A booming laugh echoes around me, drawing my attention to a man standing just beyond a large archway at the far corner of the room.His stature, at well over six feet tall, forces him to duck his head to step through.His dark chestnut eyes meet mine with a warmth that can only be interpreted as friendship.
His long legs make short work eliminating the distance between us, and I soon find myself in the uncomfortable embrace of his muscular arms.His chest rises against mine as his heavily accented voice booms in my ear.
“Habibi, my friend, how good it is to see you!”
My eyes roll as I step away from him, putting myself at a comfortable distance.
“You’ve redecorated,” I deadpan.
“My buyers eat this shit up,” he says with a laugh.“Come, we'll have a drink.”
He steps away, gesturing to a table in the corner of the room.I follow, knowing well enough that Malik won't do business until we've finished with the pleasantries of small talk and mint tea.Friendships are mostly unfamiliar to me, but I've come to accept his in recent years.Not with the openness that he shows, but with the small amount I can give.
I drop myself down to a large green pillow, partially tucked beneath the table.Patterns of leafy vines and gold flowers stretch out beyond my thighs.I feel utterly ridiculous.A black cloud pressed against a rainbow or color.Malik, on the other hand, fits perfectly in the space.He wears a bright emerald blazer over his broad shoulders.Matching emerald dress pants fit tightly on his large legs.
His face is plainer than he is.His skin, the color of damp sand, is beginning to show the lines of his age.Wrinkles spread out from his eyes, as you'd expect from a man who laughs often.His short-cropped, black hair is accented by the small gold hoops dangling from his ears.
A young woman approaches, her silky, blue dress swirling around her feet.The chandelier above dances over her light brown skin, making her glow.She pays me no attention, her eyes set solely on Malik.His lips turn up in a wide smile, causing a rush of pink to flow into her cheeks.As she stares at him, wide eyed with awe and not just a small amount of desire, that spark of jealousy inside me zaps at my lungs.My little bird will look at me like that someday, but for now, that ache strikes me like I've stuck my finger in an electrical socket.
The woman bends at the waist, her long dress pulling tight over her curves as she places a tray of tea and small cakes on the table.Malik watches her with a hunger in his eyes that only dissipates when I clear my throat loudly.The woman smiles warmly, a soft giggle bubbling past her lips before she walks away.
Malik’s eyes turn to me, the wolfish grin on his face telling me he's enjoying showing off.He waves his hand over the tray, gesturing for me to accept the offer of food and drink before he speaks.
“Tell me, friend,” he asks, “are you still working forelmar'a elshiriyra?”
My eyebrow quirks up in question.
“You know,” he continues, “the evil woman, Bianca.”
I roll my eyes, unsurprised by the question.The bad blood between the arms dealer and the Rossi family is long-standing.Years ago, after a deal went bad between them, Bianca took his younger sister, Rana.A fiercely loyal man, Malik searched for Rana, but with resources that barely compare to the ruling families in this city, he's fallen short.
Even my heart, as cold and shriveled as it may be, clenches to think of Rana’s fate.She was young, barely seventeen when she was taken.The rare beauty would have caught Bianca's eye right away, even before she realized her age.
At best, she's been sold off to the highest bidder to live out her days in a gilded cage.At worst, she lives in a far worse cage, body ravaged by drugs and the most horrific desires of bad men.A shudder runs through me, making my shoulders shake.If Malik notices, he doesn’t say so.
Last year, Malik tried to broker a deal with the head of the Volkov family, whose resources are far greater than his, in an attempt to get Rana back.But the promise of weapons and Malik's small crew for support wasn't enough to entice them into starting a war.Not when their own resources only barely rival those of the Rossi family.
“You know I don't work for her,” I state dryly, “I take jobs from whoever can pay.”
Malik chuckles softly.“Mafeesh fur’a, my friend.There’s no difference.”
His face softens in understanding, maybe even forgiveness, as his lips curl into a smile.
“What can I do for you today?”he asks before wagging his eyebrows.“Or have you finally visited me on a purely social call?”
I scoff out a small laugh from my nose.“I have a weapon to dispose of that you might have interest in, police-issued.”
Malik's eyes sparkle as I withdraw Deputy Douchebag’s handgun from my waistband, and place it on the table.He reaches for it, turning it about in his hand.
Nodding his head, he says, “This could be of use to me.”His eyes meet mine as a dark smirk pulls across his mouth.“I'm awfully curious as to how you ended up with this, my friend.”
I stand, stepping away from the table back toward the door.Looking back over my shoulder, I only say, “It's about a girl.”
I exit the room, followed by his booming laughter and the clattering clink of teacups being knocked over.
