7. Aria

7

ARIA

I get up and shower, and I even scrape the very last of my coffee from the tin and make my way to the laundromat…only for the blasted dryer to die on me. Even worse, there are only five dryers. Five. Just five. In a freaking laundromat.

The scent of stale detergent and damp clothes that filled the small, crowded space lingers in my nose. I'm not at all bitter about how someone else decides to run their business, but how can someone even run a business when all five of the dryers don't work? Now, I'm stuck dragging a basket of wet laundry down the sidewalk, the crisp autumn air doing little to improve my mood.

I let out a frustrated growl at the wet clothing loud enough to make heads turn, then I kick the basket, sending a few socks flying. Sometimes, a girl just needs to let out some steam. I instantly regret my actions as my clean laundry spills all over the sidewalk. I whine, choking on my emotions, and drop my head back to stare at the bright sky, pretending I have my shit together, even if I don't.

I'm struggling with my laundry basket when I hear a vehicle pull up across the street. Glancing over, I see a van with tinted windows. My heart rate picks up, remembering Quinn from last night. Is he following me?

"Aria?" a voice calls. I'm instantly on the defense. My head jerks around to the man crossing the street, heading right for me. Dressed in all black, including black cargo pants and black sunglasses perched on his afro, he looks like he's out to kill someone.

"Who the fuck are you, and how do you know my name?" Hands on hips, I step in front of my laundry, hoping like hell I don't smell like an ice cream truck on a hot summer day, but the odds might be against me with my emotions, so I'll act like a tough bitch.

What would Cayenne do? Probably kill him.

He holds up his hands, and his lips tick up into a smile I don't find appealing. I don't, I'll swear to it.

"Aria, my name is Malachi, and my pack brother right over there," he drawls, pointing at a parked van, where three sets of eyes peer out at me, "brought you home last night."

If I squint hard enough, I can see Quinn.

"All right," I mutter, even though my heart skips a beat at the sight of Quinn and Dash once more.

"Need a hand?" he inquires, his voice tinged with a foreign twang. It isn't local, that's for certain.

Scrunching up my nose, I glance suspiciously at him. Accepting help from strangers is a big no-no. Swallowing the urge to throw myself into his arms, I shake my head in refusal.

"I'm fine." I sure as heck don't want to catch his scent. Once that happens, I might feel like nuzzling him, and if I start nuzzling him, who knows where it will lead? It's basically the omega version of If You Give a Mouse a Cookie.

"Your call," Malachi remarks, his accent sending chills down my spine. Bending down gracefully, he starts gathering my scattered laundry with practiced ease. His movements are fluid, almost elegant, and I'm unable to tear my gaze away.

"What's your game?" I snap out, the edge in my tone unmistakable.

"Just lending a hand. Sometimes, even the strongest among us need help, whether we ask for it or not," he retorts without lifting his gaze.

I huff, crossing my arms over my chest. "I told you, I don't need help," I insist.

He pays no mind to my protest, continuing to pile the wet clothes into the basket. "You know, pride is one thing, but struggling for no reason is another." He meets my gaze, his brown eyes sharp and unwavering. "I'm not a threat to you, Aria."

The way he says my name sends another shiver through me. I swallow hard, attempting to focus on the task at hand rather than the magnetic pull I feel toward him. "How do you know my name?" I inquire again, my voice softer this time, more curious than accusatory.

"Quinn mentioned it," he states simply, as if that clarifies everything. "He couldn't stop gushing about the girl with enough guts to take on a drunk alpha. Said you had the courage of a lion and the wit to match." Under his breath, he adds, "Even if I only just learned about it."

Salty much?

My cheeks flush at the memory. I hadn't thought much of it at the time, but now, under Malachi's intense gaze, I feel exposed, and he's looking at me as though I should say something. I shift on my feet, trying to hide my discomfort. "Well, Quinn has a big mouth," I mutter.

Malachi chuckles a deep, rich sound that makes my toes curl. "He does, but he's also a good judge of character. If he trusts you, then that means something."

I glance over at the van, where Quinn and the others are watching. Dash gives me a lazy wave, flashing a grin that's pure mischief. "Need a hand with that mountain of laundry, Aria?" he calls out.

