Page 52 of The Wicked
“She was a victim.”
“I was a victim; you were a victim. Did the world go easy on us? No. They lack discipline. She, in particular, needs a reality check. I am happy to deliver it.”
“Dion was—”
“Have some soldiers bring her here. Do not let other members interrupt. Especially Devil. And tell Casmiro to meet me at my home lounge in an hour,” I said, getting my gun and checking the chamber before swiftly cocking the weapon and flicking the safety back on.
“What do you plan to do?” Angelo asked, eying the gun in my hand.
My thumb rubbed against the surface of the gun as I responded. “Kill a sinner and everyone they share blood with. It has been a while.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Zahra
I wasn’t born like the other kids were.
I thought I was until I realized the things happening to me didn’t happen to normal kids.
From age five to twelve, I lived with two adults—no, they were not my parents, and it wasn’t foster care; it was worse than that. They were my Handlers. From the little I remember, and from what I know now, the gruesome things they made me and the other children do were not things children should have been doing.
But it made them money; older men and younger men alike would pay thousands of dollars to have their way with us… no penetration, just gratification, terrible, terrible things we had to do with our hands and mouths… If I closed my eyes, if I let the capsule I had taken win, I could go back to that house, I could remember the way it smelled, like detergent, one Miss Handler had used to scrub the floors every night after all our visitors left. I could see myself, an innocent little girl, standing in front of Mr. Handler, scared out of her mind from the alcohol on his breath, worried that she had done something to offend one of her favorite people in the world, scared that he would hurt her like the other men did.
If I really stopped to remember, I would hear my own voice, shaking and scared as I asked him, “Did I do something wrong?” Then I would see his eyes, blue like the sky, watching me with what my little self hadn’t registered as deranged obsession. I would listen to him tell me how much he wanted me and how much he felt sick for wanting me. I would feel his lips on mineand his tongue inside my mouth. I would watch him take me to his bed, whispering filthy things I’d often hear the other men say, repeating his endearing nicknames he reserved just for me, “Amore mio,” “my Zahra,” and I would watch myself cry in relief when Miss Handler interrupted him with a shout, pulling me from his grip and his touch.
I would hear his voice whisper, “I don’t know what I was thinking, Amore mio, please forgive me, my Zahra.”
Manuel Conti.
The reason I wished I had died a long time ago, and also the reason I was alive today.
Girls like me were called Plants, born and groomed to attract men as treacherous and disgusting as Manuel, the man who raised me since I was five. The man who wanted me when I was twelve. The man who saved me from sex slavery when I was sixteen, the man who took me to Sicily, made me his equal, gave me power and respect.
I had trusted him then. I once thought I loved him… He ended my trauma, but it was almost too late before I realized he made it worse.
Girls like me… we didn’t have the petty wish of that magical first kiss, or the awkward first time. Girls like me were born into this world for the sole purpose of pleasuring men, and sometimes women. Girls like me were created to gratify the fetishes of people old enough to parent us. I didn’t have my light brown skin because two people of different races fell in love and decided to have children; I had my skin because there was someone out there who wanted to fuck someone like me.
It waswhyI was born.
My past was why I didn’t like Dion’s lips on me. Not entirely because he was a sleazy bastard, but because it brought back trauma I had buried a long time ago.
My night wasn’t going how I pictured it would. I was out of it, laughing and chuckling my head off. That goddamn pill Dion gave me was messing with my head. It was only five minutes agothat he had whispered in my ear, saying we should go somewhere private. I nodded like an idiot and let him pull me with him. We got into an elevator, and somewhere at the back of my mind, I heard a voice.
“Zahra, the fuck are you doing? Leave him now. Make an excuse and go to the washroom, I’m on my way.”
I was dazed with everything around me, and when the elevator closed, Dion held my face in his hands and crashed his lips to mine in a kiss, pulling my waist to meet the bulge in his pants; I giggled when he dropped his head to lick and kiss my neck.
“Devil, Zahra’s in trouble.”
“Just helped Upper out of the club; I’m on to her now.”
The elevator dinged open, and Dion led me out. We stumbled down the hallway, to a door he led me into. He closed it behind me, pushing me to the flat surface, his body pressing against mine, erection hard against my stomach while he kissed me.
“Zahra, I’ve lost visuals of you. Are you okay?”
Dion sucked on my neck. Eager.
“Mm,” I moaned. “Slow down, tiger.”
