Malachai moved without hesitation.
In one fluid motion, he drew the pistol from beneath his jacket and pressed the suppressor directly against the center of Cooly’s forehead. The metallic click of the hammer being cocked echoed like a gunshot.
Guests gasped. A woman stifled a scream. People scrambled backward, knocking over glasses and chairs as they cleared a wide circle around us.
Malachai’s voice didn’t rise. It stayed flat. Deadly.
“You should’ve stayed in New York.”
His finger was already tightening on the trigger.
Cooly didn’t flinch. If anything, his smile widened.
Before Malachai could squeeze, a deep voice cut through the chaos.
“Put it down, Malachai.”
Caine stepped forward, tall and imposing, flanked by two of his own security.
“You shoot him at my brother’s party and I have to go to war with the Nigerians,” Caine said flatly.
Malachai’s jaw flexed. For one terrifying second, I saw it in his eyes—he didn’t care. He was going to pull the trigger anyway.
“Please, Malachai…” I whispered.
He turned his head just enough to look at me, sneered, then slowly lowered the weapon. But his fingers clamped around my upper arm like a vice.
“We’re leaving.”
He yanked me forward so hard I nearly came out of my heels.
“Malachai—let go of me!” I screamed, twisting and fighting against his grip as he dragged me through the staring crowd.
He ignored me completely.
“Malachai, stop! You’re hurting me!”
He didn’t slow down. He didn’t look at me. He didn’t stop until we reached the waiting SUV. He threw the door open, shoved me violently into the back seat, and slammed in right behind me.
“Home. Now,” he barked at the driver.
The car peeled off, tires screeching against the asphalt.
I sat as far away from him as possible, back pressed against the door, breathing hard. My heart was racing a million miles an hour.
The night had officially gone to hell.
Chapter 23
Indigo
The second we stepped inside the house, I snatched my arm out of his grip so hard I almost stumbled.
“Don’t fucking touch me.”
Malachai closed the door behind us with a quiet click that somehow sounded louder than a gunshot. He turned slowly, eyes flat and terrifying.
“Don’t ask me shit, you lying-ass, evil-ass motherfucker!” I screamed, grabbing the heavy crystal vase off the console table and hurling it at the wall. It exploded in a satisfying crash of glass. “The Russians have been dead this whole time and you kept me locked up like a fucking prisoner?!”