Page 85 of Ruined By a Devil

“But the second it becomes too real, you put me on a plane,” I say, my voice dropping into a harsh whisper. “You trusted me enough to walk me into the crossfire, Malachi. But you don’t trust me enough to let me stand beside you while you fight.”

Malachi’s eyes darken, and I watch as the calm exterior cracks. He crosses the last foot of space between us in a single stride, his large hands coming down on my shoulders, his grip heavy and warm, anchoring me in place.

“I trust your courage,” he says, his voice low and I could almost swear, vulnerable. “I watched you stare down a gun on our wedding day. I watched you sit at a table with the man who sold you out and not blink once. I don’t doubt you.”

“Then let me stay.”

“I can’t do that,. He tightens his grip, his fingers digging into my skin. “I trust you, Jade, but I don’t trust Nolan Devlin. He has nothing left to lose and a desperate man doesn’t care about rules. If he gets to you, he breaks me and he knows that.”

I shake my head, trying to step back, but he holds me still. “I can carry a gun, Mal. I can stay in the house.”

“It isn’t enough,” Malachi grabs my wrist. “Come here.”

He doesn’t pull me hard, but he doesn’t give me a choice either. He takes me down the short hallway and pushes open the door to his back office. The room smells like stale coffee and gun oil, the desk completely buried in papers, blueprints, and sprawling city maps. The harsh yellow light from the desk lamp cuts across the heavy red and black ink crossed out over different neighborhoods.

Malachi lets go of my wrist, stepping behind the desk and sweeping a hand over the maps. “Look at this.”

I take a deep breath, stepping up to the wood and I look down. In front of me are lists of names, guard rotations and supply lines.

“I have forty men active in this city right now,” Malachi says, tapping a thick finger against a list of names bracketed in red ink. “Look at how many are assigned to this cabin.”

I read the names.

Twenty.

Twenty men are sitting in the dark woods just to watch the windows of the house I’m sleeping in. I blink, forcing away the tears that are pooling at the corner of my eyes.

No one ever cared about me like this.

“Now look at the convoy schedules,” He continues, the frustration finally starting to show in his voice as he points to a series of routes mapped out in blue. “Every time you leave this property, even just to get in a car, I have to deploy two escort vehicles. I have to route you through cleared streets and I have to pull my best shooters off their job post and put them in your rearview mirror.”

I stare at the blue lines, the words refusing to leave my mouth. They crisscross the city, avoiding the docks, avoiding the warehouse district, avoiding anywhere Nolan might be hiding.

“My job is to find Nolan Devlin and put him in the ground,” Malachi says, leaning his hands flat on the desk, his face inches from mine. “But I cannot do that when half my most trusted men are physically anchored to your shadow.”

I look at the map again, the anger in my chest slowly vanishing as I realize that he’s sending me away because I am crippling him. Every second he spends checking my perimeter, watching my car, and scanning the tree line is a second he isn’t hunting the man who wants us dead and his family ruined.

I’m his absolute blind spot.

When I look up from the maps, Malachi is already watching me, the look on his face one of a man who hates his own reality.

“If I stay,” I say slowly, the words heavy on my tongue, “You have to hold back.”

“If you stay,” he answers, his voice dropping to a rough whisper. “I fight with one hand tied behind my back. Because no matter what happens, my first instinct will always be to turn around and make sure you’re still breathing.”

As I look at the dark circles under his eyes, the memory of his reaction at the motel when the driver recognized him flashes in front of my eyes. Malachi is carrying the weight of his own trauma, the responsibility of his family, and the absolute terror of keeping me alive on his shoulders.

I try to swallow the hard lump in my throat and not give in to the panic. I pull my spine straight and meet his eyes as I speak. “But only for a short time.”

“You’ll go?” He asks, a hint of a smile dancing on the corners of his lips.

“Yes, I will go to Ireland,” I continue, planting my hands on the desk right next to his. “But only for a few days. Just long enough for you to strike him without worrying about your back, but not an hour longer than that.”

He studies my face carefully. “Jade⁠—"

“Those are my terms,” I cut him off. “I’m not a prisoner. I agree to make a strategic retreat, but if I do this, you do not shut me out in the dark.”

I step around the side of the desk, closing the distance between us and I grab the lapels of his dark shirt, forcing him to look down at me.