Chapter 4 Better Be Rich
As his eyes fluttered open, Cecil groaned.
He stared out into the dimly lit room and tried to remember how he had gotten there.
There was a familiar beeping in his ear that seemed to match in beat with the dull throbbing running through his side.
And something was attached and pulling on the skin of his right hand.
Oddly enough, it was an improvement on how Cecil had felt over the past few days. He could actually breathe.
But where the fuck was he? He wrinkled his nose—the clean, neutral blue-green walls told Cecil he was definitely not in his motel room, though the softness of the bed had told him that already.
“I see you are awake. How are you feeling, little one?”
Blinking, Cecil's gaze shifted to the right, and found the man he had attempted to rob standing there—along with a few machines that you would only see in a hospital. Which explained why the beeping sounded so familiar.
Except, it didn’t look like any hospital room Cecil had ever been in. And he had, unfortunately, had the pleasure of staying in more than he’d ever want to admit.
For one, Cecil didn’t appear to have a roommate, or would ever have one, because there was only one bed.
The place just seemed…well, it looked like a room reserved for rich people.
Which begged the question, why was he here?
Cecil sure as hell couldn’t afford such special treatment.
Who was this guy? He had to have money. At least, he better have money, as again, Cecil couldn't fucking afford any of this.
Oh Gods, what if he was a gangster? What if the man expected him to pay him back?
“Are you a gangster?” Cecil blurted out before he could stop himself. His words had come out slightly waned, but he was injured, so it didn’t bother him—too much.
Mr. Better-Be-Rich’s eyes widened. There was a snorting laugh to his left, and Cecil turned and saw there was another man standing against the wall. Cecil’s jaw dropped when he took in the other guy.
Definitely gangsters. They had to be—or maybe rock stars. But Mr. Tall, Dark, and Well-Dressed didn't really look like a rock star.
From his angle, Cecil was pretty sure the man was a few inches shorter than the first, which put him at around six foot.
His leaf-green eyes were ordinary enough, but, damn, the guy had a fucking mohawk that probably added about three inches to his height—a purple mohawk…
a purple mohawk the shade of a damn highlighter.
It had to be a spell. No one had hair that bright, even in the Second Realm.
Purple Mohawk had on white boots, black jeans—that most likely came with the holes—and a black shirt with long white sleeves that looked like mummy wrappings.
The man was also wearing at least five rings on each hand, but oddly enough, no necklaces, and only one bracelet.
Well, it was more like two bracelets that had been turned into one. It consisted of two leather bands held together by silver metal loops. There was about a half an inch gap between them.
Besides all that, Purple Mohawk also had a middle lip piercing, a pierced right eyebrow, and multiple piercings along each ear.
The man probably didn't understand the meaning of clean cut.
Cecil couldn't even picture the two men walking down the street together.
Which was a bit judgmental of him, but Gods, they were so different.
It wouldn't have been so shocking if the two weren’t now standing next to each other.
“Oh, my Gods! Boss, he thinks you're a gangster,” Purple Mohawk laughed.
“It appears so,” the other man muttered awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck.
Cecil’s face started to heat, so he glared at the two for making him feel embarrassed. “What am I doing here?”
Mohawk ignored his question and continued to laugh. “Wait until the guys hear about this. They are going to laugh their as—”
“Benji…” Suit said sternly, without even looking back at the other man.
While Benji’s eyes were twinkling, he didn’t say another word. Obviously, Suit was someone with authority. The question was, what kind of authority? At least, Cecil knew one of their names now.
“You fainted due to your injuries,” Suit said. “The healers had to perform emergency surgery. It was foolish of you to not seek help sooner. You needlessly put your life in danger.”
Cecil jerked his head at the scolding tone. “Excuse me? What I do with my life is none of your business!” he snapped defensively. Cecil had tried to put strength behind his words, but they had still sounded weak.
The man chuckled. “Considering you were trying to steal from me, I think I have some right to interfere with your actions.”
Well, damn, what the hell was he supposed to say to that?
