Chapter Five #2
“Cum high,” she said with a dreamy sigh.
“There, that’s the phrase,” I said with a laugh.
She did a little excited jump. “I had a feeling after that art exhibit. I could feel the tension from the other end of our comm. I should have paid more attention.”
I shrugged.
She must have sensed my sudden resignation. She tucked her hair behind her ear. “So, what happened?”
“He called it off.”
She frowned sadly. “Why?”
“I shared a kiss with Devil. On the bus.”
She sucked in a breath. “I didn’t know that,” she said. “Upper doesn’t know that; Upper cannot know that. He and Devil just started acting like friends again.”
“I know, but it wasn’t anything serious; he was just trying to help me. Elio found out, and he thought I was messing with him this whole time.”
She sighed. “Did you explain?”
“I tried to. He didn’t wanna hear…” I stopped and shook my head. “I’ll fix it though. I need to know how to tell Devil before I fix it. I don’t want anything to come back and bite me in the ass.”
“Yeah, that’s true. He should know. If you plan to take things seriously with Elio, then … you have to. No secrets. Secrets ruin relationships.”
I nodded. “He might get mad. Like, really pissed because he told me to stay away from Elio, and I did the opposite.”
“Devil’s gone for Upper, Zahra. He might not care.”
“But he—”
She held my hand in hers. “Why are you acting like a fucking chicken? The Zahra I know wouldn’t give two fucks about what Devil would think. He doesn’t own you, and you do not owe him anything. No friendship rule said you couldn’t bone his brother. If you like someone, you should be with them.”
An odd kind of nervousness took over me. It was so out of character, so fucking stupid. “What if I don’t know if I should be with them? Fuck, I sound so pathetic, like a girl who likes a boy. I hate this. I don’t want this.”
She laughed. “It’s normal, Zahra. You’re blooming now.”
I scowled. “Fuck off.”
“Right, right, do you want to be with Elio? You really want to fix it?”
“I think so…”
“Give it to me straight.”
“I do.”
Her hand squeezed mine. “Then put a sock in it. Tell Devil, give him the middle finger if he tries to fault you for liking someone, and then we strategize on how you can get your man.” She poked my rib.
“Don’t get ahead of yourself; Elio is not my man.”
“Sorry, just the high from the pep talk,” she said. “But hey, I’m sure it’ll be fine.”
“Yeah…” I nodded. “Yeah … I’m overthinking it.”
“Exactly.” She continued, “I still can’t believe we are having an actual conversation about a guy … We never do this.”
I smiled softly. “Yeah, I’ve never liked a guy before so…”
“Did you call or text him since we left?”
I nodded, reaching for my phone and pulling up my chat box for Elio’s contact.
“I texted several times, no response,” I said as Milk took the phone from me, scrolling down, her eyes widening as she kept on scrolling.
“He hasn’t blocked me yet, it’s on delivered, but he never checks it. Do you know what that means?”
“Uh…” She kept on scrolling.
“What is it?”
“First off, why is his contact name saved as … ‘Dad’?”
I smiled. “It’s an inside thing. You wouldn’t get it.”
“Right, well … I’m wondering why he hasn’t blocked you.”
“What? Why?” I inched my head forward to peer at the screen of my phone.
She dropped the phone in her lap, looking up at me and shaking her head. “You spammed him, Zahra; you keep spamming him. The last message you sent was from a few minutes ago.”
“But he didn’t respond, and I got anxious, okay? When I text someone, and they don’t reply, it just makes me all itchy, and it has been a week, and he hasn’t blocked me, so that means there is still room for me to explain … or does it mean he doesn’t find me worthy enough to block?”
“You’re overthinking it again. Maybe he’s just busy?”
“For a week?”
“Maybe he doesn’t check his phone, see? He hasn’t opened them yet. So, I don’t think there’s anything much to worry about; you’re good.”
“But I—”
The door burst open and Dog rushed in. “He’s here.”
“Who’s here?” Milk asked.
“The man who is in charge of Arturo’s manor, our golden ticket to Chihuahua paradise, the philanthropist who is—”
“We get it,” I said. “Shit. How are his surroundings looking?”
“He got a platinum suite.” Dog scowled, clearly jealous.
“That’s not what I asked,” I said.
“He’s not alone, some family members maybe? Fellow philanthropists in the big seats, hot-as-fuck dancers. I think there’s gonna be a dance performance at some private event in his suite, I don’t know, but it’s pretty elite. We need an in.”
“Zahra can go in as one of the dancers,” Milk said, and I looked at her in surprise.
I smiled sweetly. “That’s awesome, Milk. It’s totally okay to speak for me. I love you so much; you’re the best.”
