Page 28 of The Wicked

“Not only are you fucking weird, but you’re also funny.”

“Indeed?”

“Yes. You call us criminals? Have you met yourself? What we do is steal to fucking survive. But you, you kill people for power, betray family for status; you don’t give two shits about how your actions affect the lives of people around you. People call you The Wicked; for fuck’s sake, you hurt innocent people just because they’re related to those who offend you. You think that’s not criminal?”

I allowed her words to sink in, and I took another step back. “What I do is not criminal. It’s worse. I should die for it. Iwilldie for it eventually. But my brother is the sweetest kid I’ve ever known… this life, this world that I live in, he doesn’t deserve to live it. I have done…thingsjust to make sure he doesn’t have to live it, to give him what I never had. To give him happiness, and normalcy.”

“Haven’t you ever considered that he doesn’t want that? Why are you projecting your idea of a normal, happy life onto him? He’s not you, Elio. He’s Devil; he’s his own person.”

Elio… My eyes roamed her face, wondering if she realized her use of my first name. It felt unfamiliar to hear a stranger speak my name out loud without fear, and it felt odd that I… wanted to hear it again.

“I know it’s none of my business, but no matter what you think, Devil’s my family too, and I’m only trying to look out for him. You should respect his own life choices—”

“You do not understand,” I said. “I lived this life, I’m currently living it, and I don’t want him to experience what I have. I don’t care about you, but I still think there are better ways you can survive. You’re young; you could find decent work, live a life where you don’t have to watch your back every second.”

Her brows lowered. “You think I don’t want that? The same way you got into this business without a fucking choice is the same way I found Street. You don’t know what it’s like out there, the fucking horrors I’ve been through, so forgive me if I can’t stomach the thought of being aroundnormalpeople who would judge me because of my mental and physical scars.”

Annoyed, I massaged my head. “You’re missing the point, Sport.”

“No,Dad,I’m not.”

I cringed, irritation crawling up my spine. “What the—”

“Just because your father put a gun in your hand when you were just a little boy doesn’t mean you try to push your opinion into someone else’s life.”

I kept quiet.

“If you want to build a relationship with your brother, try not to be controlling and be more accepting. If you’re clueless on how to start with that, maybe begin by actually telling people that you’re both related because if you don’t know, that shit hurts him more than you abandoning him.”

She turned to leave, taking a few steps away from me before turning and walking back to me, this time with a venom in her eyes that had me backing up. “And don’t you ever, in your fucking life, call meSport,or any other fucking derogatory nicknames, because I’ll back that shit up with daddy jokes that’ll make you feel like ants are crawling up your fucking ass. Don’t test me.” Then she was off; I blinked and watched her disappear out the roof door.

Silence encased me again, mouth dry, speechless… With my gaze still trained on the door, I shook my head, looking away and absentmindedly reaching for my cigar pack. I got one stick out and shoved it between my lips—pausing shortly after to stare at the roof door again.

I scoffed in amusement, shaking my head yet again.

CHAPTER TEN

Zahra

They removed the sling three weeks later and wrapped my shoulder with a smaller bandage. The pain had subsided a little, and the wound was healing but showed signs of scarring.

I locked my jaw to the side, watching the reflection of my fingers softly graze the sides of the bandage. I hated seeing it. It was a constant reminder that I hadn’t completely washed off all the fear I thought I’d gotten rid of.

Anyone who had ever left a scar on me had never lived to tell the tale about it.

Every single scar on my skin had been paid for.In blood.

But that was then; the bastards on my list had been dealt with, and the one that got away was back on my radar.

Dion Juan Pablo.

A sigh left me. I couldn’t touch him, not with everything right in the spotlight with Street and our job for Marino. I was already building up my mental shields, knowing I would be in the same room with that bastard. Hopefully Upper would fix me up in a position where I didn’t actually have to be near him.

I hated lying to Street, but there were parts of my life none of them could know, starting with the stories behind my scars.

The first time Devil saw them, he had asked me what happened, and I told him I couldn’t remember. To his better knowledge, half my past had been wiped from my memory because of how traumatic it was.

In some ways it was true. I used to get nightmares, but notanymore; now my nights were mostly dreamless, and I was grateful for that. It only solidified my answers to where I got my scars.