Page 29

CHAPTER 29

Malakai

I push open the door to my apartment, still buzzing from the day. My mind’s been on overdrive since the meeting, since the flower garden, since her. I don’t know what the fuck is happening to me, but it’s like she’s dug into my brain, tangled in my blood, and now I can’t shake her even if I wanted to.

Not that I do.

I hear her before I see her.

A soft hum, a mumbled word, a giggle under her breath.

The door to my bedroom is cracked open, light spilling into the dim hallway, and I step closer, drawn in like a fucking magnet.

And there she is.

Raven.

Sitting at my desk, legs tucked up under her, one foot bouncing as she leans toward the mirror, applying lipstick with slow, deliberate strokes.

She’s talking to herself.

“Okay, Raven. Just a little more.” She purses her lips, inspects them, then tilts her head. “Too much? No, it’s good. It’s dangerous. ”

A laugh bubbles out of her, quiet but warm, and she lifts her chin, whispering to her reflection, “This is your villain era. Malakai won’t know what hit him.”

I smirk, crossing my arms as I lean against the doorframe.

She has no idea I’m watching.

And for the first time, I see her. Not the girl tangled in secrets, not the girl forced into the fucked-up game Alex started. Just her.

Raven, playing with makeup like she’s sixteen, talking to herself like no one else exists.

There’s no pretending in this moment. No walls. No careful lies or defenses. Just her, lost in whatever world she lives in when she thinks she’s alone.

And I want it.

I want all of her.

She catches sight of me in the reflection. Her body goes still, her lips parting slightly. Then, slowly, she turns.

Our eyes meet.

Something heavy settles between us, thick as smoke, inevitable as gravity. The air crackles.

She licks her lips—whether it’s out of habit or reaction, I don’t know. But my eyes drop to her mouth, the deep red of her lipstick, the way it makes her look fucking untouchable.

My control snaps.

In two strides, I’m in front of her, hands bracing the edge of the desk on either side of her, caging her in.

She doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak.

She just watches me, like she’s waiting for something.

Like she wants it.

I brush my knuckles against her jaw, tilting her face up to me. “All this effort for me, princess?”

Her breath hitches. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?” My fingers trail down, tracing the column of her throat. I can feel the hammering of her pulse. “You practicing seduction for someone else?”

Her lips part, but no sound comes out.

I chuckle, dark and low, then drag my thumb across her bottom lip, smearing the lipstick just slightly. “Pretty.”

She swallows, her chest rising with each breath. “Malakai…”

I don’t wait for her to say whatever she’s about to say.

I take.

My mouth crashes against hers, claiming, demanding. She gasps against me, and I use the opportunity to slip my tongue past her lips, swallowing the sound.

She tastes like her perfume, which is a mix of strawberry and other sweet things, but there's also something uniquely hers .

I kiss her like I’ve been starving for it. Because I have .

Her fingers clutch my hoodie, her nails digging into the fabric like she’s trying to hold herself steady. But when I bite her lip—just enough to make her gasp—she shudders, arching into me.

That’s all the permission I need.

I slide my hands down, gripping her hips, lifting her in one fluid motion. She lets out a soft gasp as her legs wrap around me, her heels digging into my lower back.

I don’t carry her far. Just to the bed, where I drop her down and immediately follow, bracing myself over her.

I can feel the tension in the air, but it isn't anything negative. It's the pulsating anticipation of pleasure right at the start of foreplay.

Her eyes are wide, pupils blown. But she doesn’t look scared.

She looks ready.

“You still learning, baby?” I murmur, my fingers teasing the hem of her top, ghosting over the soft skin underneath.

She swallows hard, but there’s a spark in her eyes. “Yeah.”

I smirk. “Then pay attention.”

I drag my mouth down her throat, over her collarbone, taking my time. She trembles beneath me, her fingers tangling in my hair.

Then she surprises me.

She pushes me up, flipping us so she’s straddling me, pressing me into the mattress.

