Page 11 of The Wicked

I stayed silent.

He sighed. “I just want things to return to how they were, you know? I don’t want secrets between us. Whatever we’re doing, we do it together, like brothers.”

I nodded. “Okay, Casmiro. No secrets. But remember, I warned you. You do not get to complain that I am overbearing or talkative.”

He scoffed. “Talkative is the last thing I would call you, E. Even when we were children, you only talked when it was necessary or when you were excited. I can’t remember the last time I saw you smile or get excited about anything.”

I nodded. “That is true. But I get excited about things.” Then I pointed to the side of my head. “In my head. I also talk my mind off in my head. But now that you have offered your ears”—I got to my feet, motioning to the home office a few feet away from us—“let’s talk politics.”

CHAPTER FOUR

Zahra

My eyes snapped open, and I flinched, a sharp burn scraping down my arm. “Motherfucker.” I groaned in pain, realizing I was lying on a soft mattress. My head rested atop comfortable pillows stacked up to ensure I didn’t cause any discomfort to myself when I woke up—apparently, that hadn’t worked.

“Hey.” Devil’s voice had my head snapping up; he was leaning on the wall next to the small table across from me, arms crossed against his chest, watching me like a dark shadow, dressed in all black.

I sighed in relief. “Hey, creep, why are you way over there?”

A small, strained smile tugged at his lips as he approached me, sitting on the side of the bed. “How are you feeling?”

My eyes took in the bruise on his cheek. Other than that, he didn’t seem injured anywhere else.

“Like death.” I groaned, trying to sit up. He was quick to help me, but I moved my arm wrong and winced at the spike of pain. “Ugh, fuck, this hurts like a bitch.”

“I know. It’s going to leave a scar. They took the bullet out, but it was difficult because of how deep it was in your shoulder; they had to tear—”

“Don’t tell me. I’ll probably ink it when it heals,” I said, letting out a shaky breath. “How are you? Where are the others? Where are we?”

I took in my surroundings more clearly. It looked like a guest room. But none of this made sense. I shouldn’t be alive—none of us should be alive.

“Where else would we be?” The sharpness in his voice had me frowning. He sighed, looking down at my arm in the sling. “Sorry, we’re still hostages. We were given quarters in the compound. We’re in Marino territory.”

I slumped slightly, careful not to move my arm. “Fuck—the others, they—”

“Are pissed. Just a heads-up.”

There was only one reason they could be pissed at me. I told The Wicked we would forever be at his service as long as he kept us alive. When he left me in that fucking oven, I didn’t think for one second that I would make it out of there alive. He hadn’t given me any guarantee that he approved of my proposal to be at his service, so it made no sense—or maybe my brain was still filled with the water he had almost drowned me in. Water—

It was almost like the thought of water reminded me of how thirsty I had been before I had probably passed out from all my pathetic screaming.

I cringed, embarrassed that I had let myself go like that—that I had forgotten how to be strong.

“Can I get water?”

Devil’s eyes softened. He got up from the bed to walk to the table across the room. He poured water into a glass and brought it over to me. I collected it eagerly with my good hand before bringing it to my lips, drinking it all in five gulps.

There was a tense awkwardness in the air between us. It was unfamiliar, but I knew where it came from; it was probably why I felt ashamed.

“How did we get here? Was I the only one questioned?”

“Yeah. For some reason, you were the only one they wanted to talk to.”

My anklet.

“I take it you watched—everything—me?” I asked, a little part of me hoping those bastards didn’t make them watch how I screamed and begged. Devil was quiet, and it only confirmed my suspicion.

Carefully, I relaxed against the headboard. “Is that why you’re being awkward? Because theamazingZahra you knew would have never begged, cried, or screamed while she was basically being toasted alive.”