by Yasmin Angoe
My mouth prepares to protest running any business, but he holds up a hand.
“I know you don’t want to run a business. But you need to know it so that you can be the other half. Elin will be its face, run the deals and the money. You’ll work in operations; you have a knack for getting things done when they need it. And you two will do it all for the advancement of our family and the Tribe.”
My mouth closes as I consider his offer. That sounds acceptable.
“Africa cannot have another massacre like N’nkakuwe. Rogues like Paul cannot go unchecked. The channels and ports the Tribe runs need to be free of outside influences, free of inner turmoil and chaos.”
He grips my shoulder now, squeezing it firmly. I do not flinch, so enraptured by his words am I. “You heard me mention the dispatch teams earlier. To keep the order, we created a special team of representatives who ensure obedience within the Tribe and its territories by any means necessary. Without order, there is anarchy. Do you understand, Nena?”
I nod.
“I mean for you to become one of these representatives and handle any issues that arise that threaten the stability and success of the Tribe. The African Tribal Council only recognizes our administration of justice. We take care of our own, the good and the bad.”
I nod.
“But most of all, I want our family protected. I want you and Elin to look out for each other and our Knight name above all else.”
I nod.
“How does that sound?” Dad asks, looking down at me.
“Sounds good.”
“Good.” He nods, relieved all has gone well.
“Dad?”
“Yes, Nena?”
“Thank you.”
“For?” He raises an eyebrow, waiting patiently for me to continue.
“For trusting me.” My hands clasp and unclasp in my lap, and I sneak little peeks at him from under my eyelashes. “And for giving me back my power.”
55
AFTER
CORT: How’s your dad?
NENA: The same, but stable. Not awake yet.
CORT: Your mom, sister?
NENA: They’re well. Thanks.
CORT: What about you??
Nena glanced up from the screen of her cell and looked out the window of the hospital’s waiting room. She hadn’t left in the twenty-four hours since she’d arrived, seeing to her parents and waiting for Elin to arrive from Vegas, where she’d been with Oliver. Figured. She imagined her sister arriving in a whirlwind of fucks and heads are going to rolls.
Though the previous day’s call with Paul had rattled Nena so much she thought she might take up smoking herself, she found time to reply to Cort’s numerous messages, reject his multitude of offers to come and bring food, and update him on her dad. It was nice to talk to a regular person amid all this . . . well, shit. Shit she’d caused, she supposed. By playing at revenge. By underestimating Paul. By not warning her family that he was back.
How had she returned to this dark place, after fighting for her literal life, conquering death, just so she never had to experience the loss of family again? Yet here she was. Powerless, threatened, and terrified by the same man. Again.
Her cell vibrated.
CORT: Nena?
She had forgotten to reply.
NENA: Sorry. I’m fine, distracted. Can I call you later? Maybe ice cream with G at Azucar?
CORT: Do you one better, a real date? I know it’s bad timing, but . . .
Her stomach fluttered as she read the words. Was this really happening? And now? A real date. Could she even do this when her dad was in the hospital and Paul was just looming over her bloody head like a guillotine? Wrong choice of words. She had to get herself together. Maybe she could concentrate better if she just allowed herself this one reprieve. Was she wrong for considering it?
CORT: Your lack of response is killing me. Is that a no?
She mused on how Cort could cut through her dark cloud with a beam of light. Then she wiped her eyes. Suddenly furious at herself.
I am inept at protecting the people I love.
The fact that she couldn’t protect her family was the worst admission she could make. She couldn’t protect her family back then, and she was coming to the realization she still wasn’t able to now. Paul was just too good.
CORT: ???
NENA: Yes. OK. A date.
She thought for a second as she closed that message chain and opened the running one she had with Elin, then typed a quick message. She watched the three pulsating dots, awaiting Elin’s response.
ELIN: We track teens now?
Georgia was without protection. Who knew if Paul knew about her connection to the Baxters? She aimed to keep it that way, but Nena would feel better knowing Georgia’s whereabouts.
NENA: Yes.
ELIN: Any particular reason?
NENA: A favor.
ELIN: Figures. See you when you get back to the hospital?
NENA: Yes. Thanks. Be safe.
She felt better now that her bases were covered and the important people were protected until she could determine her next moves. She could have put a trace on Cort, but she didn’t want to chance him finding out about it or anything else going on. Besides, Nena already knew how to locate him. After all, he had been her mark, once upon a time.
56
BEFORE
A couple of days later, Dad picks me up after school, and we drive to an industrial section of the city near the port. It is composed of several warehouse facilities for imports and exports. It is not a place I am familiar with, and I stare out the window to memorize the route. It is force of habit that I must know where I am and how to get back home, even if I am only going to the market with Margot and Chef Ishmael.
We pull up in front of a formidable-looking warehouse. Dad doesn’t wait for the driver to open the door for him, but he stops me with a glance when I reach for my door. I retract my hand and wait for the driver.
“You are a lady at all times, Nena,” he says when we are both outside and I am staring at the grayish-white building. “Even when you are doing your job.” It seems my training has already begun.
