Page 168 of The Wicked

Earlier, I hadn’t cared enough to look into Manuel Conti. I was not one to meddle with growing families. Let’s say our level differed in rank. But his name had been mentioned one too many times, and his connection with Zahra evoked a gut feeling I couldn’t ignore. It might not concern me, but it was happening right in my territory.

And that… just wouldn’t do.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Zahra

Elio Marino was wearing white.

Although that wasn’t the subject matter here, it was just one interesting fact. The man had been entirely unashamed, walking into the bedroom he knew I was in, wearing nothing but black boxer briefs, with wet hair, which he towel-dried right in front of me.

His body—fuck me sideways and back—he was rough, invisible scars covered by ink, taut muscles built from pure hard labor and, well—the gym? But it really didn’t look like gym muscles or sex muscles. From every rip in his arms to his defined-as-fuck stomach, there was something intricate about each flex as he moved.

And that particular thing pushed me into a trance-like state, staring at him when he turned to find new clothes. His broad back and shoulders flexed erotically as he moved to slip strong legs and thighs into black sweatpants.

Another thing that caught my attention was his tattoos. I had always been curious about where the ink flame led, but I found out today, and…

It had me feeling wary.

A well-detailed drawing of burning flames drove up his forearm and shoulders, over to his neck, and then half his chest. I caught something like a church tower and a crucifix sign above—at first, I didn’t realize it, but then I noticed the fire was aflame in the church, and when he turned, my stomach dipped.

The Chinese he had ordered had threatened to come back outof my mouth; even the raspberry I was currently munching on temporarily became unappetizing.

It was a drawing of three faces amidst the flame. Hollow eyes wide with tears streaming down sunken cheeks, mouths wide open in a wail. The three faces seemed to float between the fire—a little boy, a young girl, and a woman.

I was so caught in it that I had to blink my thoughts back in order when he slid an oversized white sweater on, covering the tattoos.

Then without looking my way, he went to the dresser, dried his hair a little bit, and then brushed it down. Seeing him in another color of clothing was—strange; it didn’t seem like him, but I wouldn’t lie and say that he didn’t look good.

Honestly, I would have preferred him without anything. One reason was that he was pleasant to look at, and the other was because I wanted to study the ink on him. I felt like if I kept looking, I’d find something new to give me further insight into the story behind those faces.

I took my mind off him, glancing at the calm darkness outside the window in the room.

Last I’d checked the time, it was almost 12:30A.M.

Elio had been reading while I ate the food he had ordered for me, and when he decided to shower, I decided to retire into the room with a bowl of raspberries.

I shifted on the bed, leaning against the headboard, wearing a white shirt with writing on the front. I had found it folded in the dresser, amongst other mundane things that didn’t scream the Elio Marino I had gotten used to.

Underneath, I wore a pair of his boxer briefs, my legs on full display as I ate.

I could tell someone had dropped by to clean up the place and stock up the fridge, meaning he had spent time planning this whole thing, but I didn’t comment. Commenting on it would have made it seem real. It would have made me acknowledge that he had put in effort… for me.

I backtracked as he walked towards the bed, phone in hand, before he pulled the duvet to one side, attempting to lie down.

I swallowed the last raspberry I had taken in, eyeing his movements as he settled beside me on the bed. “Uh… what are you doing?”

He pushed the duvet further down with his legs. “What do people do on beds?”

“They—”

“Either sleep, get intimate, or just relax. The last option is what I’m doing,” he said, settling into the pillow, about to use his phone.

“Won’t you at least be a gentleman and take the couch?”

He turned to look at me for the first time since he came out of that bathroom. “Why, in all consciousness of the mind, would I take the couch when there’s a bed?”

I shifted the bowl of raspberries towards me. “BecauseI’m onthe bed?”