Maybe that makes me stupid, but she’s proven she can’t before.
“I was invited, Cupcake.” She narrows her eyes at my nickname for her and grits her teeth, lowering the gun to her side.
“I doubt that,” she quips, tucking her piece into the back of her tight leather pants.
Malia turns and starts walking down the dank basement, The Omen and Donovan close on her heels, once again following behind. I hadn’t taken in her appearance when I first saw her, too focused on the fact she was holding a gun between her brother’s eyes.
Her pants are torn and there’s blood stained on different parts of her body. Her hair matted with it, as the usual curls that bounce when she walks, stay close to her head. She wears a mans t-shirt, too big for her and it makes me wonder whose it is.
Coming to a door at the end of the hall, she puts in a code, and it unlocks, stepping through not minding the things her father and brother are saying. Her gait is off, a limp on her left side, but I don’t see where she’s hurt.
We walk down another hallway that opens up into a room with what looks like a man strapped to a chair. Malia has her knife out and is sending it into the man before she fully steps into the room.
It finds home in the man’s shoulder, and he screams out when the blade makes contact. Malia waits no time and storms up to him, grabbing the back of his head and ramming his face into her knee.
“Malia!” The Omen warns.
I step into the room last, taking in the picture. The man that is what looks like bound to a chair, looks up and smiles at Malia, blood covering his teeth.
All I can do is stand back and take everything in. The man is dressed in a blue ripped button-up shirt and dress slacks. A chain hangs around his neck and he’s covered in tattoos and piercings.
Malia sends the back of her hand across the man’s face; he laughs when it jerks to the side from the force. The powerful hit rebounds off the walls, and the man teeters on the chair as it threatens to send him sideways.
The Omen stands behind his daughter, close enough in case she takes things too far he might be able to stop her. Donovan stands on the other side, awaiting his father’s order to pounce.
I should stop this, I can’t stand here and let them kill or torture him. Then again, this piece of shit blew up a building and is responsible for deaths and injuries. If he is connected to Rico Martinez, then it’s likely he’s involved in more.
So, I just stand here with my arms crossed and watch the woman I thought I knew.
Malia pulls out the knife and bends down only inches from the man’s face. “Where is he?” she demands.
I look to The Omen, confused because I thought all of this was meant to be a secret to her. I make a mental note to find out what she’s been clued in on and what still in the dark.
The man spits a wad of blood next to Malia’s foot, and I see her bottom lip poke out. She looks down at the blood and giggles, the action causing the hairs on the back of my neck to stand at attention.
Two perfectly manicured fingers dive into the knife wound she had put in the man’s shoulder. He cries out in agony as she twists her fingers around, cocking her head to the side while taking in his pain.
I’m enthralled.
The power Malia wields as she plays with her prey is nothing I’ve seen before. She looks so small, yet still so large, in a room of men and concrete. A man’s life twisted around her wicked little finger.
She smiles and it’s one of the most beautiful—and chilling—things I have ever seen, before she removes her fingers and grabs his chin, placing the blade of her dagger on his cheek.
“Don’t make me ask twice,” Malia coos, rubbing the blade along his graying beard.
“I won’t tell you a thing,whore,” the man seethes. “Martinez is going to put your pretty pussy to work.”
He smiles and my back straightens. The Omen takes a few steps closer, coming to stand by his daughter.
Malia sighs. “I like beards, you know?” I bite back the scoff as she rubs her free hand along his face. His eyes are zoned in, waiting for her next word while she pets him. The quick rise and fall of his chest and tightness in his body tells me that he’s not as cocky and confident as he’s letting on.
“I don’t think it suits your face,” Malia continues. “How about we take a looksy?”
The blade digs into the man’s face, flaying his skin as he screams out. Malia drags it along his jaw, removing his beard along with half of his cheek. She smiles as he wails and thrashes in his chair, dropping the flesh onto the ground with an audibleplop.
Bile rises into the back of my throat, and I heave. Snot and tears run down his face, and he flinches back, sobbing loudly as Malia straightens.
She purses her lips and tilts her head, observing her handywork. “Hmm. Maybe the beard was better.”