Page 83 of Make Me A Sinner
The only thing he gives me is a confused look in return. He probably just realized I know about them. But we don’t have time to go into the polemics. Set needs us. I just pray Whiro knows what to do, because I have no idea where to go from here.
He starts searching Set’s pockets for his car keys, and as soon as he finds them, he hits the alarm so he can see where Set’s car is parked. The sound echoes from somewhere behind us, deeper in the alley. I didn’t even notice it with all the commotionaround us. He probably parked there so I wouldn’t see him. That certainly didn’t turn out as he planned.
Without warning, Whiro shifts under Set’s arm, lifting him off the ground to drag him to the car. I try to help him, but one of the guards pushes me aside and helps Whiro carry him.
The second, we’re all in the car, Whiro drives off in a hurry, phone already in hand. I’m not sure where we’re heading, but it doesn’t feel like a hospital.
He fires off call after call, and I realize we’re heading to the airport—L.A., more specifically. He doesn’t get off the phone before we reach the airport—which only takes us a couple of minutes since Whiro speeds like a madman. A private jet’s already waiting for us there, and he just leaves the car on the tarmac as if he doesn’t give a damn if it would bother anyone else.
We get Set on board. He’s still unconscious when we lay him across a reclined seat, and Whiro doesn’t wait for the plane to take off before ripping Set’s shirt open to inspect the wound. “It’s too risky to take the bullet out with my knife,” he says with the weird stillness—so uncharacteristic of him. He’s usually either volcanic or flat-out insane. The fact that he’s so serious about things only sends a cool chill down my spine.
I wrap my hand over Set’s, bringing his fingers to rest on my cheek, hoping to still feel any trace of warmth. He’s barely alive. And a wave of desperation sweeps through me.
“Why did you get him on this plane? Couldn’t you have found someone here to help him?” I ask Whiro for an explanation. It’s not his judgment I’m questioning. It’s my own sanity.
“We can’t exactly take him to a hospital. But we can take him to someone who might know what this is, and why this is happening?”
“One of your brothers?” I ask, suspecting we’re about to meet another one of the gods. I can’t even believe I’m saying this.It sounds insane, but one look at Whiro, and I realize it’s very much real. Because he looks unearthly.
“Yeah... Draco. Or Apep, as you mortals used to call him.”
“God of Chaos, if I remember correctly,” I chime in, dragging up an old history lesson.
“We’re all Gods of Chaos, one way or the other. Set just needs to be the god of self-healing today,” Whiro says in the same serious tone right before he leaves to check Set's vital signs again. Then he looks at his watch. “It’s an hour flight. Let’s just hope he makes it that long.”
We exchange glances, but no other words for a while, letting morbid silence settle over us for more than half of the ride.
“I didn’t even get to ask who shot him,” Whiro finally breaks the silence, while all I could hear for the last minute was Set breathing. It’s like I’m getting addicted to it, impatiently waiting for each breath.
“A guy jumped out of a car and pulled a gun. Set shot him back, but someone else dragged the guy’s body back in the car.” I pause because my mind is so blurred that I can’t even remember what happened clearly. “We… we were having an argument.”
“Yeah, I know he wanted to crash your night out. We were at a bar, having drinks. I guess he’s lucky the girl I hooked up with lived so close to the club.”
“Oh, so that’s what you were doing.” Or more exactly, that’swhohe was doing. I suspected he was in the middle of something when I called him, judging by his ragged voice.
“Maybe I should’ve gone with him to the club,” Whiro says with a hint of regret in his voice.
“Don’t fucking talk as if he’s going to die,” my gaze shoots at him, refusing to hear his regrets. He won’t have a reason to present them.
“He’s not gonna fucking die. We’re gods. Bullets won’t kill us.” Whiro says, but I can hear the uncertainty in his words. He’sonly saying it to make me feel better and probably calm me down. But there’s no calming me down until I get to see Set’s eyes opening again. Until I get to hear him calling out my name. “Don’t leave me. Don’t you fucking dare leave me,” I murmur into his ear, eyes fixed on the slow rise of his chest. And then I whisper it again and again and again, hoping the message gets through to him loud and clear.
I want him.
I want to be with him.
I accept him into my life.
I’m starting to believe he is my life.
The moment the plane lowers the stairs, a large figure makes its way inside. A man in his late twenties, maybe early thirties, strides straight to Set, a serious look etched on his face as he checks his wound for almost a minute. “Let’s get him to my house,” he says to Whiro, and I think it’s only then that he notices I’m in the plane too, because he stops to look at me. And I can see he gets the family genes. Short black hair slicked back, sides shaved; eyes dark as night and piercing as well; a jawline sharp enough to cut glass, and a body sculpted like he lives at the gym. A god’s physique for sure.
Whiro steps in to make the introductions, probably so that his brother doesn’t mistake me for a flight attendant. “Draco, this is….HIS.” Well, that’s as much of an introduction as he gave, without providing me with a real title—or even a name. I was expecting something like girlfriend or partner or whatever, but I guess HIS beats all of that. He probably only bothered to do this so I wouldn’t get left behind on the damn plane, because the next second they’re carrying Set into Draco’s car, and I slip in beside him in the backseat.
I keep looking at Whiro, but the same worried look won’t leave his face. I guess he expected Draco to fix him on the spot. Thatdidn’t happen, and it makes me wonder what the chances are of him fixing Set when we get to his house.
Draco speeds through the streets, and even though he outruns several police cars, none of them attempt to follow his trail. He’s clearly someone important here, and it makes me think that L.A. is to him what Vegas is to Set. But I can’t dwell thinking on how things work around here—not when I can feel my god fading in my arms.
I’m only trying to distract myself so I don’t go completely lose it while we wait. And judging by how fast we’re going, things aren’t looking good.