I sigh, realizing I'm not going to win this battle. "Fine," I say, my voice barely above a whisper. "You can help." Men like to feel useful, so he can carry the wet laundry.

Malachi's smile widens as he stands up, my laundry basket now neatly packed. "Good choice," he says. "Where to?"

"Just a few more blocks," I reply, pointing down the street, "to the next laundromat."

We walk in silence for a moment, the sounds of the city filling the space between us. The distant honking of horns, the chatter of pedestrians, and the hum of traffic create a symphony of urban life. I keep sneaking glances at Malachi, my curiosity getting the better of me. He's tall, broad shouldered, and moves with the confidence of someone who knows how to handle himself. His presence is both comforting and unsettling—a contradiction that makes my heart race.

"So, you and Quinn…" I begin, searching for a topic to break the silence. "You're pack brothers?"

Malachi nods. "We are," he answers. "Dash and Quinn are actual brothers. We run a business together." He pauses and holds out his hand. "Puritan City Alpha Security at your service." His voice drops like he's poking fun at himself.

"And what do you protect?" I ask, genuinely interested as I shake his hand. Oh, calluses.

Malachi hesitates, his expression turning serious. "We protect people. Sometimes politicians." He jerks his head at the park. "Sometimes when a celebrity comes through, we work their security detail. All kinds of jobs."

I can sense there's more to the story, but I don't press. Not my circus. Instead, I find myself sharing more about me than I have with anyone in a long time. "A lot of people could use that service." Like omegas. "I've had to protect myself for a long time. It's not easy being an—" Oops, I almost told him I'm an omega. "Beta."

Malachi's gaze softens. "No, it's not," he agrees, "but you're strong, Aria. I can see that. Not many people can drag a laundry basket down a sidewalk. And maybe you're also a little stubborn. Adorably so."

I'm going to just gloss right over that adorable bullshit.

"Wet laundry. That shit is heavy." His words tug at something deep within me. Despite my years of hiding and pretending, his sincerity makes me ache inside. "Thank you," I whisper softly.

We reach the laundromat one block over and as far from my apartment as possible, and Malachi sets the basket down inside the door. "Here we are," he says, straightening up. His eyes scan the place, taking in every detail.

I follow his gaze, seeing the laundromat through his eyes. It's nothing much, just a small place on a street corner with bug traps in the corners and bars on the windows. The flickering fluorescent lights cast an eerie glow, and the air feels thick with humidity and the smell of cheap detergent.

"Need anything else?" Malachi asks, his tone casual but his posture tense.

I shake my head, feeling a strange sense of loss as he prepares to leave. "No, that's all. Thank you, Malachi. See ya, bye!"

He doesn't move, his eyes still roaming the space. A man in the corner gives me a long, uncomfortable look, and Malachi's jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. "I have a proposition," he says, turning back to me.

"What kind of proposition?" I ask warily, shoving my clothes into the dryer and inserting quarters. I nearly weep with joy when it rumbles to life. Win!

"I'm not leaving you here alone," he states, crossing his arms over his broad chest. "It doesn't look safe."

I blink at him, taken aback by his bluntness. "I've been coming here for a while. The only thing I need to worry about is the owner of the Chinese buffet next door and his smoking habit." The man smokes like a chimney. Secondhand smoke is no joke.

"Maybe so, but I'm not taking any chances." He leans against the wall, his gaze unwavering. "It's not negotiable."

I open my mouth to argue but find myself at a loss for words. There's something about the way he says it and the determination in his voice that makes me hesitate. "Why do you care?" I ask, my voice softer now, more curious than confrontational.

He looks at me, and for a moment, I see something raw and honest in his eyes. "Because I've seen what can happen when people think they can handle everything on their own, and I've seen what happens when they don't have anyone to watch their back."

Well, that hits a little too close to home.

The sincerity in his words catches me off guard, and I nod slowly. "Fine," I say, my voice barely above a whisper. "You can stay. If you insist."

Malachi's lips curve into a small, satisfied smile, and he settles more comfortably against the wall. "Good choice."

I roll my eyes but can't help the small smile tugging at my lips. I'm not sure I had a choice. "You're awfully sure of yourself."

