Knight of Paradise Island

by J. L. Campbell

  When the door closed, Daron asked, “Am I the only one who thinks there’s something off about him?”

  “He was too interested in what we had going on,” Shaz said, reaching for a glass of water. “Best keep your eyes open, little cousin.”

  Ryan rolled his eyes. They barely had two years between them. A smile bloomed on his face, along with a spark of mischief. “Anything you say, Shastra.”

  He shot Ryan a glare. “Good thing you’re out of my reach, otherwise you’d feel the force of my fist.”

  Ryan slapped his knee and chuckled. “Right.”

  The two of them were equally matched on a physical level, as Shaz knew, but their light-hearted teasing was a constant in their relationship.

  Shaz’s smile disappeared. “I’m serious about your security. You’re far away from home, and I don’t want any of you in more danger than necessary.”

  “I hear you,” Ryan said, to reassure his cousin. “But I doubt these men need you worrying about them.”

  “Whatever. Just remember that at the end of the day, they’re my brothers. They hurt. I hurt.”

  “That, I also get loud and clear.”

  Dro stalked toward the door without a word.

  “Hey, where are you going?” Ryan asked.

  “To see if this guy is legit,” Dro said over his shoulder.

  “Need company?” Daron asked.

  “No. I don’t want him to get suspicious. I’ll be back in a few.”

  “Be careful,” the men all said at the same time, including Shaz.

  When the door closed, Ryan turned his gaze on Daron. “I know I’m probably annoying the crap out of you, but are you sure we can get this bug in place tonight?”

  He stood to stretch his legs, and with one hand massaging the back of his head, he added, “I have a lot riding on this and will do anything to get Aziza back. If we don’t find my woman, I don’t know what I’ll do. But one thing is sure, somebody will have to pay if she doesn’t return safe and sound.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Aziza wound her head in a circle and drew her shoulders back. The girls taken earlier weighed on her mind, and her thoughts had been running in different directions as she mapped out a way to freedom. She rubbed her forehead and released another prayer.

  Father, we need your help. These girls, these women, we need you. Give us the strength to defeat our enemies and give me the courage to lead the way. And Father, watch over Ryan, wherever he may be.

  By now, surely her mother had raised an alarm. The first thing she probably did was contact Shaz Bostwick, because he’d know how to reach Ryan, plus he and his wife headed a foundation that helped women with custody and immigration challenges. She clung to the hope that Shaz would have contacted Ryan and urged him to do something to help. If, between them, they did nothing she wouldn’t forgive them. Ahaba’s words still chilled her. Of all the things she’d imagined in life, none of it included being used as a means of shipping contraband for greedy criminals.

  If they don’t come in time, I might wake up on the other side, freshly gutted and—

  “Say a prayer for me.”

  Naima’s whispered words shook Aziza from her thoughts. She searched the other woman’s eyes. “Of course. Are you sure you want to do this?”

  Her swollen eye chided Aziza as she said, “Do I have a choice? If we want our freedom … ”

  The container opened, and an oppressive cloud descended to suck away the life-giving air.

  “Remember to keep him busy long enough to—”

  “I get it,” Naima said.

  “Here.” Aziza handed her the hook she’d removed from the shower curtain.

  Naima twisted it into her braids and secured them. Then, she squared her shoulders as Hamid walked toward them.

  The plan they came up with was to get Abdul to believe Naima had reconsidered her position and would have sex with him in exchange for whatever favor he gave. The way his beady eyes roamed Naima’s body gave them hope he would say yes, and they were right. Aziza hoped he wouldn’t take revenge when he was alone with Naima, for that disarming kick to his genitals.

  Aziza steadied her breath and nodded at Naima. “Be careful,” she whispered.

  Eyes closed, Naima squared her shoulders.

  Hamid released her from the handcuff and led her to where Abdul stood waiting. When he grabbed Naima by the upper arm and shunted her out of the container, Aziza called Hamid’s name.

  He looked over his shoulder at the open container door, shifted the rifle he carried on his shoulder, then faced her.

  “I need to use the bathroom.”

