Chapter One Hundred and Forty-Seven
Malachi's POV
I was exhausted. The kind of bone-deep tired that came from running on three hours of sleep for a week straight, fueled by coffee and determination and the knowledge that everything was coming to a head whether I was ready or not.
The office was finally quiet. Everyone had gone home hours ago. I sat at my desk reviewing contracts that blurred together, numbers that stopped making sense, words that might as well have been in a foreign language for all the comprehension I could muster.
My door slammed open.
Travis stood there, swaying slightly, and for a second I thought he was drunk. But his eyes were clear. Clearer than they'd been in months. Which somehow made this worse.
He crossed the room in three strides and grabbed me by the throat, yanking me up from my chair with surprising strength for someone who'd spent years pickling himself in alcohol.
