“Hold her,” Hasan said, “but be gentle.”
Vinay had a hundred questions in his eyes as he pried Daria from Hasan’s side, but Hasan knew he wouldn’t ask them. Vinay’s time in the gang had taught him that there was a time and place to question the boss, and this situation wasn’t one of them.
Hasan kneeled at the foot of the door, grateful that he’d made a large enough offering to Aganath that morning. Flexing his hand, he reached for the energy humming against his skin and concentrated, warmth flooding up into his shoulder and down his arm. He channeled his daivyakhi through the tips of his fingers until it flickered to life, forming a ball of fire the size of a pomegranate. He held it to the base of the wooden door until the flames caught onto the dry wood. In the scorching heat, they grew without much encouragement from him. He stepped back, satisfied.
“Stop!” Daria shrieked, thrashing in Vinay’s grip. “My brother’s inside!”
“He knew this would happen if he didn’t pay,” Hasan said.
“You said you’d be merciful!”
“Iwasmerciful. That’s why you’re not in there with him.” As the meaning of his words sank in, Daria stopped struggling. Hasan dusted off his hands on his pants. “I wouldn’t worry about him, anyway. If there’s one thing a weasel like him knows, it’s how to wriggle out of tight spaces. Come on. Let’s go, before the crowds gather.”
With that, they left Darsh Jana’s house, smoke filling the alleyway behind them.
“I won’t ask you if you know what you’re doing,” Vinay said, too quietly for Daria to hear over her own keening. “The real question is whether your brothers know.”
“What do you think?” Hasan whispered back. The mission had been to collect fifty thousand crowns. Instead, they’d scavenged a frightened, grieving girl.
Zeyar was going to be pissed.
Chapter Three
The Devar Brothers
“Honestly, Hasan, what the hell were you thinking?” Zeyar’s black eyes, the same color and shape that all the brothers shared, bored into Hasan’s face. Hasan had borne Zeyar’s censure so many times it barely stung. “You weresupposedto collect fifty thousand crowns, not auselessvasudhakt girl.”
Hasan glared back at Zeyar. Although they were sitting at opposite ends of the table, the distance only tightened the wire of tension between them.
“Hey now,” Paranjay said. The smell of sea brine accompanied him as he walked into the room. While both Hasan and Zeyar were well dressed, Paranjay was in his typical uniform of denim trousers and a well-worn cotton shirt that showed off the tattoos and scars decorating his muscular arms. “Let’s not bring caste into this. Nor should we be so quick to judge the girl when she’s clearly at her worst.”
Zeyar turned his glower on Paranjay, who held his gaze evenly. Finally, Zeyar acquiesced, lowering his eyes to fish out a pack of smokes in his tailored gray blazer. Hasan allowed his glare to morph into a smug grin.
The expression quickly fell off his face as Paranjay continued. “However, I have to agree with Zeyar. What were you thinking, Hasan?”
“Darsh didn’t have the money. I had to burn down the house. Those are the terms of the loan. It wasn’t fair to trap Daria inside when it happened.”
“Fair?” Zeyar repeated. “We’re not a courtroom. We’re a business.Fairnessis not a line item on a balance sheet or income statement, last I checked.”
He clicked his lighter, raising his right eyebrow mockingly as he lifted his cigarette to the flame. A scar split the brow, dividing it into two. It was one of the only scars Zeyar had, and Hasan had been the one to put it there. As a teenager, he’d tackled Zeyar in a fit of pride and anger?—over what, he couldn’t recall. He hadn’t walked away unscathed. When his skull had collided with Zeyar’s, both of their brows had split. Now, Hasan wore the twin scar on the left side of his face. It was one of many on his body, but one of the rare few whose origin he remembered.
“Darsh was mistreating Daria.” Hasan’s mouth twisted with disgust. “He tried to pimp her out to evade paying me.”
“Did you hear what I said?” Zeyar asked, puffing smoke out. “We’re not a women’s shelter. We do things for profit. That means we need to gain assets, not liabilities. Guess which category the girl fits into.”
Hasan gritted his teeth at Zeyar’s crude, profit-oriented logic. True, they didn’t run a charity or a shelter. No, they weren’t in the business of fairness. But their business was composed of people?—primarily, vulnerable ones?—and Hasan hated it when his brother oversimplified like this. They’d hadthatargument countless times before, and it had gotten Hasan nowhere.
He paused, choosing his words carefully, trying to spin the situation in a way that would make Zeyar agree with him. “We could get her a job with us. Turn her into an asset. Do you need a seamstress?”
Zeyar huffed out another cloud of smoke. “No, I do not. Besides, we’d have to pay her if we hired her. That’s a drain on our resources. We don’t need another mouth to feed. We have to take care of ourselves.”
“I could make her a spy.”
“You already have nearly three hundred spies,” Zeyar snapped. “You don’t need another. The problem isn’t where we’re going to place the girl. The problem, as always, is you.”
Hasan opened his mouth to fire back, but Zeyar jabbed his cigarette at him menacingly, half rising from his seat.
“No, listen to me. This week, you bring home Daria. Last week, youstruck a police officerover a dispute about a pickpocket who was stupid enough to get caught.”