  Hamid slammed the door shut, latched it, and walked toward her bed.

  “It’s urgent,” she said, sitting up and pulling her thighs together.

  He cast another glance at the door, then beckoned to her.

  She had to move fast, and his sluggish pace wasn’t helping.

  As soon as he unlocked the shackle, she shot to her feet and waited at the door that led to the bathroom. He opened it with a key from the bunch, and she rushed past him on her bare feet. She urinated, despite the limited liquid in her system, knowing the sound would carry to Hamid through the half-open door. As her thoughts raced, Aziza flushed the toilet.

  Earlier, she pictured frame-by-frame how she had spent her summers of the past with her brother and Ryan. They had taught her some kickboxing and karate moves they learned at the rec center. Both boys insisted that she learn how to take care of herself. Shame she hadn’t thought to use those skills to help herself before this minute. Her mother’s face flashed before her, but Aziza blinked to clear her eyes and focused on the present moment. She washed her hands and opened the flimsy wooden panel with her elbow.

  Hamid watched her, but not with the care of the first couple of days. When she was directly in front of him, she rammed her elbow into his solar plexus. He gasped, and the rifle slid off his shoulder. She swung her body into the next blow and hit him in the same spot. This time his eyes bulged.

  “Sorry,” she whispered as he crumpled against the wall.

  But that didn’t stop her from walloping him with a fist to his jaw.

  She grabbed the keys from his hand, along with the rifle. As she stood, he wrapped a hand around her ankle. Without blinking, she shook him off and delivered a swift kick to his ribs. Then she cracked him on the side of the head with the butt of the rifle. He grunted and slumped on his side.

  She shut down her thoughts. Her options were him or her, and she’d choose freedom over being sliced open like a fish any day.

  Aziza rushed out of the narrow space, slammed the door behind her, and with shaking hands searched for the key he’d used on their way in. She locked him inside, then spun from the door and took the few steps to Ahaba, who held up her uninjured hand.

  After freeing her, Aziza went to each bed and unlocked the handcuff. As she did, the women’s voice rose in a wave of excitement.

  “Keep it down,” she commanded.

  When they discussed their escape days earlier, none of them knew what lay beyond the confines of their prison, but most of them were willing to take their chances. Now that she thought about it, they were hiding them in a remote location. The only time she remembered hearing any engines was when Abdul and Hamid had buyers.

  She said a prayer that Naima would find a way to buy time other than giving Abdul access to her body. The first time Naima proposed that she distract Abdul, Aziza had refused. A man like that didn’t forget anything, and Naima’s earlier abuse of his manly parts wouldn’t be forgiven. But Naima had already proven she could handle her business, so Aziza gave in and agreed to manage Hamid. The thought of him brought a pang of guilt, but she brushed it away. If she wanted to return home, she had to concentrate on what lay ahead of her.

  She was unlocking the last handcuff when Hamid yelled and banged on the door. If she’d known he would wake so soon, she’d have hit him harder.

  One of the women, a Durabian n
ative, worked the heavy bolt, which creaked as if it never had the benefit of a drop of oil. She swung the metal door inward wearing a beatific smile, which slid away in a second.

  Naima landed in a heap in front of them as Abdul shouted a rapid-fire string of words. One side of his face carried four diagonal lines that seeped blood. The women helped Naima to her feet and formed a protective shield around her.

  “Get back,” he said, yanking out a pistol from under his tunic. “Or all of you will die.”

  “Wanna bet?” Aziza picked up the rifle and walked into his line of sight, aiming at his belly. “Since we are valuable goods, your boss would kill you if we died.”

  Fear flashed in his eyes, but his hand was steady as he pointed the gun at her. “Where is Hamid?”

  She shifted the gun. “I’d say that’s unimportant, given the position you’re in.”

  “I am giving you until the count of three,” Abdul said, in heavily accented English. “One. Two.”

  A whirlwind rushed past Aziza and toppled Abdul.

  The gun fell from his hand as Naima sprawled in the sand between his legs.

  “Aaaahhhhh.” He shrieked and writhed on the ground while Naima gripped a handful of his genitals.

