Page 23 of The Wicked

Upper blinked before gingerly sitting back down, clearing his throat, and adjusting his glasses. “I was—I was only curious. You know me. Sticking my nose in everybody’s bloody business is my forte.”

“No, it’s not,” Milk stated.

He blinked again, unable to mask his fluster. “Well—I’m making it my bloody forte now.” He looked around the kitchen before his eyes settled on Milk. “Why… are you… wearing that pink shirt? Why didn’t you wear another bloody color? See, that’s me being in your bloody business—”

“Do you know you use the wordbloodyexcessively whenever you’re trying to lie your way out of something you don’t want others knowing?” Dog said.

“I don’t bloody do that,” he responded, then blinked in a pause.

Dog’s lips thinned as he nodded. “We’ll pretend you didn’t just prove me right.”

“I’ll go check on him,” I said, ignoring Upper and his weirdness as I made my way to the room he shared with Devil.

The door was wide open, and he was sitting at the edge of his bed, head downcast, holding the beer bottle in a tight grip.

I knocked gently, and he raised his head, haunted eyes locking with mine. “I don’t wanna talk.”

I sighed. “It’s unfair to tell me that when you look like you want to spill your guts, Devil.”

He looked away, staring at the wall as if he were trying to burn a hole through it.

I walked into the room, sitting beside him, and letting out a shaky breath. “What happened?”

“Can’t talk about it.”

I shifted slightly. “Did he… make another bargain? Threaten us? If it’s about—”

“It’s not about you or Street. Just forget it; I can’t talk about it, Z.”

I was confused. What could they have talked about? What could Elio have said to Devil to get him in this mood?

Could it be…

“Wait—did he tell you shit about who you are? Because in that meeting, it seemed like they knew us—like they dug deep into our background and probably knew stuff we don’t even know about ourselves. Is that what this is about?”

He closed his eyes, letting out a slow, steady breath, almost like he was trying to calm himself. “No, Zahra.”

“Then what the hell happened? Why do you look like you’re stopping yourself from punching something?”

“Drop it, Z. I said I didn’t want to talk about it.” His voice was heavy yet cutting.

“You can’t expect me to just ignore—”

He turned sharply to me. “You know, just because we fuck from time to time doesn’t mean you get to push when Iclearlydon’t want to talk about something.”

I backed up at the bite in his voice, ignoring how his words poked the wrong nerve, before speaking again. “I care, Devil;that’swhy I’m here.”

“Then don’t fucking care. I didn’t ask for it; we don’t have that kind of relationship, so what the fuck is this?”

His gaze searched mine, silently pleading for me to stop trying to get through to him, to turn around like I usually did. To pretend that I cared but not do anything about it because it would complicate things.

“Okay,” I said softly, getting to my feet.

His jaw clenched as he watched me with glassy eyes.

I brushed my hair away from my face. “When you feel better, join us for dinner; we’re looking over some details about Dion. Um… just—feel better because we need your head in the game.”

When he didn’t respond, I moved for the door, but his hand gripped my wrist, stopping me before I could walk past him. I turned to see him drop the beer bottle on the ground before pulling me to his lap. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for it to come out like that. I just—”