Inside, there is a lanky Black man with a strikingly lush beard, matching bushy eyebrows, and stern-looking eyes waiting for us at a table in the middle of the room. The inside of the warehouse looks bigger than the outside. It holds a boxing ring, a large area with floor mats covering it, and various accoutrements for physical training lining the wall.
“Witt,” Dad says, grasping the man’s arm in a half handshake, half elbow-grip hug. They pull away, snapping their intertwined fingers.
“Sir,” Witt says. He steps away from Dad, returning my appraisal.
Dad looks down at me. “I’ll leave you now, Nena; is that okay?”
I’m not sure it is okay. I do not know this man, but my gut doesn’t indicate danger, and Dad would not put me in danger. I nod.
“I will send the car back for you when Witt gives word you’re done for the day.”
Witt grins. “Shouldn’t be too long. It’s the first day.”
“Not too long” by Witt’s standards is six hours of grueling calisthenics and an assessment of what I can and cannot do. I cannot do much.
“You’re a bit skinny, do you know that?” he asks me as I attempt push-ups. “Do you eat?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You’ll need to eat more. Build muscle mass, but not too much. You must retain your natural figure. And you’ll need to join sports at school. That way, I know you’re exercising when you’re not with me.”
“Yes, sir,” I pant, about to drop. My arms tremble from the strain.
“Don’t call me sir,” he says. “That’s for the military, and I’m no military man. Anymore.”
My body collapses on the cement. I can sense Witt’s eyes on me.
“Why do you want to do this?”
I do not want to explain my reasoning for choosing to be the harbinger of death. This is how I
now see myself after the long talk Dad and I had, and I like the sound of it. I give Witt the same answer I gave my new family.
“To be safe and get your power back?” he scoffs. “You don’t have to endure this training to be safe. You are a Knight now. That’s as safe as you can get. You’re safer than the goddamn royals! And being told when and where to dispatch people is not very powerful, if you ask me.”
I sneak a look at him. “I need to make myself safe, and I want to dispatch.” That’s all I say. Luckily Witt accepts the answer, and we move on.
“I am your trainer and will be your team lead when you become part of Dispatch,” Witt explains, giving me a tour of the facilities. “Network is the eye in the sky who watches your back when you’re out there. I’m in Network, and that means I have your back. We must learn to trust each other more than anything else. You, me, and the rest of the team.” He frowns. “It’ll take them some time to get used to you, as you will be the youngest team member—if you make the team, that is. I’ll teach you everything I know. And shit I don’t.”
His voice is heavy with accent, but it won’t be until months later that I learn Witt is from Rwanda and experienced the genocide of the Hutu, and he wasn’t one of the good guys. I will not hold Witt’s past against him, because in this present, he is good to me, and he is my teacher. Plus, I learn he has atoned tenfold for what he did in Rwanda, and that speaks volumes.
For the remainder of my years in school and university, I do as I am told, joining the soccer team, where I learn stamina and increase my leg strength and endurance. I do not enjoy being on a team, but I do enjoy the thrill of winning games. And I learn how to be on a different kind of team.
“You are on the soccer team to develop passable social skills, Nena,” Witt tells me. “You can’t only talk to your dad, mum, sister, and me all the time.”
“But I don’t like anyone else,” I answer, doing my last round of burpees. “I barely like you as it is.”
“Now, that is a goddamn lie.” Witt smirks, handing me rope for me to jump. “Dear girl, you’ll pay for that comment.”
57
AFTER
It was hard to believe the woman staring back at Nena was her and that she was going out like a normal thirtysomething woman. It wasn’t like when she had to dress up for work. Those were uniforms, part of a mirage. Tonight was for her. And yes, Cort too.
A sudden surge of embarrassment hit her that she was giddy with her first boyfriend—if she could call Cort that at her age. And she felt some guilt, too, that she was excited about going out when she should be with her mum, ensuring her dad stayed on his slow but steady path to recovery after he’d regained consciousness. The doctors were still puzzled about what had made him ill, and the only person who knew was Paul, not that she’d ever ask.
She shouldn’t be feeling like a schoolgirl, worried if Cort would see her as woman enough. Did she want him to? Did she have what it took to be someone’s lover? Would she even like it? Up until this point, the only feelings Nena associated with sex were pain and shame. She looked down at her hands, at her perfectly polished nails. These hands had done things no other woman Cort knew would do. These hands had killed. Could these hands love?
She’d spent her adult life accepting the idea she would never love a man, not in that way. Never again have sex because she wanted it. The thought of intimacy had always repulsed her. But since Cort, the revulsion had grown less and less. The thought had become not so unimaginable.
She was curious about what that life was like, the one where she could give herself to someone and them to her. A life that was beyond the strict and regimented one in which she cocooned herself. The thought was both scary and exciting. Nena was still trying to decide which was stronger when Elin appeared behind her in the doorway of her guest room, which no one used because Elin was not into overnight guests.
“Absolutely not,” Nena growled.
“Just a quick chat. It’s the perfect pick-me-up for Mum with Dad out of commission and all.”
“No.” Nena’s eyes slid back to the mirror.
