Chapter 28

Malachi

Malachi locked his knees to stop from sinking to the ground because he didn't want Jacobs to pull the trigger, thinking he was trying to get away. But something he had said sparked the researcher in him. There was "a plan." If that was the case, even if that plan was to kill them both, they might be able to keep him talking for a bit before they got to the finale.

"Will you tell me what happened to make them think you weren't fit for duty?" he asked, his voice wobbling.

Jacobs met his gaze, and a chill went down his spine. That was a man who had nothing left to lose. The stare lasted a second longer than most would, making Malachi stop breathing before Jacobs raised his eyebrows. "Why do you care?" The gun remained at his forehead, steady as anything.

Malachi understood the undertone of the question, and he had two choices. He could tell the truth, or he could lie. The truth might get him angry, or it could make him soften slightly because he was truthful. If Jacobs realised he lied, it could set them up for disaster.

He went for the truth. "I don't. But there are plenty of people who would. If you want to tell me your story, I could write it down."

"You won't be alive to publish it, though," Jacobs said, the matter-of-fact tone spreading even more fear through him.

Malachi swallowed. "I can publish it before," he croaked.

Jacobs glanced over at Nick when he stepped to the side, the gun moving against his forehead, and his breath hitched. The man reached behind him and something jangled. Jacobs threw the item at Nick, who caught it reflexively.

"Lock yourself to the radiator. Where I can see you."

Nick opened his mouth to argue but met Malachi's gaze and snapped his mouth shut again. Shoulders lowered, Nick did as he was told, and the clicks of the handcuffs being snapped into place sent Malachi's heart rate through the roof. They had to do something, but what?

The gun lowered from his head, and he held his breath until Jacobs stepped back. "Where's your laptop?"

Malachi straightened, an idea forming. "In my bag." He gestured to the backpack on the breakfast bar.

"Take it out. But remember, I know tech stuff, so don't mess with me. This will be aimed at you the entire time," he said, waving the gun.

"I won't try anything."

Malachi shuffled over to his bag, pulled his laptop free and rested it on the bar before opening the lid. He logged in, as usual, and settled onto the stool, grateful he could sit. He glanced at Nick, who stood, slightly hunched, next to the window. Nick smiled and nodded, and it made Malachi feel easier about the situation. Not that it was a great situation, but at least he'd managed to give them a little more time.

Jacobs sat beside him, facing Nick, but able to see Malachi, too. He tilted the screen a little lower.

"Make sure I can see the screen," Jacobs said.

"Sorry, is that okay? I need it lower or the reflection from the window stops me from seeing it."

Jacobs stared at the laptop, which he wouldn't be able to see properly from where he was, and nodded slowly. "Make it good."

Malachi nodded and hovered his fingers over the keys. "You tell me in your own words, and I'll write it down."

Jacobs went quiet, seemingly contemplating where to start. "My entire family is in the Army. Generation after generation signed up with no clue what it would do to them. Or to the ones left behind. Mum was never the same when Dad died. He had been captured and tortured, but eventually rescued, but it was too late. Even though she was still in the army, she wasn't really there, not even with her family.

"The Army became my life. I lived for it, breathed for it, pretty much died for it, and when they deemed me unfit because of something that happened during an event they have now swept under the rug, they have the audacity to say, ‘It's how it's done.'" He shook his head. "Finding a new purpose was hard at first, but when I was approached by those who had received the same treatment I had, it was easy to join. It makes sense, what they say."

"What do they say?" Malachi dared to ask.

Jacobs gave him that cold, flat stare again. "That we are vessels to provide the truth."

"What truth?"

"That only the strong survive. And only the Army can make you strong."

Malachi raised his eyebrows. Despite their current predicament, he found himself intrigued. "Even though they deemed you unfit?"

"They had no choice. I was no longer the strongest. But I worked hard and fought for my place. And I'm back where I should be."

"Which is where?" Nick asked, and Jacobs looked at him. Malachi used the opportunity to open another window and send an email, brief but to the point.

"The Army. They can't acknowledge me in the same format as before, but my superiors are happy with my ethics." He glanced back at Malachi. "I want people to understand that they need to work hard and work smart. It's the only way to survive in this world."

"And where do we come into that?" Nick asked, and Malachi wished he hadn't brought attention back to them.

"You haven't had the required training. You refuse to follow the rules. You're weak but pretend to be strong. It doesn't work that way."

"What about those people who haven't been trained by the Army but are just as strong as those who have?" Nick continued.

Jacobs shook his head before he'd finished his question. "It doesn't work that way," he repeated. "Only the Army can train you how you need to be to live in this treacherous world. You need to know how to look after yourself and others, how to locate and identify those of a weaker standing, and how to dispose of them. How else can we survive? We also need to show others how close we can get without anyone knowing. Which is what we did to you and your grandmother."

