Chapter 58
SINN'OUS
Visitation is loud and hushed all in one spurt of regularity.
Prison men of all shades are dwarfing chairs built for cost efficiency and not practicality, set alongside their partnering tables of minimalistic design.
Each set has an assortment of people, ranging from wives and clueless kids, to loving spouses, family ties, and blood relations.
And through it all, Zayne looks out of place.
Clean, tidy, and proper. He’s too perfect, too put together.
And all the more out of place. He looks every bit the killer he is.
Not because anything has slipped through the cracks, but because Sinn'ous knows who he is under the fake showmanship he portrays to the world.
“Zayne.” Sinn'ous greets, clapping palms with Zayne’s outstretched one. A quick contact that’s broken in a breath.
“Sinn'ous.” Zayne returns the formal greeting. Taking his place at the table, where Sinn'ous follows suit, sitting in one of the hard chairs.
It digs into his spine, and he leans into his forearms on the table to ease the pressure.
Zayne lounges back in the opposite chair, not one twitch of muscle to indicate anything about the crappy seating arrangements.
His grey eyes never fail to take Sinn'ous aback, they’re just so bright and alluring.
Like a ray of light catching on the sharpened point of a blade.
His black hair is kept at a manageable length, tussled in a way that screams playboy, while simultaneously flittering innocent eyes of a church quire boy.
Completely disarming and tantalising. The perfect predator to lure in its unsuspecting prey.
Sinn'ous would be envious of his brother, if he didn’t deliberately dye his hair black and red to match that of a spider, and tattoo his skin in Satanic symbols, including the triple sixes on his wrists, and the pentagram behind his ear.
Sinn'ous isn’t subtle in his worship, and he doesn’t hunt in the same way Zayne does.
Sinn'ous is upfront and confrontational. Whereas Zayne is a mask of composure and trust, until he gets them alone, then he’s just as ruthless as Sinn'ous, if not more so.
Sinn'ous kills for Satan. Zayne kills for himself.
And even Sinn'ous can admit Zayne is a darker type of beast. Not someone he would ever trust, he’s sure if he was locked in a room with Zayne, and it was only the two of them, it wouldn’t be long before the beast in Zayne was aiming its eyes in Sinn'ous’s direction.
Outside of that scenario, he knows Zayne has his back, not even torture would sway Zayne to turn on him.
Sinn'ous starts the conversation casually. “You look good, life’s treating you well? How’s that boss, still kicking?”
The light behind Zayne’s grey eyes contains a depth it hadn’t the last time they saw each other. They had held a spark of uncertainty in who he was, in the path he was to take. Now, they contain a deep-rooted beast that is confident in his abilities, knowledge, and power.
Zayne smirks, in a predatory way that gives away his inner beast. An eerie chill of a smile. “He gives me what I need. I don’t have to look for the hits when he hands them to me on a silver platter.”
Hits. Jobs. Targets. All the same fancy terms used in the game of ‘kill for hire.’
“I’ve got someone in here who is getting out before me—” he cuts into his own sentence, squashing any ideas Zayne might cook up in the two seconds between breaths, “—and no, don’t even ask it, the answer is no.
” The dampening in Zayne stoic features informs Sinn'ous he’d been correct to assume his mind jumped right to murder.
After all, they both have an itch that can only be scratched one way.
“I need you to set up a room in my place, hidden in the basement where someone can sleep privately.” He emphasises the last two words, cue—keep someone who doesn’t want to be kept.
Zayne will understand the hidden meaning.
This is his contingency plan. He was truthful when he said Izz belongs to him. He will be keeping Izz, even if that means locking him away, chained in a hidden room.
He is mine to have, mine to keep forever. He will never leave me.
Izz said he will stay, and everything Sinn'ous has done, and groomed into him, indicates he will. But it pays to be cautious and have a plan b. Best it be there and not be needed, than it be needed and not there.
“Sound proofed, I assume.”
Sinn'ous dips his chin in agreement, reciting his address to Zayne, on the off chance he hasn’t had Dante look it up already. “And the two staying there—mother, daughter—they can’t know. I’m sure you can be discreet.”
“You never make things easy, do you.” Zayne says it, but his expression gives away no hint of annoyance. Not that it would, he is very good at masking his emotions and creating new ones.
Sinn'ous’s only talent in that is either showing emotions or showing nothing. He can’t do the dozens of fake masks that Zayne has. It does not work for him, it just looks fake and disingenuous.
“I believe you were the one to make things difficult the last time.” He points out, watching a shine ripple over Zayne’s flat eyes. They might be grey and unique, but they look dead when he isn’t displaying one of his personas.
Zayne drums the table with two fingers. “An unforeseen occurrence.”
Unforeseen, yeah. Bullets flying, them fleeing, an out-of-control car. It had still been a worthy kill, a spectacular sacrifice, before everything went to shit.
“Praise Satan, for getting us out of that.”
This time Zayne rolls his eyes, a crack of uncharacteristic emotional display. More than likely a result of years playing at genuine emotions, but it’s still something moving those dead eyes. “Still believing in that higher purpose.”
“Maybe you should try it.” He half snaps. He’s not angry, not truly. He knows Zayne follows no one but himself. And he also knows that when Zayne meets Satan he will openly, and unquestioningly, kill for Him. It’s why Sinn'ous never becomes heated over Zayne’s dismissals.
In the end, he knows the truth.
Zayne hums, no conviction in the sound, or life behind it. Sinn'ous doesn’t take it personally, if anything it would be worse if Zayne showed emotion, that would mean he’s getting a disingenuous reaction. A faked response in an act at playing normal interactions.
Emotionless equals Zayne in his comfort zone, and trusting who he is with. Or it’s when he’s standing over a victim. Either one displays his—what does he call it? His true self?
“That’s not my only ask. I need you to stick around, make sure he stays put until I get out.”
“I’m not a babysitter.” Zayne’s flat voice could swing either way, but he’s sure if he didn’t want to, or the ask pissed him off, he would voice it. So it’s safe to assume he will do it.
Sinn'ous isn’t even sure if Zayne gets pissed off. He’s never seen his brother display any form of high emotion, not even anger.
“I saved your life, if you recall. Consider it a holiday house, I’m sure you can find things to keep you occupied in the meantime.”
“I have jobs here.” Zayne mocks the term Sinn'ous uses, in a flat way that borders on a deadpanned tone. And runs his eyes over the room, scanning like you would in a store. Picking what to buy, what you want to sink your teeth into—or knives in his brother’s case.
Eventually Zayne gives up a reply. “I’ll keep an eye on him. He’ll be alive when you get out.” Zayne’s flat gaze flickers back. “When is that?”
“Two months, give or take. I’ll owe you one.” Sinn'ous slaps on before any minds can be changed.
“Two.” Zayne stretches in the seat, rolling his shoulders back, rotating his neck from side to side. “One for each month. I like them screaming.”
Sinn'ous lets his own smile flash. Trust Zayne to want two people to kill as payment for a babysitting job.
“Sure. I’ll even do you one better and let you pick them.”
Zayne’s expression turns cold, darkening his eyes to the point where Sinn'ous can see Hell in them. See Satan looking in on Zayne’s soul.
“Next you’ll be telling me I have to hunt them myself.”
“Isn’t that the only way.” Sinn'ous watches Zayne’s eyes spark, a fire lit at the mention of death.
“Always.”