Page 5 of The Wicked

I had seen his face in philanthropic magazines, the news, and the internet, but I never thought there would be a day I would come face-to-face with this side of him. The Wicked himself—the boss of the Marino empire—was standing before me, hands tucked into his pockets as his eyes scanned my form from head to toe.

“You are so… ordinary.” His voice was deep and a little accented, tinged with irritation and muffled in a room that was supposed to echo.

I blinked up at him. “But special enough for the boss to come g-greet me himself,” I croaked out.

Slowly, his brows pulled down in a frown as he tilted his head to the side, the tattoo on his neck peeking out of the collar of his dress shirt.

“If you’re—just gonna stand there, might as well fetch me water.”

“Thirsty?”

Yeah, no shit.

I sighed and nodded, lips burning.

“Is the room too hot for you?” he asked menacingly. “Does it feel like you’re… drying up?”

Annoyance bubbled in my stomach and I clenched my jaw.

He bent until he was face level, eyes locking with mine. “Now you know how my money felt when that fire started,” he said, tone calculated. “If you did not have the resources to take all the money, you could have just left the rest. Did your employer ask you to burn it?”

I remained quiet.

“Who is your employer?” he asked.

I locked my jaw, keeping my mouth shut.

He pressed his lips together, waiting a minute too long before nodding. “Okay,” he said, rising to his full height. My eyes burned when I tried to follow his movements.

He brought his hands out of his pockets and clapped once.

Immediately, the door opened, and a man walked in with abottle of water, a gun, and a small evidence bag. The man handed the items to him before swiftly leaving the room.

I could see the tiny beads of sweat on his forehead as he looked at me again. “Water?”

The fight left me at the sight of the chilled water. “Yes.”

He nodded, gently placed the gun on my lap, pocketed the bag, and uncapped the water bottle slowly.

Then he held my face in his hand, fingers pinning my lips together as he lifted my chin towards the ceiling, pushed it back, brought the bottle to my lips, and poured the water over my lips so that it didn’t enter my mouth. His grip on my face tightened painfully as he raised the bottle to my nose, pouring the water into my nostrils.

I fought to escape the brutality, choking and gurgling. Tears fell while I struggled for air.

I could see how my struggle pleased him. He looked so relaxed while I fought to breathe. My chest constricted, my body took on a dull buzz, and when my eyes started to see him in a painful blur, he let me go.

I coughed hot air back into my lungs and bent to allow the water that hadn’t gotten to my head to slip out of my nose.

“My hand slipped,” his voice rang out again, calm and collected like he wasn’t also feeling the lack of oxygen in the room. “It does that sometimes.”

He threw the almost empty bottle to the ground and took his gun from my lap, disengaging the safety.

My head felt lighter, and my left ear rang so loud I feared I would never hear again. “What—what thefuckdo you—want from me?”

He didn’t speak for what felt like a minute before he began to circle me. “I want to know who you work for. Give me a name, and I promise only to put you in a coma and not kill you.”

At this, I frowned. “What?”

He stopped right in front of me. “I hate repeating myself, it istiring. This room is too hot, and the stench is repulsive. So, speak, and let us be done with this.”