Now that he thought about it, Cecil was surprised the man had even bothered taking him to the hospital—he did try to rob him.
Most would have just left him there…or dragged his unconscious ass to the closest Zaytari post. Or the main office—there was one pretty close.
Cecil probably should be a bit more grateful.
And he would be, as long as the man didn't expect him to pay for all this.
“Thank you,” he grumbled begrudgingly.
The young man’s ‘thank you’ had been so insincere that Sin found himself smothering a laugh. “You are welcome, little one,” he beamed.
The arcadian’s eyes narrowed at his smile, and he started to say something—most likely flippant—but appeared at the last moment to be distracted by something outside the window.
“Is something wrong?” Sin asked.
“What time is it?”
Pulling his sleeve back to look at his watch, Sin hummed, “Six p.m., why?”
“S-six p.m.? What day is it?” the young man croaked out weakly.
“Ah. You have been out for a while. The healers kept you under to allow your body to heal. They discovered your—”
“Fuck, I need to get out of here.”
Sin blanched. “Language, young man,” he admonished.
“What… Who the hell cares about that right now? I need to get out of here… My stuff…” The man trailed off and began to look at him suspiciously. “You can't keep me here.”
“You are safe…” Sin paused, hoping for a name.
The boy’s eyes narrowed to mere slits. “Cecil.”
Sin was not too surprised that the man hadn’t provided a last name. While Sin was positive Cecil had only stolen for survival, he was still a thief. It was a crime, although minor considering the circumstances.
He saw no wrong in giving leniency to those who deserved it. Thankfully, most, if not all, of the other Zaytari leaders shared his sentiments.
“Ah, yes, Cecil. My name is Sin Draven, and my associate here is Benji Wells. We have no intention of letting any harm come to you. I assure you, we are only trying to help.”
Cecil was studying him, but he hadn’t appeared to have recognized Sin’s name. “That's nice, but I don't need your help. I need to leave.”
“I do not think that would be wise. You need to rest. You may, of course, speak to the healers yourself, but they have informed me it would be best if you stayed at least a few more nights.”
“I'm leaving,” Cecil said firmly. Pushing the blankets off, the man slid his feet to the floor and stood.
They were rather quick movements for someone who was recovering from surgery and had painkillers still running through him. Cecil should be exhausted. That he had the strength to keep going was telling of what he had been through.
However, it appeared that standing was too much. Sin rushed over to stabilize him when Cecil started to tilt. Picking the man up, he ignored Cecil's weak demands to be released, and placed him back in bed.
“Please, whatever you have to do, let us handle it. You should put your health above all else.”
“I don’t know you, and I don’t need your help. I just want to leave.”
“Cecil…” Sin hesitated. “We are quite aware that someone has been hurting y—”
“You don’t know anything!” Cecil yelled, and then let out a groan of pain.
Feeling a great need to comfort the young man, Sin reached toward him but managed to stop himself. He had no right to touch him, and Sin knew it would not be welcome. “Please, calm down. You are going to hurt yourself. Whatever it is you need, you can trust me.”
“And why should I?”
“Because I am the Head of the Draven Zaytari group.”
Cecil’s eyes widened. “Prove it,” he croaked.
Sin supposed it was only right. He removed his jacket.
After handing it to Benji, he rolled the right sleeve of his black dress shirt up to his elbow.
Around his wrist was a woven metal bracelet.
Equally spaced along it were circles of green stone with veins of black.
Sin ran one of his fingers over the bracelets bumpy yet smooth surface.
The heat of his touch, the spark of his energy, and the magic Sin drew from the air mixed together and the metal began to exude a soft glow.
In mere seconds, ink spread across his skin, and in swirling patterns, it wrapped around his right forearm until a crest of sorts formed on the topside of his arm.
Centered in the swirl of black and silver ink was real metal.
It arched out of his skin, and in its clasps was a shining stone of jade—telling of his rank.
“Oh, shit!” Cecil gasped. The man scrambled back and almost fell off the hospital bed.