19. #2
She’s silent for a second, and then she shrugs.
“I saw your friends leave a minute ago, so unless you’re a waltz enthusiast, I presume that you’re here for a significant reason.
And, given the circumstance, it makes sense that you’re searching for someone.
Also, before I approached you, you seemed a little on edge.
Or maybe you were just being alert of your surroundings.
I can’t tell the difference, but I knew something was off about you. ”
“Am I really that predictable?”
She squeezes my hand, so I lift my arm and twirl her under it, just as the others around me do the same.
“It’s more about careful assessment than predictability,” she tells me.
“I see someone, and I’m able to make deductions about them based on their body language.
It’s become a habit of sorts, so it comes naturally to me now.
” She puts her right foot forward, and on instinct, I move my left foot back.
“You dance really well,” she praises. “Were you drilled with painstakingly boring dance lessons at an early age, just like me and most of the guests here, or is it something you just picked up?”
“Solo taught me,” I say, then lower my voice as I continue.
“Back in Riverside, most of our kills were high profile elites, and lemme tell you something: they loved attending fancy events like this one. What better place to show off all that black money than a glamorous gala, right?” I scoff.
“Anyway. So, the crew and I had to attend quite a few galas to get various kills executed, and sometimes, we just had to get involved in order to steer off any wariness the elites might have had towards us. It’s why Solo made sure we knew how to dance – just enough so that we didn’t trip over ourselves while trying to fit in, at least.”
“Chris is a good man,” Safiya states around a small smile as we continue dancing.
I’m a bit surprised by the familiarity with which she says Solo’s name.
“You’ve met him, then?” I ask.
“Oh, yes, a few times,” she provides. “But we mostly speak on the phone. He helps me out if there are any legal hiccups with the gold shipments my family receives from the Middle East. In case you didn’t know: us Gaddafis have luxury jewelry stores in Anaheim.
And while our products are designed and created here, the materials we use for them come directly from the UAE.
Paperwork for stuck shipments can be quite troublesome, and despite having contacts at the Anaheim P.D.
, I still face a lot of minor issues here and there trying to get the shipment out without losing it to the customs authorities.
Sometimes they interfere in my business just to get a substantial cut from me under the table, and sometimes they do it in order to fill their bags with gold that belongs to me and my sister.
That’s where Solo comes in. His connections are widely rooted in many cities throughout the country, so all it takes is for him to make a call, and everything sorts itself out, and I don’t even have to pay extra for the items I ordered legally – for my very legal business. ”
I quirk a brow. “Legal, huh?”
Her lips uptick as her eyes gleam. “If a few AK-47s and grenades happen to find their way into some of the carts, I can’t exactly blame the seller for it, now can I?”
I laugh a little. “Uh huh.” I twirl her under my arm yet again, then move us further into the room.
“You still haven’t told me who you’re looking for, you know,” she pushes again.
I catch myself absentmindedly glancing around the hall, but quickly look down at her.
“Timothy Byron,” I declare, but soft enough so that only she can hear.
“I saw him on the first floor a while ago,” she says.
“With two upper classes?”
She nods. “The stepson and daughter of a movie producer from Los Angeles, yes.”
“Well, he isn’t there now. Dunno where he ran off to.” I sigh and stretch my neck sideways to get rid of some of the tension there. “Honestly, it’s been a long fucking night, and all I wanna do is be done with this mission so that I can go home and get some shuteye. Is that too much to ask?”
“In your line of work, yeah,” she tells me, making me laugh again.
“You remind me so much of Jayce,” I confess, then shake my head as I let go of an exhale. “He was my be–”
“Your best friend and brother, I know.” Her eyes crinkle around the corners as her expression softens.
“Let me guess: Solo?”
She smiles. “You’d be correct.” When I don’t say anything, she stops dancing and lets go of my hand, then gestures for me to follow her.
Walking over to the far-left corner of the hall, she grabs two flutes of champagne from a server, then offers one to me before settling down on the small, black-velvet divan before us.
“Come on,” she urges, patting the empty space next to her. “Timothy clearly isn’t here, and I’m done dancing for the night. Let’s just wait and see what the others find out.”
I sit down next to her, then twist the flute between my thumb and forefinger as I study the fizzy, golden liquid inside it. “I’m on the clock right now; I can’t drink alcohol.”
She grabs the flute from me, prompting me to look at her. “More for me, I suppose.”
I snort, then glance to my right, only to groan and look away. “You’ve gotta be shitting me,” I mutter.
She chuckles. “I take it you’ve gotten a taste of the goods?”
I once again glance at the special appetizer table to my right, then scowl and face Safiya. “ Yes , unfortunately.”
She takes a slow swig of the champagne. “Hmm… Was it before or after you read the banner?”
