Chapter Five
Zahra
It was one thing to jump into danger when you were the one putting yourself in it, and it was another thing to be running—or in my current situation—walking towards the danger when you have no control of the situation.
Angelo—the guy The Wicked had called into the torture oven—had arrived a few minutes before at the quarters where we were kept.
He led us to another building in the compound, and now we were walking down a very long hallway.
Men were everywhere, coming in and out of rooms you would never have guessed were rooms.
“Just how big is this place?” Upper asked, breaking the tense silence.
“It’s never-ending,” Milk added, but her voice was small.
“We’re almost there,” Angelo said.
We had passed through a large hall to get here, and it was littered with soldiers walking around, all distracted with individual tasks. My eyes quickly scanned the layout of the space, mapping out every possible corner that could be used as an escape or a hiding spot.
Beside me, Devil wore one of those expressions that once had me raising my guard. I could tell he was prepping his front, but I didn’t understand why he was so tense. Maybe he was scared? But putting Devil and that word together didn’t make sense.
I wanted to hold his hand, squeeze it to let him know that we were all here, we were all still alive.
But I held back because we didn’t do that, and I would be a hypocrite because I was also in my head—for completely different reasons.
I balled my hand up in a fist and steadied my breathing, calming myself.
Before I could register the faint sound of music, the men on each side of Angelo were pushing open double doors, and we were entering a different space and time.
It looked like we had somehow teleported into a casino in Las Vegas.
The club was bright, with white, red, and golden lights dancing around, different gambling tables, and seats filled by money-hungry people.
I felt warmth encasing my free, uninjured hand, and I tore my gaze from my surroundings and looked up at Devil. He squeezed my hand in his and bent to whisper in my ear. “You okay?”
I answered with a stiff nod. “Are you?”
He answered with an equally stiff nod.
“It’s like a fucking sin bin,” I heard Dog say, but I didn’t turn around. My nerves were too raw to fully comprehend the chaotic surroundings. Angelo led us up a staircase, which led to a more secluded area that gave way to yet another hallway.
My anticipation grew, and my stomach tightened, but it was a feeling I could control, and Devil’s hand in mine had me relaxing a little; I could only hope he felt the same relief.
Almost as if he had heard my thoughts, he squeezed my hand again before letting go the moment Angelo stopped in front of a door, using a key card to unlock it.
We walked into a large area that looked like a VIP apartment with an office, a boardroom, and a library. I noticed the men who followed Angelo had stopped at the door as we continued inside, the door closing behind us.
In the middle of the room was a long conference table surrounded by black leather seats. There was soft classical music in the air, smooth yet unnerving.
At the head of the table was none other than The Wicked himself, Elio Marino. He was holding a book, the hardcover a plain black. He wore reading glasses, and between his lips, a Cuban cigar rested, burning away slowly.
His black button-up had been rolled up to his elbows, showcasing the tattoos on his left forearm.
I couldn’t tell what the drawings were, but they looked like flames.
I averted my gaze to the man sitting by his side.
His eyes had been on us the moment we stepped into the room, calculating and scanning us like he was dissecting us limb by limb, to see if it was clinically safe to be in the same space with us.
My eyes shifted back to Elio, whose tattooed, ring-bound fingers moved to take the cigar from between his lips. He blew out the smoke as he closed the book and set it on the table.
Angelo cleared his throat, taking his seat. “You can sit; the chairs don’t bite.”
Devil moved first, pulling out a seat, and we all followed, doing the same.
Milk leaned into me as she whispered, motioning to the shelf, “So many books with the same black hardcovers. It’s creepy.”
My gaze moved to the shelves lining the walls. The spines were all black, hardcover spines, similar to the one he had been reading.
“They are personalized versions of every popular book you can think of,” Elio said, and my gaze snapped to him as Milk stiffened beside me.
His reading glasses were still on his face. The moment he pressed the cigar into the ashtray before him, he raised his gaze, his eyes locking with mine. My stomach jumped, but I didn’t look away.
He shifted his attention to Milk, who still sat frozen beside me. “The color of your hair is pink, yes?”
She was like stone now, nervousness pouring off her in waves. Fuck. We really shouldn’t have spent last night rehashing what this man was capable of. “Y-yes.”
Dog looked irritated and I knew he was thinking that she was making us look weak. Upper just sat there stunned, probably waiting for the other shoe to drop. Devil was tenser than he had been before we got here.
Elio hummed. “Your hair is beautiful; what is your name?” he asked.
“Um … Milk?” she answered, confusion lacing her tone.
Elio’s head tilted toward the other—which I guessed was the Casmiro who knows best—for confirmation of Milk’s name.
“An alias,” Casmiro confirmed, making me frown. “You want the real one?”
Milk’s breathing quickened.
“No. I like Milk better. It’s very … soft,” Elio said, taking off his glasses and arranging them carefully beside the book before he looked at Milk again. “To kill your curiosity, Milk. My books are all black because I do not fancy colors and black is the absence of all colors.”
“White is also the absence of all colors,” I said before I could catch my tongue, and his gaze shifted to me, then to my arm as if to remind me what had happened the last time I contradicted something he said.
