The Deity of Death (Virgins and Villains #3)

Chapter 12

12

MELINA

T he lump in my throat hasn’t gone away since Malik confessed Omar’s plans. He promised our safety but told us to follow through with this ridiculous arrangement. I don’t doubt him. He must have something up his sleeve. But I can’t shake the overwhelming fear hanging over me like a thick, dark cloud.

Dad and I sit opposite Omar and Nasir at a massive dining table. He has guards stationed on every corner of the room, the same way he had them on our first meeting. But I recognize one of them, at least, I think I do. He’s the guy who picked up the American’s belongings after Malik swooped in to save the day.

“It makes me happy to hear you all had a wonderful time last night,” Omar says, sliding a stack of papers to Dad. “Nasir hasn’t stopped raving about you since he got home, Melina. You’ve left quite an impression on my boy.”

He slaps Nasir’s shoulder while he speaks. Nasir doesn’t carry the same joyous tone as his father. His eyes keep shooting to the door as if he’s expecting something to happen.

We’ve been here for an hour, maybe longer, and Malik hasn’t arrived. We exchanged pleasantries, and where fear bit on my words, Dad somehow managed to keep a level head and pretend everything was okay.

What if something happened to Malik? Word got out that he confessed everything to us, and they got to him during the night? It weighs on my mind every passing minute without his arrival.

“Booze and gambling can make any dark night a little brighter,” Dad says. He scans the pages and, after a short pause, continues, “It all looks to be in order. Everything we agreed on as discussed.”

“Were you expecting something different?” Omar strokes his pudgy chin.

“If it were me on the other side of the table, I’d probably throw a few extra clauses in. Hope they go by unnoticed,” Dad answers. I’m taken aback by how calm he is in the face of danger. No fumbling for words or stammering, he’s standing toe to toe against the man who wants him dead.

Omar laughs, and Nasir joins him. But their chortling comes to an abrupt end when the double doors on the far side of the room swing open with Malik behind it.

My heart swells, and my cheeks sting with how wide I start smiling.

Malik ducks through the frame and makes his way to the table. I expected an entourage of armed soldiers at his back to fend off whatever Omar might throw at him. But it’s him alone, walking straight into the viper’s nest.

Omar’s face instantly scrunches in fury.

“How dare you show your face here?” he spits, launching out of his chair with a sausage finger wagging in Malik’s direction. “Who do you think you are to make orders to my son?”

“He’s a coward who fled in combat and continues to flee at the first sign of threat,” Malik returns.

“Fled in combat?” Omar scoffs. “He was on the front lines. A hero to his country. He nearly died?—”

“At my hand.” Malik lifts a palm out to Omar. “He was a coward, a deserter, hunted by his own kind.”

“Is this true, Nasir?” Omar turns to his son.

Nasir can’t get a full sentence out, and it’s more than enough answer for Omar. He slaps the boy with a thunderous clap, but not another word is shared between them.

“Nasir’s alive because I willed it. Because he was a stepping stone to something greater. And where you’ve wasted my talent, Omar, it will flourish once you’re gone,” Malik finishes.

“Gone? You forget where you are, Malik,” Omar snorts. “Guards, show him what happens to those who oppose me.”

On Omar’s order, all four men point their guns at Malik. No one fires here, and I’m sure their threat is meant to get him out of the room.

“Ah, shit, you got me. Guess I’m losing my touch.” Malik raises his hands in surrender and starts walking backward to the door. Even in the face of death, his tone is mocking, and his lips are twisted in a devious grin.

“No, stop, don’t—” I finally find my words, and they come out in a thunderous yawp. I jump out of my seat and lift a pleading hand out to Omar.

He responds with the same sausage finger dangling in front of my eyes. “Sit down and shut your fucking mouth.”

My head snaps from Omar to Malik and back again. Dad’s sitting around doing nothing. It’s all too much for me to take.

“You’re going to regret that,” Malik growls. His hands fall back to his side, and though his eyes hold the same fury they had last night, the grin doesn’t fade from his face.

“The Pale Prophet in all his might.” Omar feigns being impressed. “How many bullets have you dodged, huh? How many do you think you still can?”

“Let’s find out,” Malik says with the slick coolness of an action hero.

And I’m left praying to whichever god will listen to get him out of this safely.