Chapter Twenty-Eight #2
I couldn’t even hide the pity in my eyes. “There’s nothing to tell … Your father’s dead. He’s been dead for years; everyone knows that.”
He was about to say something when the door to the house pulled open, and Devil rushed out, beelining towards us.
“Devil—” Before I could complete my statement, Devil was yanking Elio’s hold from my wrist, shoving him hard on the chest, and landing a blow to his face. Elio stumbled back at the impact. Soldiers rushed towards us, and Elio quickly waved them off.
I quickly intervened when Devil wanted to charge towards his brother again, getting between the two. “That’s enough, D. Rein it in.” His chest was heaving, a deadly glare aimed directly at Elio, who worked his jaw with his hand, making no move to attack back.
“That was for watching her get kidnapped,” Devil said, trying to inch closer to Elio, but I held him back. “Fucking touch her again, and see what I’ll do,” he finished, grabbing my wrist and pulling me with him towards the house.
I turned briefly, just in time to see Elio, shoving both hands into his pocket, his eyes on the both of us. Something flashed through them, but Devil pulled me inside the house before I could name it, slamming the door shut behind us.
I pulled my hand from his grip, stepping away from him with a glare. “That was so uncalled for. Why the fuck did you hit him?”
“Are you seriously asking me that question?”
“Yes! It’s not his fault that I got kidnapped, Devil.”
He looked at me with disbelief, eyes running down my body as if just noticing my change of clothes. “He watched you get kidnapped. He stood there and watched them take you.”
“I know, but that’s not important anymore because he still came for me. Stop being such a controlling jerk.”
“Controlling?”
A shuffle from a corner made us turn to find Upper watching us, leaning on the kitchen entryway. “Oh, sweet Devil,” he taunted. “Always trying to control things he doesn’t possess.”
“Shut the fuck up and mind your own business; this has nothing to do with you.”
Upper scoffed, glancing briefly at me before looking at Devil. “Right, nothing to do with me at all.”
I frowned.
“Glad you’re not dead, Zahra,” Upper said, and then he flipped Devil off before disappearing down the passage, a bedroom door slamming a few seconds after.
I blinked in the direction Upper had gone before returning my attention to Devil, who had an unreadable expression on his face.
“What the fuck was that about?”
“Nothing,” he said.
“I’m not an idiot, Devil. Upper’s pissed; Upper is never pissed.”
“It’s nothing,” he snapped.
I shook my head. “I’m just gonna go to bed; I’m too tired for this shit.”
“Zahra—”
“Don’t follow me,” I told him before heading to my bedroom, knowing Milk and Dog would be fast asleep already; we were deep into the morning, and I knew I should probably question why Upper and Devil were still up together.
I knew Devil would wait up, but like Dog, Upper liked his sleep, so it was weird.
The moment I fell on the bed, I groaned in tiredness, my grip still on Elio’s gun.
I shoved it under the pillow with a tired sigh and passed out after a few seconds.
“Make one for me?” I said to Upper as I yawned and stretched, entering the kitchen as he was making coffee. He nodded at my request without looking at me, his form tense.
I frowned, about to comment when Milk’s voice cut in.
“Morning, Zahra!” she yelled from the living room. “I stopped by your room early, and you were dead asleep, mouth open and all.”
“Creep,” I muttered.
She chuckled.
Now in a simple tank top and shorts, I sat atop one of the kitchen stools, placing my hand on my cheek as I watched Upper work on the coffee machine, rubbing sleep from his eyes.
Second to Dog, Upper was the one I warmed up to after we first met. He was always smiling, observant, and loved talking about things he claimed to know nothing about. Upper wasn’t a mystery; he was an open book that held so many hidden secrets between the lines I would have loved to unearth.
When I’d asked him about his accent years ago, he’d told me it was learned, but I wasn’t stupid.
If the others believed that shit, I didn’t.
His accent had that unmistakable refinement of—I don’t know—British aristocracy?
The kind drilled into people raised in royal circles.
It was too natural … too second nature; coupled with his posh mannerisms, it made him seem dignified—like he wasn’t the same as everyone else.
He would often act a certain proper way, catch himself doing it, and adjust to being brash.