“The banner was added after the tragedy had already occurred, so I’ll say that me and the crew read it a few seconds too late.
” I place the back of my head against the wall behind me, then widen my legs before placing my joined hands between them.
“But even if we had read the banner before trying those appetizers, we still wouldn’t have understood what it meant.
It was only after Aras told us what we’d accidentally consumed that we knew , and I gotta say: it took the ground off from under me for a second.
I mean, I’ve chopped people up many times over the years, but I’ve…
” I lift a shoulder. “I’ve never had the urge to, y’know… ”
“Cook their flesh on a stick with vinegar-dipped vegetables? Yeah, I get it.” Safiya mimics my posture, then polishes off her champagne before once again offering me mine. “Just drink it. It’s honestly not that strong.”
I chuckle as I take it from her, then down it in one go. “Fuck, that’s bad,” I say with a grimace, then place the flute on the floor next to the divan.
She grins as she, too, sets aside her glass. “Told you.”
“So…” I start, then raise a brow when she looks at me. “Have you ever tasted the goods ?”
Her expression sours, so I curl my forefinger over my lips, simply to hide my amusement.
“I’d rather prick my entire body with rusted needles, thank you very much,” she spits out.
“Touché.”
She smiles, then studies my face for a bit before looking ahead. “Mind if I dump some heavy shit on you?”
I nudge her shoulder with mine. “I’m all ears.”
“Thanks.” She’s quiet for a minute, and then she clears her throat.
“When I was younger, my parents would always talk about being disappointed over the fact that I’m a girl and not a boy.
You know, typical orthodox bullshit. They even tried for a third child, but nothing worked for them, so naturally, they decided to give up.
And then Naila suddenly became their golden child, whereas I became the afterthought.
Don’t get me wrong, my parents are amazing, but they lack a sense of empathy sometimes, especially towards me.
” She sniffs and clears her throat again.
“As I got older and Naila started getting involved into the business side of things for the family, I realized that I’m just the spare now – existing only to kill those who wrong my family.
A butcher, basically. I didn’t…I don’t have any true value; I’m here only because I was born into the Gaddafi family, and that name itself is enough to make people see me differently.
To judge me, name me things, and talk shit about me in my absence.
” She runs her left hand over her right forearm, and for a second, I think that it’s just a mindless gesture.
But then I really look at it. I fucking look , and my throat tightens when I see several inch-long scars spread across it – some healed, and some recent, hiding underneath the beautiful henna on her skin.
“Safiya…”
She brings her gaze to me, then glances down at her forearm with a doleful expression on her face. “It helps,” she says in a scratchy voice. “When things get too rough in my head, this is the only thing that helps.”
I reach out and grab her hand, then give it a squeeze to let her know that I’m here, because words seem too small for something like this.
Reassuring someone who trusts you enough to be open with you of your presence is one of the best things you can do for them. Monologues of motivation and encouragement are far and plenty in this world, but to actually be there for someone – that’s what matters the most.
Safiya swallows as she stares at our hands.
“Ever since my parents started whining about wanting a son, I’ve wanted a brother,” she says, then laughs ruefully.
“I guess it’s just an idea that has been stuck with me for all these years, probably because somewhere in my silly little brain as a kid, I kept hoping that if I got a brother, my parents wouldn’t consider me a disappointment anymore.
And now, as an adult, I keep wondering what it’d be like if I really did have a brother. ”
“Well, you don’t have to wonder anymore, do you?” I tell her, squeezing her hand again. “Because now you have one; you’ve got a brother, Safiya.”
Her eyes mist over as she stares at me in evident shock. But then she blinks, and her expression clears as she gives me a cocky smile. “You sure? Because once you vow to be my brother, there’s no going back. Us Gaddafis may be crazy, but for us, family always comes first.”
“I didn’t think there’d be an oath.”
She purses her lips. “Oh yeah, there is. And it involves blood .”
“ Uff , you drive a hard bargain,” I muse. “If I wasn’t sure before, I most certainly am now.”
She laughs, and it’s more carefree now than reserved, which makes me grin.
“Fine, then.” She gets to her feet suddenly, pulling me up with her. “So, as our first act as brother and sister, do you wanna get a birds-eye view of this teeming foyer by heading up to the first floor, just to make sure we didn’t miss Timothy by any chance?”
“But I thought you said he clearly wasn’t here,” I counter.
She narrows her gaze at me. “Now you’re just testing my generosity, Dorran. I’m trying to help you here, okay.”
“Are you? Gosh, I couldn’t tell.”
She raises and drops her arms by her sides. “ Ahmak ,” she mumbles, then turns around and starts marching over to the stairway.
“Safiya, wait! Your clutch!” I run after her, evading the upper classes, their outstretched arms, swirling dresses, and twirling bodies.
Man, this night just keeps getting longer, doesn’t it?