Page 26 of The Wicked

Elio nodded but kept quiet.

He clasped his hands together like he was in deep thought.

I stood there, wondering what the hell this was and why he hadn’t tried to throw me off the roof or even told me to leave him alone. Then again, no matter how badly I wanted to stabhim with a knife for shooting me, he looked even more disturbed than Devil. He was vulnerable, and this was an opportunity to get in his head… if that sort of thing was possible.

But I was going somewhere, now I knew he had a weak spot, a half-brother no one knew about… a half-brother I had wrapped around my fingers. Very useful leverage for the future.

CHAPTER NINE

Elio

I’d abandoned my brother.

No matter how much I tried to convince myself otherwise, I knew that was something I could never change.

I never considered how my actions would affect him. I was too blinded by revenge—too far gone in the grand finale I had planned, and I’d hoped he wouldn’t care. Perhaps he would find his own life and wouldn’t even shed a tear when everything was said and done. But I had been wrong. He cared, and it was a big problem.

Elia wasn’t supposed to love me or hate me. How was I guaranteed that I could proceed with my plans without hurting the person I’d spent almost all my life protecting?

I felt her shift beside me, and I remembered I wasn’t alone.

It irritated me, but all she had said was correct. Her accuracy was probably why I didn’t bother to shield or deny anything.

“It wasn’t my intention,” I said into the silence between us. “All I wanted was to protect him from all of this. But then he met you and started to steal. And now he’s here.”

“Devil was the way he was before he met me. Hell, he was worse. He had so much anger and distrust. Street tamed him, tamed his anger, and you should be grateful for that.”

I allowed my gaze to settle on her again; her hair was all over her face due to the light wind—so unkempt—but I couldn’t look away. My fingers twitched to fix it. Clean it. Clean her.

“You shouldn’t be here,” I said.

“What?”

I watched her carefully, thinking once again about how fearless she seemed now, and something felt odd—misplaced—like I was missing something important. “You’re here, talking to me… without fear after I tortured you. It makes no sense.”

Something shifted in her gaze. “I’m tougher than I look, and now that I know what I know about you and Devil, I’m confident that I’m safe. Besides, I’m here because of him. Whatever argument the both of you had did a number on him.”

“Do you have a hairband?” I asked before I could hold my tongue.

She raised a brow, clearly caught off guard. “What?”

“Your hair, it’s distracting. Do you have a hair—hold on.” I stood upright, digging my hand into my pants pocket, pulling out my packet of cigars, and removing the black band I’d wrapped around it.

The small band had been around a book whose hardcover had been falling off. I’d wrapped the band around my cigar packet when I glued it back. “Come here,” I said, twisting the band around my fingers. I made a turning gesture with my hand.

“Why the—” She started to protest but stopped when I walked towards her instead. I made sure I was not too close for both her and my comfort.

She looked up at me with wide brown eyes, her lashes long and tangled, her nose and cheeks dusted with light freckles that suited her skin tone.

I ignored the heat between our bodies, the gentle hollow where her collar bones met the smooth skin of her neck, as I began to brush her hair away from her face; I tucked both sides behind her ears, catching the two-dotted birthmark on the shell of her left ear, and the tiny scar right below her right. Slowly, her frown eased.

I tilted my head slightly to the side as my fingers disappeared into her hair.

I was wrong.

Earlier, at that meeting, I thought her hair was uncared for—but I was very wrong. It had a fullness that made me bury my fingers even deeper.

It was soft, wavy, and, surprisingly, smelled divine, like—vanilla or amber; I couldn’t decipher it, but I liked it.