Page 44 of The Wicked
“That was the first time I ever saw him cry, and it was also the last. At that moment, I badly wanted to protect him from what made him cry. I hated it. The tears. It hurt me. I wished he never went back to his father. I hoped he would stay with me because—each time he went out and came back… something was always missing. With each visit, something died. At first, it was his smile, then his affection, and then—basically everything.”
Devil let out a breath, looking at me again. “I know it might not be worth it, but I want to try. For that boy who cried as I held him, the one who needed nothing but company and good sleep.” He breathed out a small laugh.
“Well fuck,” I said.
“What?”
“I can’t kill him now.”
He flicked my forehead, and I scrunched up my nose.
“Like you could hurt a fly,” he said, proceeding to finish bandaging my shoulder.
A comfortable silence fell between us until I broke it. “For what it’s worth, I think he’s still there. The brother you once knew.”
“How are you sure?”
“As I said, I saw it.”
It was slow, but a smile broke out on his lips as he resumed his task, looking a lot more relieved than he had minutes before.
It had been two weeks since the casino incident, and our security had doubled since then. I’d been waiting for the other shoe to drop, for actions to be taken about the casino stunt we pulled, but they had surprisingly left us alone.
I joined the rest of them in the living room. Upper had a whiteboard already littered with information. A thin drumstick was in his left hand, and I didn’t even want to ask how he got it.
“Lovely of you to finally grace us with your presence,” Upper said, looking away as he stood beside the board. At the same time, I found a space next to Devil, opposite Milk, whose eyes scanned the board as if trying to take it all into memory, and Dog, who divided his attention between Upper and the laptop in front of him. Our comms were splayed out beside the laptop while he worked on them.
“All right, so we move tomorrow, and the plan is quite simple as we have devised over the past couple of days,” Upper said, pointing at a space in the whiteboard, a miniature van drawing. “This is Dog.”
“The guy in the chair this time,” he muttered, not looking up.
“Yes, he’ll be our eyes and ears, the mission’s omniscient body. The van contains three computers showing live feeds from all corners of Eden.”
I nodded in agreement.
Upper continued. “Devil and I installed cameras in all wings of the building the other day, tracking devices on anything that could be lifted and carried away, and also chips that can enable us to listen in on conversations that might aid us, or deliver important information we might need.”
“Are Angelo’s people tracking our activities? Is there a chance to snag up some info for ourselves?” Milk asked.
“They’re tracking everything; Dog might be our guy in the chair, but a good number of guys in chairs are backing him up. This is important to them,” Upper said.
“Way forward,” I said.
Upper pointed to the club entrance, at two stick drawings with spaghetti hair. “This is Milk and Zahra. Your entry is through the front. We already obtained VIP tickets so the bouncer will swipe you in without questions or the unnecessary ID checking.”
“How did we get VIP tickets?” I asked.
“Milk has a brother who’s a new bartender in the bar. He’s popular, handsome, and can sneak in to collect VIP tickets. Illegally.”
“And this brother of mine is?” Milk asked.
Upper pointed his drumstick at the drawing of what looked like a table, with a stick person behind it holding a glass. “Devil is your brother; although he won’t be there when you and Zahra walk in, he’ll be opening the kitchen vent for me, and you’ll have another bartender tending to you. He’s normal people. I think Patrick was his name, if I’m correct. A man-whore for boobs, easily distracted. He’s eyed four women who have been later called to join Dion, so the odds are in our favor there.”
“And what’s that?” Devil pointed to the two stick figures in a corner, entering another room.
“That’s you and me; I’m leaving the kitchen after drinking too much and stealing food. I’m on the verge of throwing up and causing a small scene, but you’re dragging me out through the back, where people think you’re going to throw me into a dumpster or something, and if my timing is right, it would be about the same time Dion is getting too distracted by Milk’s beauty and charm to notice the unusual chaos.”
“So, there’s a back door around the back door?” Dog asked.
