Page 218 of The Wicked
“Devil drives. You try to talk to the kids without swearing at them. Upper, Milk, and I will play with the wires on that thing until it stops beeping, and we remain breathing afterward.”
“That doesn’t sound like a solid solution,” Dog said.
“You got anything better than contacting people who might not give a shit about the children?” I asked, glancing at him and Devil.
Silence reigned, and then I nodded.
“Awesome.” I looked back at the bomb. “We stay calm, and then we get to work.”
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Elio
Gemma Parisi’s house was normal.
A modest bungalow in a neighborhood that was exceptionally peaceful. The lawn was neatly mowed, drawing attention to the white picket fence that stood unblemished, just like the building, which stood out from the other cream-brown houses with its dark sky-blue and white paint design, along with the beautiful flowerbeds that lined the corners of the house. It brought me to the realization that this house was either just remodeled or just built. Her red car was parked right in front of the black tinted-windows minivan I had brought.
My gaze checked along the corners of the house, the little pathways leading to the other street in back. All clear. No suspicious movements that would have me on guard. It was normal.
Just like the woman I had come to see.
The woman who would invite a mere acquaintance to her house rather than meet at a public restaurant where people could see if something were to go wrong or inauspiciously.
I sucked on the almost burnt-out cigar, allowing it to warm my chest while I discarded the lit end, then blew out the smoke.
Removing my gaze from the house, I looked down at the phone in my hand, still on the page that showed Zahra’s name and contact number. My thumb hovered on the call button like it had been doing since the night she refused my invitation.
I had battled with the need to call her and the pull to ignore her. To slap on the mindset that she was just another woman—yes, another woman, but also the first woman you slept with twice.Twice. The first woman you can’t get enough of. The first woman you confessed to.
Very convenient, this situation I found myself in. Quite fucking impressive.
I sighed and pressed the side button.
Grabbing the black cap on the passenger’s side, I slipped it on my head before getting my gun, engaging the safety, and getting out of the car. While looking around, I shoved the gun in the back of the black jeans I wore. I allowed the jacket to fall over it as I shut the van door, going around it till I was face-to-face with the house, but a lawn’s distance away.
I’d started walking towards the entrance when the door pulled open, revealing Gemma in a beige-yellow tank top and dark gray sweatpants.
A genuine bright smile crossed her face as she approached me, enveloping me in a warm hug that had me standing very still.
She pulled away with a grin. “It’s good to see you again, cutie. You look…”
“Casual.”
Gemma’s brows went up as she looked at me from head to toe. “Thiswas your attempt at casual?”
“Yes.”
She laughed, shaking her head. “Oh God, my love, you’re wearing a cap and a black… eh… well, a black everything, and you drove here in a small minivan? With black tinted windows? That’s not a casual look; that’s an ‘I want my victims to know they will never survive it if I successfully catch them’ look.”
“I see,” I stated. “I must have misinterpreted casual, then.”
She leveled me with a smile. “You’re good. Gran Louisa has been dying to meet you.”
“Has she?”
“Yup!” She jumped on her feet, interlocking her arm with mine as she pulled me towards the house. “Hope you haven’t had lunch! And I hope you like Italian?”
“I am Italian, Gemma.”