My brows raise. “Look at you.”

She bites her lip, grinding down slightly, testing the reaction.

I growl.

“Fuck, Raven.” My hands grip her thighs, hard enough to bruise. “Keep that up, and I won’t be gentle.”

A flicker of uncertainty crosses her face, but then she squares her shoulders, leaning in close.

“What if I don’t want gentle?” she whispers against my lips.

Heat explodes through me.

I grip her jaw, dragging her mouth back to mine, this time pouring everything into the kiss—dominance, possession, the need to fucking devour her.

She moans, and the sound goes straight to my dick.

I flip us back over, pinning her beneath me, fingers skimming under her shirt. She shivers as I drag it up, up?—

And gone.

Her breathing stutters as I take her in, eyes darkening.

“ Beautiful, ” I murmur, voice rough.

Her hands go to my hoodie, yanking it over my head, and she traces my chest, fingers hesitating at my scars.

I stiffen.

But she doesn’t ask. Doesn’t pity.

She just accepts .

I reward her with my mouth on her skin, tracing every inch of her, learning her sounds, her reactions. She gasps when I tease, moans when I claim.

And fuck, I never knew it could feel like this. She’s still tentative, but she’s learning. Testing boundaries, pushing back.

I love it.

I love her.

And when she finally whimpers my name, breathless and begging?—

I make damn sure she never forgets who she belongs to.

The room still smells like her.

The sheets are tangled around us, her bare leg draped over mine, her breath even and steady against my chest.

She’s asleep.

And I should be too, but my mind is still running hot, spinning in too many directions at once.

Alex’s father. His sins . This war that I’ve been fighting alone for too damn long.

And now? Now I’ve got Raven tangled in it, her sharp mind and wicked mouth, her fire and her fucking heart .

I’m not supposed to care.

But I do.

The buzz of her phone on the nightstand drags me from my thoughts.

I glance down at her as she stirs, soft and slow, a sleepy hum escaping her lips before she blinks her eyes open.

“What time is it?” she murmurs, voice rough with sleep.

I grab her phone and squint at the screen. The name flashing across it makes my blood boil .

Alex.

I sit up instantly, tension crackling through my muscles. Raven shifts, watching me as I turn the screen toward her.

Her expression darkens. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

She sighs, rubbing her eyes before snatching the phone from me and unlocking it. I watch as she reads the message, her brows furrowing in a mix of irritation and something else—something that looks a hell of a lot like hesitation.

Alex: We need to talk. Just you and me. Meet me at the old music hall in twenty minutes.

I smirk. “Desperate, isn’t he?”

Raven scoffs. “He has the emotional range of a wet sock. Probably thinks he can manipulate me into coming back to him.”

I tilt my head, watching her closely. “You’re gonna go.”

She freezes, blinking at me. “Excuse me?”

I lean back against the headboard, arms folded, casual as hell. “You’re gonna go meet him. Hear him out.”

Her jaw drops. “Are you insane ?”

“Not even a little.”

Raven shakes her head, laughing in disbelief. “Malakai, the entire point of this is getting rid of Alex, not entertaining whatever sob story he’s about to spin.”

I grin. “Exactly.”

Her expression shifts, her annoyance melting into reluctant understanding.

I smirk. There she is. That sharp little mind , turning over the possibilities.

“We let him talk,” I say, watching her carefully. “Let him think he’s still got control. If he’s desperate enough to reach out to you, that means he’s scared. Scared men make mistakes.”

Raven exhales, dragging a hand through her messy hair. “You really think he’s gonna slip up?”

I tilt my head. “He already has. He’s alone. No Pantheon backing him. No daddy to clean up his mess. He’s drowning, and drowning men grab onto anything they can.”

She chews on her lip, considering.

I sit up, reaching out and running my fingers over her exposed thigh. She shivers slightly but doesn’t pull away.

“Go,” I murmur, my voice lower now. “See what he has to say. Let him talk. Let him dig his own grave.”