She rolled her eyes. “I’ve seen you dance. You rock, and it’ll get you out of your funk.”
“You saw me drunk, dancing on a table once.”
“It was sexy as fuck,” Dog said, leaning against the door.
“I think I got a boner that time. You do that with the target, and bam, you get an invite to tour the manor. Then you introduce us as your adoptive siblings because your father loved helping people. Man charmed, painting ours, map collected, gold ours. Easy as pie.”
Milk nodded excitedly.
“How do we get into the private event?” I asked.
“Devil is working his magic, and Upper is assisting,” Dog said.
“How long do we have till the performance?” Milk asked.
“About an hour, two, tops?” Dog answered.
Milk smiled creepily at me, her hand rising to stroke my cheek as I inched back warily. “That’s enough time to turn you into a dancer.”
It took Dog getting rid of one of the dancers to get me into the back room as a replacement from another dance crew. Milk did my makeup and got me into the missing dancer’s dress and jewelry while the other dancers filled me in on what they had planned.
There was no time to practice. They assured me it wasn’t that hard; they even showed me a video of their choreography and told me we would be more like background noise because everyone would be paying attention to all the other things going on.
I don’t like dancing. It wasn’t a skill I learned out of personal preference. The times I had to do this were because I had to draw people’s attention to my body and fetch money.
I stopped my thoughts there as I stared at my reflection in the mirror. The chain veil covered half of my face and my forehead. Only my eyes were on display, and my makeup was a little on the heavy side, but appropriate enough for the costume.
“Hey.” Milk’s hand fell on my shoulder. “Are you okay?”
I nodded, getting to my feet, ignoring how my stomach twisted. “I’m good.”
“No one will be paying attention. I took a sneak peek at the event; people are packed in, and I don’t think anyone is listening to the band playing. This is just a background thing.”
“Okay, I’m ready.” I turned to the other dancers, two girls who looked about my age, fixing each other’s jewelry pieces. “You guys good?”
“Yes,” one of them answered.
“I was hoping Fatima’s stomachache would subside before it was time,” the smaller one said. “She practiced so hard for this.”
“Yes, poor Fatima,” I said distractedly, picking up my phone and sending another Can we talk? Text me back message to Elio. It was delivered.
I waited a few seconds for a response, but nothing came.
Milk snatched the phone from my hand with a glare. “I never expected you to be a clingy girlfriend,” she said. “It’s pathetic.”
“I know. I’m just stressed. It might be more from the fact that he thinks that I’m trying to sabotage his relationship with Devil.”
“I understand, but let’s get through this first, okay?”
I nodded. “Right, yeah, you’re right, okay.”
The place was packed, as Milk had said. I was grateful for the dim lighting and the chatter of people around.
When we got onstage, I allowed my body to get familiar with the environment, let my eyes roam the crowd: the men and women were all in casual clothing, and the air was chill.
You could tell only rich people were here, the smell of expensive perfumes, calculating smiles, old costly wine in elite-looking wineglasses.
My eyes zeroed in on the target.
Kareem Fadel. Late fifties. Wealthy, the philanthropist of all philanthropists. According to everything else we’d dug up, this man sought perfection, enchantment, and orderliness. He saw people for who they were, hence why he was who he was and still breathing.
Word from the people was that he was kindhearted; he shared his things as if the people he helped were family. It was admirable.
And I had to ace this right out the gate.
“Hey,” I called to the two girls. “I’ll give you ten thousand dollars each if you get off this stage and leave this to me.”
They frowned, eyes filling with confusion.
“You have that kind of money?” one asked.
“And more, if you want. Quick decisions. We don’t have time.”
“You’re not some … assassin, are you?”
“Do I look like I carry a fucking gun with me?”
One of them nodded. The other shook her head.
“Great, then. Are you leaving or not? It’s either ten thousand each, or I fuck up this dance and have you both on Kareem’s bad side. Time is ticking.”
They looked uncertain at first but then hopped quietly off the stage. I spotted the DJ frowning at them and then at me with confusion. I nodded for him to carry on.
My eyes settled on Kareem again as the lights started to dim. I swallowed my nerves. Then something silver glinted beside Kareem.
Rings.
Familiar rings.
My head snapped up, and I caught his gaze across the short distance; just when the lights around the room turned a dark red, and a bright white spotlight centered on me, the intro to the Arabian song started playing.
Elio Marino was sitting there, right beside Kareem, frowning in suspicion, confusion, and surprise.
Shit.
I collected myself with great difficulty, getting my head back on track as my body responded to the music and I tore my gaze from him.