But I didn’t back down. “Green is also the absence of all colors; basically, all colors are the absence of all other colors, so how can you say you do not fancy colors in general?”
His right brow lifted. But he didn’t break eye contact, and I refused to look away, either. I noticed the music in the background beginning to ascend slowly.
“Aside from stealing money from people who can kill you, you like physics too,” he said.
“It wasn’t a physics question.”
“It sounded that way to me.”
“You just didn’t make any sense. I was only trying to understand you.”
From the corner of my eye I could see Casmiro’s eyes widen and Angelo shift uncomfortably.
“I didn’t make any sense,” Elio stated as if testing the words on his tongue.
“Yes, you—”
“Zahra.” Devil’s voice came out in a low hum of warning.
“What? I was only pointing out what I thought was an error of thought. Isn’t that allowed around here?” I raised a brow, looking around like we had an actual audience, before meeting Elio’s gaze again.
The silence stretched, and I was glad because I saw the shift in his eyes.
The man was … angry.
“Seriously, cut it out,” Devil said.
I felt the fear I’d once harbored slipping away as control took over.
I counted up to five in my head before looking away from him, and the moment I did, Upper spoke up. “I think Zahra’s right.”
“Fucking hell,” Devil whispered under his breath.
“The color green is the absence of all colors, pink too, brown, yellow—all of the bloody colors, so like—black, they all stand on their own.”
“Isn’t black a shade?” Dog piped up, and I smiled, leaning back on the chair, glad everything was playing out how my mind wanted it to. “I read once that black and white aren’t colors but shades?”
“What the fuck is the difference, Dog?” Upper countered.
“I’m here wondering how Dog got that information,” Milk added.
“Found some textbooks in a dumpster once. One was about all the fucking colors; I don’t even know why I read that shit. I don’t know why it stuck too.”
“We’re all gonna die,” Devil muttered again.
“Black and white are augmented colors. Not like the other colors; they’re like the parents of all colors,” Milk said, nodding as if she was only just understanding what she said.
“Colors don’t have parents, Milk. You’re an airhead,” Upper said.
“You’re the airhead if you don’t understand simple metaphors, Upper.”
“I know bloody metaphors; I went to school, unlike you and these other shitheads.”
“When the fuck did you have the time to go to school?” Dog asked.
“We’re all dead.” Devil rubbed both his eyes in defeat as he shook his head, the music in the background ascending even further.
“He probably climbed up school roofs and hid in their ventilators just to attend classes,” Milk said with a smart-ass smile curling her lips.
Upper’s jaw clenched. “Fine, you fuckers, I climbed up a few ventilators, so bloody what? I’m still fucking educated, better than the lot of you.”
“I read actual books from the trash and still remembered deets from them—fuck. If I had finished school, I would have been one smart motherfucker,” Dog said.
“You’re pretty good with numbers,” I mused.
“I’m a fucking genius with numbers,” he corrected me, and the room went silent again, followed by the music in the background descending.
I sat up, finally looking back at Elio, Casmiro, and Angelo.
Elio still had a look of indifference on his face, but his gaze was sweeping over our little group with wonder. Casmiro’s jaw was hanging open, and Angelo just sat there, eyes wide, a slight smile curling at his lips.
I cleared my throat. “There you have it, we’re Street.” Then I let my taunting stare settle on Elio as I said, “It is only right to prepare your family for what awaits you, as you’ve decided to consider my request.”
Elio was silent for a few moments before he spoke. “What makes you think I’ve considered it?”
“I’m still breathing,” I answered without blinking.
“And I’m beginning to think Casmiro knows best after all.”
At the mention of his name, Casmiro cleared his throat. “I was wrong. I think they’re perfect,” he said.
“Just because that one crawled up a vent like a deranged rat?”
Devil sighed. “I think what Casmiro is trying to say is, because Upper crawled up a vent for years and got a full education without being seen.”
Elio’s gaze snapped in Devil’s direction, and I saw that shift in his eyes again; the look was an obvious dare, almost as if he was daring Devil to speak again.
I could swear I saw Devil roll his eyes as he relaxed back in his chair, crossing his arms against his chest, looking straight ahead, his jaw locked.
What the fuck was that?
Elio’s gaze rested on me. “Your introduction was comical but not appreciated.”
My gaze flickered between him and Devil before I responded, “I beg to differ; if we’re going to work together, you should know who you’re dealing with.”
Casmiro frowned at my tone. “Or maybe you have forgotten how you got here. You work for us now, not with us. There is a big difference.”
“I know, but just because we work for you doesn’t mean we change how we work. Or the way we communicate with each other; getting engrossed in a stupid argument when our lives are in danger is how we work well together.”
“It’s the only way we can function, honestly,” Dog added.
Upper nodded. “Chaos is Street.”
“And it’s kind of fun”—Milk blinked—“most times.”
Elio’s gaze settled on each of us—except Devil—before he relit the cigar he’d discarded, placing it between his lips. I watched him take a long drag and let it out slowly, tormentingly, before he finally spoke. “Why don’t we test that theory?”