Chapter 54: What did you do, Roman?

Malachi’s pov

My arm was on fire.

A hot, tearing graze that bled like a son of a bitch. I gritted my teeth, my jaw tight, as two paramedics in sterile blue scrubs swarmed me in our private airport hangar.

Their hands were all over me, their voices droning all around me. I had to get Roman the hell out of here. The bastard sniper who knicked me with the bullet must have the balls the size of Texas. Had he managed to shoot despite being surrounded by security?

"Sir, you need to hold still-"

"It’s just a graze," I bit out, trying to shrug off the sterile pad they were pressing to my bicep. "I can get on the fucking jet."

Across the tarmac, Roman had his phone pressed to his ear, his back ramrod straight. I could feel his tension from here.

He was like a live wire thrumming violently. I didn’t need to hear him to know he was screaming. I knew my twin. I knew that the way his free hand was fisted so tight his knuckles were white, and he was shaking as he was screaming over the phone at Gideon.

"It’s Daxton. It’s fucking Daxton, you should have let me kill him!"

Fuck, why on earth was G twelve hours away? Someone had to stop Roman before he went mad, and these people fussing all over me had no idea what the hell was brewing! Ken, his assistant, was just standing next to him, looking blank and pale. Do something, for fucks sake.

"Sir, we need to stop the bleeding before you can board," one of the paramedics insisted, his voice grating on my nerves.

"Then fucking stop it," I snarled, trying to pull away. "The sooner we get in the air, the better."

"Ro!" I yelled, my voice cracking. I needed him to get off the phone. I needed him here, where I could see him.

He snapped his phone shut and was at my side in three long strides, his sunny blonde curls seeming to darken with his mood. His hazel eyes, usually so warm and calm, were wide with a fear I knew all too well.

"What are they doing?" he demanded, his voice sharp, already losing its soothing melody. "Why the hell hasn’t the bleeding stopped?"

I forced a grin, ignoring the fire in my arm. "Would you relax? It’s just a flesh wound. They’re being dramatic. Let’s just get on the plane, yeah?" I needed to get him away from here, away from the blood, away from the trigger.

But it was too late. The switch had been flipped. Roman was already shaking, a tremor running through his lean frame. His jaw was gritted, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

"I’ll find the bastard who did this," he hissed. "I’ll fucking skin him alive."

"No, Ro. How about we leave for Wisteria, then we discuss with G how to solve this-"

"SECURITY!" Roman bellowed, his voice echoing through the hangar. His head whipped around, his eyes wild, scanning for them. "WHERE THE FUCK ARE THEY?"

When they didn’t appear instantly, he snapped. He lunged for a nearby cart of medical supplies, sending it crashing to the floor. Metal instruments clattered, and glass vials shattered.

"USELESS!" he roared, kicking the wreckage. "WHERE THE HELL ARE THEY?"

My blood ran cold. I remembered this. I remembered him like this. Ten years ago, in a cold, sterile hospital hallway.

We were seventeen; the doctor had just come out to tell us Dad and mom was dead. Roman hadn’t cried. He hadn’t even said a word. He just... wrecked the entire fucking floor. Gowns, charts, equipment- he had torn through it all like a hurricane of grief and rage.

I couldn’t let that happen again. If the press got a whiff of this, it would be a goddamn media circus. More importantly, I couldn’t watch him go dark again. That rage, it ate him alive from the inside out.

"Ro, stop it!" I tried to keep my voice level; I fucking tried. "Calm down."

He didn’t even hear me. He was scanning the room, his gaze wild, looking for something or someone to break.

"Roman, knock it the fuck off!" I bellowed, sucking air through my teeth as one of the annoying paramedics stabbed me with an injection.

"This isn’t helping! This is exactly what they want! And what the fuck did you just inject into me?"

"Just something to help you calm down, sir," The lady stuttered, backing away quickly.

"Wait a bloody minute, did you just sedate me?"

Just then, two security guards came running into the hangar.

"The CCTV footage," Roman demanded, grabbing one of them by the shirt. "I want every second of it from the moment we arrived. Now."

"Don’t, Ro," I called, holding a hand out. Why the hell was everything spinning? "Don’t show him the footage. Don’t...."

My words slurred, and my vision swam. The sedative was kicking in fast. The last thing I saw was Roman turning back to me, his eyes darkening.

"I’ll get him," he promised. "Ken, stay with my brother; do not ever leave his side."

Then everything went black.

***

When I woke up, the low hum of the jet’s engines was very comforting. I was stretched out on a brown leather couch. My arm was bandaged up tight, and my mouth felt like it was full of cotton. I sat up, my head swimming, my first and only thought clear as day.

"Where’s my brother?"

A faint, frantic rattling sound from the other side of the cabin caught my attention. I squinted, my gaze focusing past the seats on the jets.

"Kai! You’re awake!"

A cheerful voice filled the air, and Roman appeared in front of me, a huge, blinding grin on his face. He launched himself at me, wrapping me in a bone-crushing hug.

The stench hit me like a physical blow. It was coppery, thick, and suffocating.

"Why the fuck do you stink like that?" I shoved him away with my good arm, my eyes widening. He was drenched in it.

Blood.

It was splattered across his white shirt, soaked into the sleeves of his jacket, smeared on his neck and jaw. It looked like he’d bathed in it.

My gaze flickered past him, back towards the sound earlier. Tied to the leg of the built-in bar on the jet was a man.

He was slumped against the champagne-colored carpet, his wrists bound behind his back with zip ties; his ankles were secured the same way. His face was a swollen, bruised mess of purple and black, one eye swollen completely shut.

Dried blood caked his nostrils and a split in his lower lip. But the worst part was his mouth. It was forced open, stretched to an impossible, grotesque width around the toe and sole of a leather shoe.

The entire heel of the shoe was shoved deep into his throat, choking him, causing the frantic, muffled sounds I had heard.

"Fuck, Ro," I groaned, my eyes fixed on the pathetic, broken man. "What did you do?"