Page 74 of Malachi (Outsiders MC #1)
Candace meets me halfway, her hand catching my arm. Not to pull me. Just to feel me. Her fingers press to the back of my wrist, her eyes searching mine, trying to anchor me with nothing but her gaze.
“You saw him,” she says, voice low and tight.
I nod. My throat is raw. “He has answers.”
“I think so too,” she whispers, glancing toward the door he disappeared through. “I feel like I know him.”
My jaw clenches. I look back at the place he vanished, where the shadows still linger the way smoke clings to bone.
The locker room reeks of sweat, blood, and cheap disinfectant. My knuckles are raw. Shirt damp at the collar. But the adrenaline hasn’t let go of me yet. It crackles through my limbs, coiled and volatile, refusing to burn out.
Candace leans against the far wall, arms crossed, eyes tracking me in a way that says she’s still trying to piece together what just happened. Her cheeks are flushed, half from the heat, half from the fight. Maybe from me.
“You good?” I ask, pulling my hoodie over my head, the cotton sticking to the sweat on my back.
Her gaze drops to my hands. “You cracked that guy’s ribs.”
“He asked for it.”
“He was twice your size.”
I smirk. “I’m meaner.”
She rolls her eyes, but the corner of her mouth twitches. She’s still amped. So am I. But it’s not about the win. It’s about him. The man from the auction.
I jerk my chin toward the hallway. “Come on. Let’s see if the shadows want to give up their secrets.”
We leave the locker room and step into the back corridor, the warehouse still buzzing behind us. The bass now hums dull and distant, barely reaching us. The air smells of oil and sweat layered over concrete. Every step feels loaded, each echo off the walls a warning not to trust the quiet.
We move quietly. I don’t want to draw attention, not until I know who’s watching. Candace stays close, her boots nearly silent on the concrete floor. Her fingers brush mine once, reaching for something real. The contact is fleeting, but I feel it flare behind my ribs. She doesn’t pull away.
We cut through a loading bay, half stacked with empty crates and coiled extension cords, then slip down a side hall dimly lit by flickering overhead fluorescents. The buzz is constant. Nerve-wracking. The building hums with a warning I can’t quite name.
That’s when I see him. Far end of the corridor, near an exit. Same dark suit. Same relaxed posture, a man who carries danger with ease. He doesn’t look surprised to see us. Just... resigned. Candace tenses beside me.
Another shape steps into view behind him. A woman. Wrapped in shadow, but unmistakable. Tall. Dressed in black from boots to gloves. Her stance is alert but easy, the kind that promises she could end us in an instant but won’t move unless ordered.
His shadow, or maybe his shield. He sees us. Watches us approach without flinching. The lights overhead catch on the edge of his jaw, the glint of something sharp behind his eyes. Not malice. Just weight. History.
“Got a name?” I ask, stopping a few paces away. My voice echoes faint in the empty space between us.
He doesn’t answer, just tilts his head slightly. His gaze drifts to Candace, lingering for a beat too long. She shifts beside me, something in her bones reacting to a familiarity she can’t explain.
“You know who we are,” I say. “At the auction you outbid Victor. You knew what she meant to someone.”
Still nothing. But something flickers in his eyes. Like the ghost of a memory slipping behind his ribs.
Candace steps forward. “Why did you help her? McKenzie. You didn’t even look at her until after the bid.”
The woman behind him doesn’t move, but her presence sharpens. Her eyes, dark and assessing, stay locked on us, waiting for a reason to strike.
Finally, the man speaks. “Because she needed saving.”
His voice is deeper than I expected. Smooth. Steady. Steel wrapped in silk.
“That’s not an answer,” I say.
“It’s the only one you’re getting tonight.”
Candace inhales sharply. “You’re connected to this. To all of it.”
The man’s jaw ticks. His eyes flick to mine, and for the first time, I see something behind them. Pain. Raw. Controlled. Caged like an animal with too many teeth.
“You’re not ready,” he says quietly.
Candace’s voice is a whisper. “You know her, don’t you?”
He doesn’t respond. Doesn’t need to. Because the silence says more than any answer ever could.
He turns, and the woman steps forward to follow, boots soundless against the concrete.
She moves through the air with the grace of smoke—fluid, poised, unshakable—every step a whisper of memory.
But something in the way she shifts, the tilt of her head, the line of her shoulders, it stirs something deep and unspoken in my chest.
It grips me, and I freeze. My breath catches hard in my chest as she passes beneath the flickering light. I see her, not clearly, not fully, but enough.
Dark hair tied back. Pale scar on her jaw. Eyes sharp as broken glass, but there’s something soft buried in them, something I remember from another lifetime. Something I haven’t seen since the night the world cracked open and took everything from me.
My voice rips out before I can stop it. “Amelia?” She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t stop. But her head turns, just slightly, as if she heard it. As if she felt it.
The man looks back, his gaze landing hard on mine. Not a warning. A promise.
“You’re getting close,” he says. “Don’t stop now.” Then he turns and disappears around another corner.
The woman, Amelia, pauses. Just for a breath.
Long enough for the air to tighten between us.
My whole body locks up, certain that any movement will make me lose her all over again.
She doesn’t look back, but I see it in the line of her spine; her hesitation.
Then she follows him. But I know what I saw.
My legs feel like they’ve been kicked out from under me. My pulse thunders in my ears. Candace’s hand finds mine, grounding, steady, her voice saying something I can’t hear over the sound of my own heartbeat.
That was her. After all these years. My sister’s alive. And I just let her walk away. But not for long. Not again. This time, I’ll tear the world apart to bring her home.