"Comes with the alpha territory," he replies, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

We fall into a companionable silence, the hum of the dryer filling the space between us. I sneak glances at him, my curiosity growing with each passing moment. There's something about him, something that draws me in despite my better judgment, and I know how terrible my judgment is.

Suddenly, the bell above the door jingles, and a group of rowdy men stumble in, reeking of alcohol. Their loud voices and aggressive postures immediately set me on edge. I tense up, my hand instinctively reaching for my phone.

Malachi straightens, his relaxed demeanor instantly replaced by alertness. He positions himself subtly between the newcomers and me, his presence reassuring yet not overbearing.

"Everything okay?" he asks quietly, his eyes never leaving the group.

I nod, grateful for his presence in a way I hadn't expected. "Yeah, I'm fine," I reply, but my voice trembles.

Malachi stands up straighter and crosses his arms as he watches the group toss laundry in the washers and then leave just as quickly as they came. I instantly deflate as that damn bell jingles again.

"So what do you do when you're not rescuing damsels in distress?" I ask, leaning against the dryer and crossing my arms over my chest.

Dammit, stop asking personal questions.

Malachi chuckles, the sound warm and rich. "I told you, we protect people. It's not always glamorous, but we fill a need."

I nod, mulling over his words. "That must be…fulfilling, knowing you're making a difference." I unravel another orange candy and pop it in my mouth.

Good gravy, small talk makes me want to shove an icepick through my eyes.

"It is," he agrees, his gaze softening, "but it can also be hard. There's a lot of darkness in the world."

"Tell me about it," I mutter, thinking of my own struggles.

He tilts his head, studying me with those piercing brown eyes. "We are all stronger than we are willing to give ourselves credit for. Even you, Aria."

The way he says my name sends a shiver down my spine, and I look away, unable to hold his gaze. "Thanks," I mumble, not sure how to respond.

We lapse into silence again, and I feel oddly comforted by his presence. There's a sense of safety with him here—a feeling I haven't had in a long time. As the dryer rumbles on, I sneak another glance at Malachi, wondering what it is about him that makes me feel this way.

"So why Puritan City?" he asks suddenly, breaking the silence.

I blink, caught off guard by the question. "What do you mean?"

"Why did you choose to live here? It doesn't seem like the safest place for someone like you," he questions, his words hitting a little too close to home.

I sigh, running a hand through my hair. "How do you know I'm not from Puritan City?" I cross my arms defensively.

"Your accent." Malachi smirks.

"Busted." I sigh and slump into a chair. "You can take the girl away from the sunshine, but you can't take the sunshine out of the girl."

Malachi's smile turns into one full of teeth, and damn me, he has a dimple. "Sometimes, the places we end up are the ones we need the most."

Well, I was not expecting wisdom with this little encounter. It's like talking to that owl from Winnie the Pooh.

I raise an eyebrow, intrigued. "You think so?"

"I do," he says, a hint of a smile on his lips. "I like to think the universe guides us to our forever home. As long as we listen, then our strength grows."

He keeps saying that, but he knows nothing about me. Nothing at all. He has no idea I don't feel strong or that I've allowed myself to fall into one of the worst relationship situations a gal can end up in. I'm not strong. I look away, boredom instantly making me twitchy.

I stand up, moving to check the dryer, needing to do something with my hands. The warm air greets me as I open the door, but the clothes are still damp. Of course they are. Just my luck. I glance back at Malachi, who's watching me with a look I can't quite decipher.

"You really don't have to stay," I say, my voice softer now. "I'll be fine."

"I'm sure you will," he replies, his tone gentle but firm, "but I'm not going anywhere. I'm starting to enjoy the company."

There's a finality in his words that makes my heart skip a beat. "Why are you so insistent?" I ask, genuinely curious. "You don't even know me. And maybe you are a creepy stalker."

"Maybe not," he says, pushing off the wall and taking a step closer. "But I know what it's like to need help and not ask for it. I know what it's like to be alone when you shouldn't be." His gaze locks with mine. "What does your gut say about me, Aria?"

That I should get some condoms, because my ovaries just exploded.

