Page 18 of A Dance With Devils
My legs clamp closed, hands grasping my robe to try covering whatever is fucking left of myself given the scrambling around I’ve been doing on this floor. It’s too late in reality. He’s probably just seen everything, but that doesn’t mean I’m revealing it willingly in any way.
He cocks a brow, one hand in his pocket and the other swinging that chain and ball around that he had. No words, though. Just silence and his presence three feet out from me. And then the sound of boots run in from behind me somewhere, all of them coming to an abrupt halt when they see what’s in front of them. I struggle again, pushing myself onto my front to get up, and swing my eyes between him and the three behind me. Any chance I just had is blown. No way through any of them, and something makes me think I’d have more chance with tackling the three than Malachi alone.
“Running wasn’t part of our bargain, Ally cat,” he suddenly says, a gravel to his tone, as he continues swinging his ball. “Not yet, at least.”
What does that mean?
He wanders closer, close enough that the heat of him near pins me to the wall I’m trying to climb inside, and snatches his ball out of the air it’s swinging through. “I like chasing, though.”
One final glance over me, his eyes raking over everything on display rather than concentrating on my face this time, and he walks off in the direction I came from. It’s a slow gait away from me. Nothing hurried, or even particularly purposeful in it. Calm. Relaxed. Which is completely fucking opposed to the rate my heart’s traveling at. Either way, I’m still not getting in a plane anytime soon, and my legs propelling me off this wall and away down the hall again should let everyone know that.
Five strides and I’m around another corner, hands ready to push the double doors coming at me wide so I can escape. They don’t budge, and the rest of me collides with them so hard that a shriek comes out of my mouth at the pain.
Hands pick me up instantly, several of them hauling my arms and legs across the floor back towards the plane I am not getting in. I buck and ruck up in their grip, using every part of my strength to get out of their damn hold. Nothing works. I’m like a rag doll between them, easily twisted and turned to get me further back down the hallway.
The familiar sight of the plane looms large, as I’m carried and clamped harder through the doorway. It makes me squirm, legs finally kicking enough that one of them drops me and I can gain traction. My elbows rip backwards, pummelling the one guy left holding me in one last rally of energy, and I spin to launch back away.
A hand unexpectedly catches my neck. It’s so harsh, I nearly choke on the feel of it. I’m twisted, the pressure of a thumb forcing me at the plane again, and it isn’t until it loosens slightly that I realise it’s him holding me – Malachi.
“The games haven’t begun yet, Ally cat,” he murmurs, as I’m pushed closer to the plane. “I’d save some energy if I was you. Relax while you can.”
Scent assaults me because of his proximity, as we get closer to the steps. A heady scent. Masculine. It doesn’t stop the fact that my feet are still trying to back-peddle under me, shoulders trying to avoid the pressure on my neck. It’s too sharp on me, though. Too direct and severe for me to escape. I can feel his nails close to my jugular, the cold glint of a ring touching my skin, his thumb heavy under my hair, as he moves me any way he chooses.
“Listen,” he says, pushing something to my ear. “Relax.”
“Ally?” The sound of Whit’s voice coming over the line makes me still a little.
“Whit? What the fuck is going on?”
“Calm down. Go with him. You could use the break.” A break?
A goddamned break?
I snatch at the phone by my ear, trying to wrench my neck from Malachi’s hold in the process. It doesn’t work, and the plane just keeps getting closer and closer. “Is this something to do with you, Whit? With the past? I don’t understand. Do I have to go?”
“No, but you’ll be safe if you do. Kind of.”
“Kind of?”
“Just go, Ally. I’ve got the boys covered.”
The phone goes dead.
“We’ll have a drink first. Gin, wasn’t it?” Malachi says, as my bare feet hit the metal steps. “Keep moving. Don’t make me hurt you yet.” Yet?
What the hell does that mean?
I try turning, try getting in his face, but I’m pushed so hard I end up tripping over my own legs until the grip on my neck hauls me upright again.
“Don’t,” scrambles out of my mouth. “I can’t … you don’t understand …”
Nothing changes. Firm grip. Sharp hold, ready to take me anywhere he damn well pleases. Everything inside me rages and bellows out of my mouth, fear of this damn plane inducing all kinds of words to come out. I can barely breathe as we get to the door, and it’s nothing to do with his hand on me. It’s the box. The tin box with wings that might fall off and drop us all to the ground. I can’t … can’t breathe. Can’t talk anymore or breathe or fucking think about anything but tin and the sky and things that don’t make any sense to me.
It’s not right. Nothing is right here.
And now I’m fucking dizzy and we’re all going to die and there was no point hiding at all.
Chapter 8
