.

I stare at it, hands frozen. It feels like a challenge.

A whisper. A truth I haven’t been ready to hold.

I pick it up. The weight is familiar. Comforting.

My fingers find the strings, strumming absently, no melody, just muscle memory and the desperate need to feel something steady under my hands.

The wood is cool against my skin. My thumb taps a soft rhythm—1-2-3-4—the same pattern I used to play to keep from falling apart.

I don’t look at anyone. If I do, I’ll splinter.

Footsteps echo near the door, and we all look up as Maggie walks in, holding a large brown paper bag in one hand.

James follows, hobbling on crutches, clearly irritated about the whole situation.

His jaw is clenched, his crutches loud against the hardwood, and I can already hear the grumbling forming behind his scowl.

“I’m fine,” he mutters before anyone can ask. “Just a broken ankle. No big deal. Damn thing’s gonna keep me off my bike for weeks, though.”

Ruby gasps, reacting as though he’s announced the death of a beloved pet. “Blasphemy.”

James gives her a look that dares her to say another word. She just grins and holds up her hands in surrender.

Nash walks in behind them with his usual slow prowl, nodding once toward Ruby’s sarcasm. “Guess we’ll have to start knitting circles without him,” he deadpans. She rolls her eyes, but there’s a flicker of something beneath it, something unspoken. I clock it. So does he. Neither of them flinches.

Maggie sets the bag on the coffee table and starts unpacking containers. “Food. Because everyone’s running on fumes and attitude.”

The scent hits me. Fried chicken, cornbread, and something spicy, tangy, and warm. My stomach growls before I can stop it. Guess I hadn’t realized how long it’d been since I ate. The warmth wraps around me, pulling at a memory I’m scared to trust. For a second, I almost feel okay. Almost.

Maggie glances over and tilts her head. “You not downstairs with Malachi?”

I hesitate, then shake my head. “Needed a break.” She doesn’t push. Just nods and starts passing out plates. But I catch James watching me, quiet and steady. His gaze lands heavy, reading the storm sitting just beneath my ribs. He’s seen it before.

But the weight in my chest doesn’t lift. Because while I sit here surrounded by the warmth of women who’ve become more than just acquaintances. They’re my friends, no, my family. I can’t stop thinking about what Nash and Kyle said when they came back. Nothing. No leads. No sign of her.

Alice Brighton disappeared again, vanishing the way smoke slips through fingers.

My mother. The woman who walked away. She was right there.

In this town. And somehow, I still couldn’t reach her.

My knuckles tighten around the neck of the guitar.

The strings whine under the pressure. I don’t know if I want to scream or vanish.

But I can’t. Not yet. Because Malachi’s down there.

Digging for answers. When he comes back, I need to be ready to hear whatever he found out.

Even if it breaks me all over again. Even if the last thread of denial I’ve been clinging to snaps.

The basement door opens. Every breath in the room stills.

We all feel it, whatever just shifted below our feet.

Sloane is the first up the stairs, her scrub top streaked with blood, hair pulled back in a messy knot.

She doesn’t say a word, just makes a beeline for the bathroom.

Knox follows a second later, his jaw clenched and eyes scanning the room with full alertness.

Then Malachi comes into view, covered in blood splatter, his shirt sticking to his chest, and something carved into the lines of his face that makes my heart stop. My lungs seize. His eyes lock with mine, and the entire world tilts. Everything inside me stills, then starts to shake.

He doesn’t speak right away, just meets my eyes across the room. Something in me settles and shatters all at once. I press the heel of my palm to my thigh, grounding myself before I break again. His gaze is a storm and a tether all in one.

Sloane returns a few minutes later in fresh clothes, hair damp, and sits with the hunger of someone who hasn’t eaten in days. She reaches for a plate and digs in without ceremony.

One by one, the others drift closer, Nash. East. Kyle. Even a couple of the prospects hover at the edges, tension clinging to all of them, second skin worn thin. The air is thick with anticipation. No one speaks. No one breathes too loud. We’re all waiting for the drop.

Malachi stands behind the couch, arms crossed, still soaked in the aftermath of what he left downstairs. His voice, when he speaks, is quiet but steady. “Donovan is dead, but he talked, and now we know enough.” The room stills, holding its breath.

“It’s Alice,” he continues. “She’s behind more than we knew. The auctions. The society. She wasn’t just working with Donovan. She was running the show. But she’s not in Willowridge, not anymore. This town’s just one of her ports. Her base is in Savannah. That’s where she’s headed now.”

A coldness floods my chest, crawling up my spine. A big part of me hoped, really hoped, that maybe she was just lost. Damaged. Not evil. But this? This is something else.

