Page 236 of The Wicked

“Ask.”

His jaw clenched at my tone, his eyes sweeping between mine, withheld anger shimmering in the gray of his irises, pupils dilating and constricting.

If anything, I just wanted him to lash out, yell at me, and let out the anger brewing inside him; maybe then I would feel less… guilty.

“For days, you kept someone like Chika in a house with my brother; you staged a kidnapping, fooled your whole team, and kept it from Angelo, whom I put in charge of Street affairs; why?”

The scream I did internally had me wincing.

Fucking saucy bitch!

I gritted my teeth hard, wondering what Elio had done to Chika to have him reveal that information.

“I—”

“When you answer me, Zahra. You do not answer with a lie, a dismissal, or a half-truth. I only want the truth.”

I gulped down. No lie… no dismissal, no half-truth.

I was screwed unless I told the truth.

He might not carry a gun, but I didn’t doubt the ability of his hands to snap a neck. My neck.

Fuck.

I cleared my dry throat, stepping back a bit before answering. His eyes followed my every movement like a hawk, praying for me to slip up so he could attack. Not today. I would surrender to fight another day.

“Fine,” I started, “we were behind on finding the painting, and I was agitated. I knew I had to do something, so I contacted some of the people that worked for—forManuel.” Saying that name out loud had me shifting uncomfortably, wishing I could bring Chika back from the dead and kill him again for putting me through all he did today. “I asked them for help because I knew they were also looking for the painting, and I know how easy it is to bribe out information from his people.”

When he didn’t respond, I took that as my cue to continue.

“They told me about Chika, and then I contacted him; he was on edge because some people had already caught wind of Arturo having an adopted son. I offered him protection if he would help us get the paintings and tell us everything he knew. I swear to you that he told me he wanted nothing to do with the paintings and Arturo’s business; he said the same thing to Street. I was so focused on the information he would give that I—I didn’t listen when Street told me it was a bad idea.”

“Continue.”

I sighed. “The only reason I staged Chika’s kidnapping was because I couldn’t answer questions on how I learned about him, seeing as I don’t want them to know anything about Manuel, or that part of my life. And I didn’t tell Angelo because he would tell his team, and I didn’t trust anyone with that information; a lot was riding on it.”

He remained silent after I finished talking—just looking at me, his thoughts hidden from his face.

“And the risk you took, getting onto that bus—”

“I didn’t think he was going to pull that. If I had known, I would have asked Upper and Milk to contact Angelo’s people immediately.”

“That’s not right. According to what I heard, you still had a few minutes of communications with the rest of your team when you got on the bus.”

“Yes. But I am not dumb enough to call your people when shit hits the fan. I had the kids to worry about, and I knew the media would be involved in no time; if your people had come to rescue us, your name would have been caught in the crossfire—”

He took a sharp step towards me, crowding my space, scaring me for a second. “Do I look like someone who cares about some crossfire? You put my brother’s life in danger; I could have lost him today.”

“But you didn’t.”

“I almost did!” His voice rose.

“He’s alive.”

“What if the bomb had gone off, hm?” His jaw clenched, his gaze burning into mine. “What if something had gone wrong, and the bomb was set off.”

“It didn’t; I stopped it.”