Page 110 of The Wicked

I was choking for air as I ground out, “Again, not getting high without me. You wanna get stoned, we get stoned together; that’s how this relationship works,cunt.”

“This relationship works how I say it works; a joint wouldn’t make me an addict, you fuckingsnake.”

“Your action right now is fucking proof you’re on the brink, you fuckingdog;maybe I should throw the fucking pills away.”

“Do that and die a very miserable death in the Karakoram.”

“That’s oddly specific.”

“I can make it happen—”

“What the fuck are you guys muttering about? You’re scaring me,” Upper said, mug paused halfway to his lips, eyes wide.

Dog released me, slapping my shoulder twice. “Just catching up,” he said, walking around the kitchen, his eyes on me. When he crossed behind Upper, his glare rained, and he slashed a thumb to his throat, a premature gesture of him doing the same to me with a knife.

I rolled my eyes, drinking Upper’s fantastic coffee.

When Devil walked in, Upper immediately took his leave, joining Milk in the living room, leaving Devil staring after him with an annoyed frown.

Something was going on between those two. But Devil wasn’t into men… or was he?

All day, my head was filtering through thoughts, and even as they debriefed me on the painting with information that could be useful and resources we might need, my full attention wasn’t on it.

Three things swarmed through my head.

Upper and Devil, what could be going on?

The painting and everything attached to it.

And finally… Elio.

What happened to make him that way? A heartless man with a heart. How many cobwebs were in his wardrobe?

Angelo had stopped by earlier to get a little debriefing about what my captors had asked me. I had kept Manuel’s name out of it, but the man could tell I was hiding something else. Before he left, I hesitated but asked him about Elio because, if I was honest with myself, I was a little worried about him and how we had left things last night.

It was probably the guilt eating me up at his revelation of how deep my words had cut him.

Angelo had looked at me weirdly, and I didn’t blame him; it was weird. I shouldn’t care.

But I was relieved when he said Elio was doing okay but had left the compound with Casmiro quite early for business. Then he asked why I was asking, and I just shrugged, not giving him an answer, which I was sure made my behavior even more suspicious.

He dropped it, though, and I was glad he did. Hopefully, he wouldn’t tell Elio I asked. That would be embarrassing.

After a small game of cards with the group, I retired early, still not well-rested from the last few days’ events. I wore one of Milk’s short satin nightgowns, one of the many that had somehow stumbled into my wardrobe. I could swear the girl was slowly changing my choice of clothing because each time something new was mysteriously added, a piece of my comfort clothes she had disapproved of would go missing.

I settled in bed, slipping my hand underneath my pillow, and brought Elio’s gun into my view, examining it.

My fingers brushed across the muzzle of the gun, the same one that had touched my lips the other night. An action that should have made me wary of the impending death that could strike me if a shot was fired instead made me bristle with desire.

I hated that I was attracted to him, hated that his body had a huge part to play in it, but his mind and manners also drew me in. Hated that I was… maybe… potentially… already developing a silly crush. Hewashandsome, and there was something regal about the way he walked, and something stomach-flipping about the way he talked, and that… that thing he did with his eyes whenever he looked at me or anyone, or anything… the way he’d squint a little and then how his eyes would harden, or the way his lips had that permanent downturned tilt that made him look like he was not impressed with anything around him.

There was just this way about him…

My fingers brushed the hilt of his gun, and I stopped when I found his initials at the bottom of it.

E.M.

I scoffed. “Pompous fucker.”