The cold that slices through the room has nothing to do with the weather. A part of me had clung to the impossible, some thread of denial that maybe I’d gotten it wrong. Maybe she wasn’t the monster I feared she was. But I know better now. She didn’t vanish. She evolved. Into something worse.

Malachi’s jaw clenches as he steps forward, bracing himself for what comes next.

“There’s more,” he says. “Donovan knew what happened to my brother and sister.” Everyone turns toward him, eyes narrowing, waiting.

“My siblings,” Malachi says, voice low. “The night Cornelius was killed, he was trying to save them. Jared and Amelia. Cornelius had been working behind the scenes to get me legal guardianship, to keep them with family. But Jared got lured to the docks because someone promised him a quick high. Amelia followed him, tried to stop him. That’s when they were taken. ”

His jaw tightens. “Cornelius figured it out. Saw the ties between Donovan and Graves. He realized what the docks were really used for. Trafficking. He went there to stop it. To save them. But he was too late. They were gone. And he was killed trying to stop it.”

Malachi’s voice falters as he talks about his siblings, but it’s Darla’s reaction that draws my attention. She goes pale, her fingers curling into the edge of the couch cushion, gripping hard to keep something buried. Her eyes flick to East, wide and wet, but she doesn’t speak.

East doesn’t hesitate. He moves to her without saying a word, sits beside her, and gently covers her clenched hand with his. She doesn’t pull away.

There’s nothing dramatic, no tears or gasps, but the tension between them shifts.

Something opens. Softens. The way her shoulder leans slightly into his makes it clear this hit her deep.

And he felt it too. He doesn’t let go. I get it.

More than I want to admit. Graves is her father, the same man tied to all of this.

I see it now, that familiar ache in her eyes. The one I used to see in the mirror.

Malachi’s eyes lift, shadowed with something darker than grief.

“Donovan knew where they were. Said my sister ended up in Savannah, alive. Trapped in Alice’s network.

My brother…” His voice trails off before he finds it again.

“He was sold off. To someone powerful. Someone who made sure I’d never find him.

” Silence blankets the room in the hush of falling snow.

“If Alice is in Savannah,” he finishes, “then that’s where I look next. That’s where I’ll find my siblings. That’s where I start putting the pieces back together.”

No one breathes. I feel it, that shift, a current moving beneath the floorboards. This isn’t revenge anymore. It’s resurrection. And finally bringing the ones he loves home.

The clubhouse slowly begins to clear. Sloane and Knox leave first, quietly slipping out together, Sloane’s hand tucked into her husband’s.

Maggie and James follow not long after, James muttering about the pain meds making him feel useless and Maggie rolling her eyes with the practiced patience of someone who’s heard it all before.

East and Darla exchange a glance, charged, full of something unspoken, and leave together without saying a word.

Ruby and Kyle decide to stay. They each claim a couch, Ruby throwing a blanket over herself and tossing Kyle a pillow with a grin.

“No snoring or I’m kicking you,” she mutters.

He just smirks and closes his eyes. Nash snorts, barely audible.

The corners of Ruby’s mouth twitch, but she doesn’t look at him. That’s how I know she wanted to.

Then it’s just me and Malachi. He glances at me, his jaw slackening just slightly, the weight he’s been carrying easing now that the room is empty.

“Come on,” he murmurs. That low rumble sinks into my bones.

I nod before I know why. I follow him up the stairs, the creak of each step oddly comforting.

Familiar. The distance between us is short.

But the air? It’s heavy with everything unsaid.

In his room, he moves with the exhaustion of a man unraveling. Peels off his bloodstained shirt, tosses it in the corner, and walks to the small bar in the corner. Pours himself a double of something amber and potent. I don’t say anything as he drinks.

Then he looks over at me, finally letting the mask slip just a little. He lets out a breath, slow and heavy, as if the weight of the whole damn day is pressing against his ribs.

“You were right,” I whisper, the words raw in my throat. “People like her… like Donovan… they always find a way to come back.”

His eyes don’t leave mine. “Yeah,” he says. “But so do we.”

That makes my chest tighten. It’s not a comfort, it’s a quiet, stubborn truth. The kind that doesn’t promise peace, only persistence.

“We’re still here,” he says, softer now. I hear what he really means. Not just alive. Not just breathing. But standing. After everything. Scarred, shaken, but still standing. And not alone this time.

My throat threatens to close up again. I nod, a small tremble in the motion. “We are.”

He steps closer. For a second, I think I’m going to crumble. Then his arms wrap around me, solid, grounding, warm, and everything inside me breaks and mends in the same breath. Because yeah, monsters come back. But so do we. Maybe that’s what makes us dangerous.