His words hit a nerve, and I swallow hard, turning back to the dryer. "I'm used to it," I admit quietly. "Being alone."

"Well, not today," he says, his voice closer now. "Today, you have me as a bodyguard."

I close the dryer door and turn to face him. I've done my best to stay at least three feet from him this entire encounter, but with him invading my space, I can scent his spicy alpha musk with a dash of sunlight, even with the plugs in.

I'm going to need more candy.

I'm a slut for sunlight, and from the smell of it, he's using the same dampening soap, which is good, otherwise I'd demand to bathe in his sunlight.

"Why do you care?" The question slips out before I can stop it.

Malachi's eyes soften, and he takes another step closer. "Because I've seen too many people get hurt when they shouldn't have to, and because you deserve to feel safe."

The sincerity in his voice almost breaks me. I feel tears prick at the corners of my eyes, and I blink them away, not wanting to show weakness. A part of me wants to believe him, to trust in the safety he's offering. But another part, the part that still bears the scars of Noah's betrayal, screams at me to run.

I'm torn between the comfort of his presence and the fear of letting someone in again. What if this is just another trap? What if I'm setting myself up for more pain? But then I look into Malachi's eyes, and I see something I haven't seen in a long time—genuine concern.

"Thank you," I whisper, not knowing what else to say, my voice a mixture of gratitude and lingering doubt.

He nods as if he's accepting my gratitude without needing more. "How much longer do you think?" he asks, gesturing to the dryer.

I glance at the timer. "Another fifteen minutes or so."

"Then I'll wait," he says, settling back against the wall, resting his hands behind his head and closing his eyes.

I sit down on the chair again, feeling a strange sense of relief. We sit in silence for a few minutes, the hum of the dryer the only sound between us. I steal glances at him, marveling at how someone so seemingly tough could be so gentle.

He isn't overly built like most alphas, instead having a swimmer's build. He's not overly tall either, maybe six-foot, with an inch above or below. Since I'm only five-nothing, he's still a giant compared to me. What strikes me is just how clear his skin is, and it almost has a glow to it. His skin is dark and rich, with a little goatee and a few patches of lighter skin here and there.

He pops one eye open, catching me staring.

I hold his gaze like the feral bitch I am.

He smiles, dimples and all. How dare he be so handsome?

"So," he says, breaking the silence, "what do you do for fun, Aria?"

I chuckle softly, the sound almost foreign to me. "Fun? I'm not sure I remember what that is."

No fucking way I'm telling him I have a small collection of those little amigurumi crochet animals.

He smiles, and it's a beautiful thing. "Well, maybe we can change that."

"Maybe," I say, feeling a spark of something I haven't felt in a long time—hope .

Malachi's smile widens, and he leans back, his posture relaxed but somehow still commanding. "You know, as the leader of my pack, I don't often get time for fun either. But when I do, I make it count."

I raise an eyebrow, curiosity getting the better of me. "Pack leader, huh? That sounds like a lot of responsibility."

He nods, a hint of pride in his eyes. "It is. But it's also incredibly rewarding. The Clarke pack is my family, and I'd do anything for them."

I file away this information, trying not to show how much it interests me. A pack leader. No wonder he exudes such confidence and authority.

Unfortunately, my anxiety dashes that as fast as possible. I remember a man with kind eyes and a soft smile—one I fell in love with, and one who hurt me more than words can even express. I promised myself I'd never fall into that trap again, and as handsome and kind as Malachi is, I'm still not going to break the promise I made to myself.

"Thank you for staying," I say again as the buzzer goes off.

"Anytime, Aria," he replies, his eyes locking onto mine. "Anytime."

Clearing my throat, I begin to unload my clothing, just tossing them into the basket like the heathen I am.

"What are you doing?" He frowns, standing up.

"Emptying the dryer." I blink at him, because what does it look like I'm doing?

"Aren't you going to fold the laundry?"

"When I get to the apartment." I've already been out far longer than I intended, and I'm about to get sweaty. Sweaty means I get stinky. I can't get stinky in public.

"I've got it." He comes around, unloads the dryer, then lifts it only to look at me expectantly. "Lead the way."

Shit. Now I have to figure out how to get rid of an alpha in ten minutes.