Elin produced her phone, pointing the camera at her sister despite her protests. Both knew if Nena had been serious, it wouldn’t be happening.
“How’d you get her in that?” Delphine asked in awe. They could see their mum in the hospital room beside their father as he slept.
“An act of God, Mum, truly.”
Nena turned her body this way and that, appreciating the way the dress, white with black splotches resembling a Rorschach test, fit her form and fell in soft folds at her calves. The plunging neckline emphasized her cleavage. Her silver gladiator sandals finished the look and matched the silver ropes woven into the front tiara braid of her head. The rest of her hair flowed magnificently past her shoulders.
“I know Nena wasn’t difficult,” Delphine said knowingly.
“Thank you, Mum,” Nena said, shooting her sister a death glare, which was returned with a sweet smile.
“I wish your dad was awake to see you, but they just gave him medication to sleep, and it will be too hard to wake him. I’ve taken a screenshot, though.”
“Shit,” Elin breathed. “Mum knows how to do screenshots.”
“Okay,” Nena called out, turning around. “I should go.” She snatched the oversize straw clutch her sister handed her. One with a secret compartment perfect for the small gun she’d carry. She headed toward the stairs.
“Nena!” Elin called behind her. “Do not take the bike.”
Nena gritted her teeth. She wasn’t entirely inept when it came to men.
“And remember to let him lead,” their mother’s disembodied voice added, propelling Nena out the door faster.
She arrived early to meet Cort at a Cuban restaurant owned by a well-known Cuban singer. Cort was already waiting for her at the valet, which she really liked.
“You’re gorgeous,” he said when she was close enough to hear him.
She looked down, trying not to show how pleased she was at his compliment. “You are too.” Then her hand touched her lips. How stupid of her. That wasn’t how women complimented men.
He smiled. “Thank you.”
She felt heat flush her cheeks.
He perked up. “I didn’t know you were into cigars.”
“Come again?”
“Cigars.” Cort fished a plastic baggie out of his inner jacket pocket and handed it to her.
Confused, she held it up with her fingers to take a better look.
“Found it under the coffee table in the den. Please tell me it’s yours, because that’s who Peach said must have dropped it. If it’s not, it means either Mack’s taken up smoking or Peach lied to me and I need to rethink my parenting.” He cracked a wry smile with only the slightest dash of trepidation.
It only took a second for Nena to understand what was going on. “Yes, I must have dropped it. I was trying to find the type of cigars my dad likes, so I had one. Sorry if I caused trouble for you or Georgia.”
When she opened the bag, she recognized the scent immediately, and a rush of anger jolted through her. She hadn’t left a cigar. But she knew who smoked ones that smelled exactly like this one. Clearly the cigar was another message, just like her dad’s sudden illness was a message. But when had Paul dropped this message off?
Recalibrate. She was on a date and needed to focus on it, if only just for the night.
Cort’s eyes widened apprehensively. “No problem at all. Just had to make sure, you know?” He reached out as if he wanted to touch her but thought better of it and returned his hand to his side. “Ready to go in?”
She nodded.
The restaurant was busy but beautiful and the perfect place for them to talk and dine. Gradually, she cleared her mind of other worries, and the conversation flowed easily. Nena answered all his questions about England and her travels.
“Your favorite place to vacation?”
“Bay of Naples,” she said immediately. “And Bukhansan Nati
onal Park. It’s a forty-five-minute tube ride from Seoul.”
“Korea?”
“Yes.”
“Tube?”
“Subways.”
They shared their entrées, dining on crispy whole fish, palomilla, and chino cubano. They sipped on mojitos while watching the other patrons dance on the floor.
“And your dad’s doing better?”
She nodded, taking a bite of the fish. “He is. Thank you. The seizures have stopped, and they’re monitoring his heart. Good prognosis.”
Cort stood, extending a hand to Nena. She eyed him suspiciously, trying to figure out his plan. Eventually, she gave in, gingerly placing her hand in his and allowing him to pull her to her feet.
He led her through the restaurant to where the music was loudest, where the dance floor writhed with couples dancing to Davido’s “Fall.” He slipped his arms around her waist, drawing her close. She tensed up, then relaxed, allowing him to lead. He began softly singing the lines to the song in her ear.
She pulled back. Cort was full of surprises. And she liked it. He grinned, dropping his head sheepishly. She touched her finger to his chin, pulling him back to face her.
“Don’t stop.”
He moved side to side. She quickly fell in sync with his moves, pleasantly surprised his dancing differed vastly from his grilling techniques. Her body fell in line with his, and soon the music, the heat, the lights, the aromas, fused into a headiness that made Nena feel light headed. Was this what dating was like? Because when she saw the way Cort looked at her, it made her stomach somersault and the area she’d thought long dead come alive.
He lifted her arm above her head, twirling her slowly, and when she had revolved entirely and was facing him again, her eyes connected with his.
The music pounded in her ears. The way he looked at her—she swallowed. Why was he looking at her like that?
She fought rising panic. Her first impulse was to make space between them to stop him from touching her like that. But she found she wanted his touch.
And . . . she wanted him to kiss her. She wanted him to . . . maybe even more than that.
