Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 101840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 509(@200wpm)___ 407(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 509(@200wpm)___ 407(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
How could he possibly forgive me if I told him the truth? And that was assuming I’d ever be authorized to tell him the truth without losing my job. Which I wouldn’t. Jesus, even the people who shared my DNA didn’t know.
I finally fell into a fitful dream, and when I awoke, Locke surprised me.
“Have you ever heard of Malik Makida?” he murmured sleepily.
I was sprawled on my front with Locke half on top of my back. His stubble prickled on one of my shoulders, and his morning wood nudged my hip.
“No. Who’s that? Am I supposed to know them?”
He sighed and rolled onto his side. “Not at all. I wondered—hoped, I suppose— that you might’ve overheard someone here mentioning the name. But it was a long shot.”
I turned to face him. “I went to school with a Malik, so I would have noticed someone mentioning that name. But Makida…” I frowned.
“Never mind. Forget I asked.” Locke pushed back until he sat against the headboard and rubbed his face. “I should shower.”
My brain shuttled through information, trying to puzzle out why Makida sounded familiar. “Wait, you’re sure it’s not just Kida, right?”
“Positive.” He frowned. “Why?”
“This is gonna sound silly,” I said, sitting up as well. “But Liyana al-Qadiri has two horses. Their names are Kida and Makani, which is kind of like Makida?”
Locke’s eyes widened in surprise before narrowing in thought. “No. This wouldn’t involve al-Qadiri.”
Since I didn’t know what this was, I couldn’t argue the point. “Okay. Malik means king, lord, or master in Arabic. Does that make a difference? The way Liyana dotes on those horses, I could see her referring to them that way.”
His forehead crinkled. I could tell I’d presented him with an idea he didn’t like.
“What’s this about?” I asked carefully.
He hesitated. “It’s about a possible… game infraction. One of the players here may have been taking advantage of information from the game to grow their personal wealth through stock trades. That would be a breach of our code, and we take that sort of thing very, very seriously. Malik Makida is the name of the shell company that did the trades.”
“Doesn’t seem like the oil sheikh needs more wealth,” I said. “Right?”
“Right. Al-Qadiri’s father-in-law controls an oil fortune, and Liyana is his only child, so it will all flow to Saleem one day,” he agreed, still deep in thought. “Could it be Esteban? Can you think of a way to tie the name to him? Or Ted Harlan?”
“Macana in Spanish means stick,” I offered. “Malìa means… enchantment, I think? In Italian. That’s the closest I can think of, but no one here is from Italy… What about Polish for Draković? Malik is an actual Polish surname… malina is raspberry… makani is to dip, like a chicken nugget…”
I continued muttering through various languages based on who the players were.
Maybe it was because it was so early or because I felt too safe around Locke, but I’d completely forgotten that the man didn’t know just how multilingual I was. Even if I spent my days doing nothing but studying language apps, that kind of fluency would be far-fetched.
When I glanced up at him, he was staring at me. I’d thought he was intense before? That was nothing. His eyes burned into mine.
“Who the fuck are you?” he growled.
I tried giving him the manga eyes, but he wasn’t having it.
“Jethro… or whatever the fuck your name is… you need to tell me what you’re doing here right fucking now.”
Instead of waiting for me to answer him, he struck, wrapping his hand against my throat and pushing me onto my back and climbing over me to glare down at me. “Who. The fuck. Are you?” he demanded again through gritted teeth.
My chest heaved, and my heart hammered, but I didn’t fear his aggression, only his disappointment.
“I promise you I am only here because you invited me. No one sent me, if that’s what you mean.”
“Answer the fucking question. Who are you?”
I grasped his wrist but didn’t try to pull his hand off my neck. He wasn’t strangling me, just holding me in place. If I weren’t so worried about mishandling the situation, I would have been rock hard for him.
“You saw my passport.”
“I have a few of those myself, Jett. A name on a passport means nothing.”
I thought about a new lie. One closer to the truth. About telling him I was Jett Marian, consultant. The same Jett that everyone in my life knew outside of work. The same story my family knew. My friends.
But I couldn’t bear to lie to him again.
And I wasn’t about to give him my real name in a house full of powerful people neither of us trusted.
“Please believe that I’m on your side. No matter what,” I said, trying to make him see the truth of it on my face, in my expression. “That’s the truth. I need you to believe it.”