Raven exhales, then nods once. “Fine. But I’m not doing it for you.”

I grin. “Of course not, princess. You’re doing it for you .”

She rolls her eyes but doesn’t argue.

I lean in, kissing the corner of her mouth, smearing the last traces of her lipstick. “You’re getting good at this game.”

She tilts her chin up, smirking. “I learn from the best.”

Damn right she does.

And if Alex thinks he still owns a single piece of her, he’s about to find out exactly how wrong he is.

I was ten years old the first time I heard my father’s name.

It wasn’t some dramatic revelation. No grand moment of truth.

It was a Wednesday .

I remember that because I hated Wednesdays. Mom always worked late on Wednesdays, which meant I’d have to eat whatever scraps were in the fridge, go to sleep with the TV on, and pretend I didn’t hear the sound of her heels clicking back into the apartment in the early hours of the morning.

But that day, she was home early .

She was in the kitchen, nursing a glass of wine, her face pinched like she had the weight of the fucking world on her shoulders.

I sat across from her, eating cereal straight from the box, watching her through narrowed eyes.

And then, out of nowhere , she sighed and muttered, "You’ve got his eyes, you know."

I frowned. “Who?”

She took another sip of her wine, barely looking at me. “Your father.”

I blinked.

That word never meant much to me.

I didn’t have a father. Not in the way other kids did. No one ever showed up to my school plays. No one ever taught me how to skate. No one sat at the kitchen table, telling me to finish my homework.

It was just me and Mom. And most of the time? It felt like it was just me .

Still, the idea of knowing who he was sent a strange kind of excitement through me.

Maybe he wasn’t around because he couldn’t be .

Maybe he didn’t even know about me.

Maybe—

“Alex Callahan Sr.,” she said, voice flat. “That’s his name.”

The words landed like lead in my stomach.

I might’ve only been ten, but I wasn’t stupid . I knew the Callahan name. It was everywhere.

Rich. Respected. Powerful.

My father was that ?

I sat up straighter. “Does he know about me?”

Mom snorted. “Of course he does.”

My heart jumped . “Then why?—”

“Because he doesn’t care , Malakai,” she said, sharp and final. “He never did.”

I didn’t believe her.

I couldn’t .

For years after that, I tried to imagine him as something more than just a name.

I told myself there had to be a reason he wasn’t in my life. Maybe he wanted to be. Maybe Mom just never gave him the chance.

I kept an eye on him from a distance, watching him on the news, in interviews, at charity events. He looked like a good man.

Hell, he had a son —Alex fucking Callahan Jr. He raised him . Which meant he was capable of being a father. Which meant he chose not to be one to me .

Still, I didn’t want to believe it. Not until the day I finally reached out.

I was sixteen when I made the biggest mistake of my life.

I stood outside his office building, heart racing, my palms sweaty as I clutched the envelope in my hands. It wasn’t much—just a letter I had written, explaining who I was .

I wasn’t expecting much.

I just wanted to see him.

To hear it from him.

But I never made it past the lobby.

A security guard stopped me before I could even get to the elevators, taking one look at my face and shaking his head.

“You need to leave.”

I swallowed hard. “I—I just want to talk to him.”

The guard’s expression didn’t change. “Not gonna happen.”

“I’m his son ,” I blurted out, gripping the letter tighter.

The man sighed. “Yeah. I know.”

I froze. “You know ?”

His jaw tightened, like this wasn’t the first time he’d had to do this. “Mr. Callahan left strict orders. If you ever showed up, you were to be turned away. No exceptions.”

It was like the floor had been ripped out from under me.

I stood there, staring at him, feeling those words settle over me like a suffocating fog.

No exceptions. I was nothing to him.

I didn’t even get to see his face. Didn’t get to ask why . And in that moment, I hated him.

Not just for abandoning me. Not just for pretending I didn’t exist.

But for making me hope that he was anything other than the cold, selfish bastard he really was.