Page 8 of Savage Hearts
He pauses another beat. “She’d get over it eventually.”
My smile is dark. “You don’t know Natalie.”
He’s starting to look confused. “So, you’re not the head of this family? She is?”
He’s got about ten seconds of life left, and the clock is ticking.
I snap, “I take it you’re not married.”
He grimaces. “Of course not.”
“In a relationship?”
“Is that a joke?”
“Then you couldn’t possibly understand.”
He looks around the room as if trying to find someone more reasonable to speak to.
“You don’t have to comprehend, Malek. You just have to abide by the request.”
“It sounded more like an order.”
My smile is grim. “Call it what you like. The result of noncompliance will be the same: death. I’ll make it slow and painful.”
We gaze at each other in tense silence until he says, “It’s been a long time since anyone threatened me.”
“I believe you. It isn’t personal.”
“Of course it’s personal.”
“Like I said, you couldn’t understand. Get yourself a fiancée, and it’ll become clearer.”
I have to admit, the expression of incredulity on his face is perversely satisfying.
He takes a moment to gather his thoughts. Stroking a hand over his dark beard, he watches me with calculating eyes. There’s a distinct possibility he’s debating how he’d like to kill me, but I simply wait for him to decide which way this conversation will go.
Eventually, he says, “A fiancée. I suppose congratulations are in order.”
Knowing that’s as close as he’ll get to admitting he’s decided not to bother with an attempt on my life and also will spare Sloane when he kills Declan, I smile. “Thank you. You’ll come to the wedding, of course.”
He looks like he’d rather be roasted alive and fed to wild dogs, but he finally shows some manners and says solemnly, “It would be my honor.”
We drink another toast. We talk for a few more moments. I give him a picture of Declan and another of Sloane, both of which he tucks into his coat pocket. Then he rises unexpectedly and informs me he has to be on his way.
Without a farewell, he turns and heads to the door.
“Malek.”
His hand on the door handle, he pauses to look back at me.
“Don’t harm any other women while you’re at it, either.”
He gazes at me in that silent, annoying way he has that makes me want to grab the nearest machete and start hacking away at his neck, if only to get a reaction.
“Just don’t kill any fucking females that might be around when you’re taking care of your business, all right?”
“What difference does it make?”