Malachi's throat dried up at the fanatical words, despite the outwardly calm demeanour of their kidnapper. He had no idea of how they could make him change his mind, or how to subdue him. They needed help, and fast. Hopefully, Felix had got his message quickly enough that they were on their way.

"Do you have sniper training?"

Jacobs tilted his head, staring at him in that almost unseeing way. "We all need it."

"Is there anything else you want to add?" Malachi asked.

"Only that the trap is set, and all the flies will soon meet their match."

Malachi typed those final words, asked a couple more questions about the article itself, to bide more time, and then added a few things before hovering over the publish button.

"Ready?"

Jacobs tilted his head. "I will admit to enjoying the back-and-forth we've had. You're smart. Both of you. But you'd need the proper training before you'd survive."

"Is that something we could get?" Nick asked. "Could we be rehabilitated?"

Jacobs shook his head. "Maybe before the kill order, but not after. It's too late."

"I am weak," Malachi said suddenly. He lifted his gaze to Jacobs. "Will you make it quick?"

Jacobs nodded. "We do not prolong the agony of those who need rebirth. Every execution is quick and painless."

"How many executions have you done?" Nick said.

"Too many people didn't have the strength."

"It weighs heavily, doesn't it?" Nick said. "Too much blood on your hands that it's hard to tell when they're clean."

Jacobs tilted his head again. "You shouldn't understand," he muttered. "If you didn't have the strength, how would you know that?"

Malachi's attention veered to the cupboard behind Jacobs. A red light wavered against the wood, and he breathed a relieved sigh. The red dot split into five, then one disappeared, then another, and Malachi realised it was a countdown. He glanced over at Nick quickly, who dipped his head once in acknowledgement of seeing them, and Malachi refocused again. Two dots merged into one, and when that disappeared, he threw himself to the floor and covered his head. He expected a shattering of glass, a thump as Jacobs fell to the floor, anything but the silence that reigned.

Then his hearing kicked back in, and Nick was shouting his name. "Malachi? Kai! Kai, answer me! Are you okay?"

Malachi groaned and rose, rubbing his hip where he'd bashed it going down. He raced over to Nick. "Are you okay?"

"Fuck, how did they know?" He looked through the window, squinting.

"I managed to send Felix an email."

Nick stared at him for a moment. "You're going to give me a heart attack every day, aren't you?"

Malachi grinned. "Maybe." He kissed him. "Let's get you unlocked." He went to turn, but Nick said his name again, the cuffs rattling when he reached for him and was stopped.

"Stay with me, sweetheart. You don't need to see that. I can wait for reinforcements as long as I need to with you by my side."

****

Reinforcements hadn't taken long, and someone brought the keys over. By the time Nick was out of the cuffs—with red, painful gouges in his skin from where he'd tried to get free—someone had draped a cover over Jacobs, shielding Malachi from the vision of him dead. He wasn't sure if he needed to see it, but he acquiesced when Nick said he didn't.

Nick slid his arm around his shoulders and steered him towards the bedroom. After encouraging him to sit on the bed, Nick crouched in front of him. "How are you feeling?"

Malachi exhaled, long and loud. "Less shaky than I was. I've got a headache, though."

Nick brushed his fingertips across his forehead, and Malachi could feel a bruise already forming. Having a gun-shaped bruise on his forehead was going to look wonderful. He shook his head, silently reprimanding himself, because at least he was alive. At least they were alive.

"Talk to me, sweetheart," Nick said, squeezing his hands. "What's going through that clever brain of yours?"

Malachi scoffed. "I'm not feeling particularly clever. I didn't even check the peephole before I opened the door. That was stupid."

"Should you have checked the peephole? Yes. Would the result have been different? No, I doubt it because Jacobs would have found his way into the place some other way. And if he'd found a different way in, we'd be dead because he would've shot us on sight due to the amount of noise he would've probably had to make. You actually saved us." Nick smiled. "How the heck did you get that email out?"

"When you started asking him questions, and he looked at you, I switched to email and sent one. It only said—"

"Nick's home. Hostages," Felix said, entering the room with a grim smile. "Best email I've ever received. How are you feeling, Kai?"

"Shaken, but I'll be fine. Who was the sniper? I'd like to thank them for the countdown."

Brett entered behind Felix. "Someone who prefers to remain anonymous. But I'll pass on your thanks."

"It's okay," Felix mumbled, glancing at Brett before looking at them.

"Felix…"

Felix smiled and shook his head. "It's about time I stopped hiding, Brett. That sniper would be me."

Nick stood, stared at Felix and said, "All those times…?" Felix tensed but nodded. Nick pulled the man in for a hug, and the expression on Felix's face was nothing short of flabbergasted. "I can't thank you enough for every time you've done it. I can imagine how difficult you found it. Why…? Never mind. It doesn't matter. Thank you."

Felix nodded. "You're welcome." He pulled away and smiled at Malachi. "Chin up, yeah?"

