Chapter 29: My Terrible Life Choices
VANESSA BELMONT
Malone. Nathan’s right hand man. Relief flooded through me. I was saved!
He crouched in front of me, the car’s headlights highlighting his face. For a moment, I felt like we were in a noir film, all dramatic angles and tragic backstories. Too bad I was less femme fatale and more femme faint-now.
Malone’s professional gaze swept over me, clinical and detached. He saw the blood, the shaking, and the whole gonna-puke-then-die vibe I had going on.
"Are you all right, Madam Jang?"
"If by all right, you mean scared out of my ever-loving mind, craving donuts, and hoping this wound on my side isn’t fatal ... then yeah, I’m all right."
Malone’s mouth twitched. Not quite a smile—more like the ghost of one, as if his face had briefly remembered what expressions were before abandoning the effort. The man communicated in grunts and loaded silences, and yet, somehow, he was still better company than most people I knew.
He reached into his coat, and my pulse jumped. Oh good, what now? A gun? A handkerchief? A strongly worded note about my terrible life choices? But no—just a knife. Of course. Because nothing says "you’re safe now" like a blade flashing between you and a man who could probably kill someone with a paperclip.
He sliced through the last zip-tie still clinging to my wrist like some kind of sadistic friendship bracelet. The plastic snapped, and I flexed my fingers, wincing at the angry red marks. Classy look, Vanessa. Very damsel-in-distress chic.