I never spoke on it or pointed it out; if the others caught it too, they said nothing.
We stayed away from broaching the “extra personal” in our lives.
We kept our past to our past and functioned well with our present.
There was a possibility we would perform better if we knew where we each came from, but none of us were willing or eager to let that information slip.
But we still trusted each other, and it was healthy.
I worked my shoulders, trying to free my coiled muscles.
“I have a feeling you’re being hostile with me,” I said, watching his back tense up, but he continued what he was doing. “You know you can talk to me about anything if I did something wrong or said something that upset you.”
He let out a shaky breath, turning with a fresh cup of coffee for me. I collected it, watching him avoid eye contact.
“Upper—”
“It’s not you,” he said, his bright hazel eyes raising to look at me. “You didn’t do anything.”
“So why are you being weird?”
“I—”
“Baby Zahra.” Arms hugged me from behind as Dog slammed a kiss to my cheek. “I missed you!”
I tried to push him off. “Get off me, you clingy beast.”
He tightened his hold and whispered harshly in my ear. “Where are my fucking pills?”
“Hidden.”
“I can take that. My fucking pot is what I can’t take; I was going crazy last night, you motherfucker,” he gritted with a strained smile.
“I told you, you’re not getting high without me to monitor you, motherfucker,” I gritted with a strained smile too, and Upper eyed us warily.
“You could have at least left a joint, bitch.” His grip tightened.
I was choking for air as I ground out, “Again, not getting high without me. You wanna get stoned, we get stoned together; that’s how this relationship works, cunt.”
“This relationship works how I say it works; a joint wouldn’t make me an addict, you fucking snake.”
“Your action right now is fucking proof you’re on the brink, you fucking dog; maybe I should throw the fucking pills away.”
“Do that and die a very miserable death in the Karakoram.”
“That’s oddly specific.”
“I can make it happen—”
“What the fuck are you guys muttering about? You’re scaring me,” Upper said, mug paused halfway to his lips, eyes wide.
Dog released me, slapping my shoulder twice. “Just catching up,” he said, walking around the kitchen, his eyes on me. When he crossed behind Upper, his glare rained, and he slashed a thumb to his throat, a premature gesture of him doing the same to me with a knife.
I rolled my eyes, drinking Upper’s fantastic coffee.
When Devil walked in, Upper immediately took his leave, joining Milk in the living room, leaving Devil staring after him with an annoyed frown.
Something was going on between those two. But Devil wasn’t into men … or was he?
All day, my head was filtering through thoughts, and even as they debriefed me on the painting with information that could be useful and resources we might need, my full attention wasn’t on it.
Three things swarmed through my head.
Upper and Devil, what could be going on?
The painting and everything attached to it.
And finally … Elio.
What happened to make him that way? A heartless man with a heart. How many cobwebs were in his wardrobe?
Angelo had stopped by earlier to get a little debriefing about what my captors had asked me.
I had kept Manuel’s name out of it, but the man could tell I was hiding something else.
Before he left, I hesitated but asked him about Elio because, if I was honest with myself, I was a little worried about him and how we had left things last night.
It was probably the guilt eating me up at his revelation of how deep my words had cut him.
Angelo had looked at me weirdly, and I didn’t blame him; it was weird. I shouldn’t care.
But I was relieved when he said Elio was doing okay but had left the compound with Casmiro quite early for business. Then he asked why I was asking, and I just shrugged, not giving him an answer, which I was sure made my behavior even more suspicious.
He dropped it, though, and I was glad he did. Hopefully, he wouldn’t tell Elio I asked. That would be embarrassing.
After a small game of cards with the group, I retired early, still not well-rested from the last few days’ events.
I wore one of Milk’s short satin nightgowns, one of the many that had somehow stumbled into my wardrobe.
I could swear the girl was slowly changing my choice of clothing because each time something new was mysteriously added, a piece of my comfort clothes she had disapproved of would go missing.
I settled in bed, slipping my hand underneath my pillow, and brought Elio’s gun into my view, examining it.
My fingers brushed across the muzzle of the gun, the same one that had touched my lips the other night. An action that should have made me wary of the impending death that could strike me if a shot was fired instead made me bristle with desire.