Malachi nodded back. "Thank you."

The strain on Felix's face was easy to see, and Brett could see it, too, by the deepening lines on his face as he studied the man. Malachi probably had as many questions for Felix as Nick did, but in the end, it was nobody's business but his. It was obviously something he didn't want to talk about, and they would respect that.

Felix left with a wave, and Brett watched him before turning back to them. "I saw what you wrote on the laptop. Is that really what he was saying?"

"He was almost fanatical. Brainwashed. It's like he had no concept of why someone wouldn't want to go into the army." He shrugged.

Brett closed his eyes, resting his head back against the doorframe in an uncharacteristic show of tiredness. "Some people don't understand, no matter how many times you try to explain it." He pushed off the doorframe. "Get some rest. I want you at Sec HQ tomorrow morning, bright and breezy."

"We'll be at Malachi's if you need us."

Brett nodded and disappeared. Malachi exhaled again.

"Is it over?" he asked.

"I hope so," Nick said. "This seemed like the last point in their plan for us. After all, we were supposed to die. What else could've happened to us after that?"

Malachi grimaced. "That thought is for if I ever turn to writing horror fiction or fantasy." He shivered. "Which I doubt I will."

Nick chuckled and wrapped his arms around him again. "Let's go."

The journey was a blur, but when they finally closed the door to Malachi's home, his knees gave out, and he sank to the floor. Nick picked him up as if he weighed nothing and carried him to the bedroom, setting him on the bed. When he went to pull back, Malachi grabbed him.

"No."

Nick seemed to understand what Malachi was trying to say, which was a good thing because his brain couldn't find the words. A funny thing, as words were his life.

"It's okay. We're safe now."

Nick kept mumbling to him, who knew for how long, but eventually, Malachi came back to himself, stiff and aching, but not in the pleasant way he wished it was.

"Ah, there he is," Nick mumbled as Malachi moved his head to look at him. They were lying on the bed with Malachi almost on top of Nick. "My amazing, gorgeous boyfriend."

"I don't feel so amazing. A man lost his life because of me."

Nick cupped his jaw. "No. A man lost his life because of him. He chose that life. He chose to kill."

"But should he have died for it?"

Nick sighed. "I know what you're saying, Kai. As much as it pains me to say, some people are more dangerous alive and incarcerated. That doesn't mean we should be judge, jury and executioner. It just means that, as horrible as it is, sometimes we don't have a choice."

"I know. I really do. It's just a little close to home right now."

Nick tightened his hold. "I know."

Malachi soaked in the warmth of Nick's body, trying to keep it for himself. "How long was I out?"

"About an hour."

Malachi reared back. "Oh god! Sorry. You must need to move by now."

Nick pulled him back down again. "There's nowhere I'd rather be than wrapped around you." His stomach chose that moment to growl, and he chuckled. "We probably should eat, though."

Malachi huffed a laugh. "I should probably feed the beast before he eats me."

"That idea has merit."

It took Malachi a moment to catch on, and then he swiped at Nick's hands, laughing as he tried to get away. "Food first!"

Nick paused. "Fine."

Malachi climbed off him. "I'll make us some soup and toasties to tide us over."

"I can order takeaway."

"No!" Malachi froze, having not expected such a vehement response. He stared at Nick, who patiently gazed back. "It might take a while before I can do that again."

Nick nodded. "Whatever you want."

"I forgot to ask, did they find Carlos?"

"Yeah. He's fine. He was knocked out but alive. A few bumps and bruises, but he's good."

Malachi exhaled. "That's good. I would have hated being the reason he died, too."

Nick grabbed his arm as he went to leave the room and swung him around to face him. He cupped his cheeks. "You are not the reason. If anyone was, it was me. But why are we beating ourselves up about something they did? It was their fault. They came after us. They chose to hurt us. A man died because of choices we had to make, but if they hadn't made those choices before us, we wouldn't have had to make them."

The words finally pierced his brain, and his shoulders lowered. "You're right. It might take me a while to truly believe it, but I know you're right."

"Good. We have time to help you believe it." Nick dropped a kiss on his lips. "Now, let's get those toasties." His stomach grumbled again.

"We might need a whole loaf of bread for the number of toasties you'll need to fill that hole."

"I can think of other holes that could be filled." Nick waggled his eyebrows, and Malachi laughed. A real laugh he hadn't thought he'd be able to do so soon.

Malachi kissed him, deepening it when the taste of Nick flooded his mouth. He wrapped his arms around his neck and took everything he could. Reminding himself of what he had. At least until Nick's stomach complained again. He broke the kiss, laughing.

"Fine! I'll feed you!" He pushed away and headed for the kitchen. Everything would be okay. It would. It just might take some adjustments on his part. Maybe he should talk to someone. A counsellor or someone. He just had to keep reminding himself that he was alive, Nick was alive, and the threat was gone.

And as they settled down to eat, he could almost believe it.

****