  In the distance beyond a low fence, two men approached, wearing tunics like Abdul and Hamid. They also carried semi-automatic weapons.

  Grabbing Naima’s shoulder, Aziza spoke into her ear. “Let go, or they will catch us.”

  Then throwing a panicked look towards the men, who advanced on them, Aziza yelled, “Naima, let him go now!”

  Naima released Abdul and stumbled to her feet with anger blazing in her eyes.

  “Get him inside,” Aziza yelled, as Abdul groaned and curled on his side.

  One woman picked up the gun and the others grabbed him by both hands and hauled him onto the cement deck and then over the threshold of the container.

  “And be sure to cuff him,” she added, and threw a glance behind her.

  Aziza backed toward their prison, only to be shoved in the back by Ahaba, who trampled Abdul and ran onto the sand. “I can’t go back,” she cried.

  Her eyes were wild with fear, but Aziza didn’t have time to mollycoddle her. “If you want to be shot, you can leave. Otherwise, get back inside.”

  She didn’t move, but her glossy eyes gave away her confusion.

  The men drew closer, their weapons drawn.

  Aziza didn’t dare to lower the rifle, although her arms trembled from the adrenaline pumping through her veins and the strain of keeping the AK-47 upright. Over her shoulder, she yelled. “They have weapons.” To Ahaba, she said, “I’m not leaving you out here. Get your ass back inside.”

  After another look at the men, Ahaba ran into the container.

  Aziza drew a calming breath, repositioned the rifle now numbing her arms, and focused on the men in front of her.

  Chapter Twelve

  “Remember, you are not taking part in this.” Daron said from the front of the Limousine, then let his gaze swing between Dro and Ryan.

  “We get it.” Dro held up both hands in surrender. “We’ll sit this one out, as requested.”

  Daron chuckled, smoothing his silk shirt. “You have it all wrong. Consider my recommendation an order. The two of you will be safer here.”

  “Where no one will recognize us.” Ryan groused, then nodded. “We get it.”

  Bashir cracked a smile, but didn’t speak.

  “You’re not coming either,” Daron said to him, “Just in case you thought otherwise.”

  Bashir’s smile faded.

  “Angela and Nicco, time to roll.”

  They stepped onto the sidewalk and immediately, the people waiting to get into Encounters turned to stare. Ryan admitted they made an impressive sight—one curvaceous, olive-skinned woman, a Nordic giant, and a dark-haired man, who oozed assurance.

  Bashir, who assumed the role of chauffeur, drove them to the parking garage down the street where Dro opened his laptop and they settled in to follow their movements inside the club. While Daron and his team were on location, they would scan the surroundings from the cameras worn by all three. The club had a good number of people moving around both levels. Seemed that no matter the day of the week, Encounters was in vogue.

  He had to give Angela her due when she walked up to the counter, waited a few seconds, then got the bartender’s attention.

  Jahani was on duty this evening.

  As Angela spoke to him, his eyes followed her curves with each move she made, and his attention did not stray when she walked away carrying a cocktail glass.

  She set herself up at a table twenty feet away from Daron and Nicco.

  From Daron’s camera, they had a view of the bar, and Nicco’s recorder covered another angle that included the front entrance.

  “Nicco if you move your seat a little, we can get a better look at the tables with the single ladies,” Dro said.

  “No problem.” Nicco’s voice came through crisp and clear via the mic while he adjusted his chair.

  Angela rose from her seat and made a beeline for the bar. She placed her glass on the counter and signaled to Jahani. His gaze settled on her cleavage, where the mini camera was disguised as a rhinestone. Looking into his eyes startled Ryan, who felt helpless because they were sitting around waiting for information to drop.

  If he had his way, they’d drag that slimy bartender over the counter and beat the crap out of him until he spilled what they wanted to know. But like his mother told him through the years, ‘patient man ride donkey.’ The phrase almost made him chuckle, being one of his grandmother’s favorites, too. She’d moved to Evanston from Jamaica many years ago, but you couldn’t tell because she never lost her accent from home or her patience with the youngest member of the Bostwick family. He had learned a lot from her including when to call on The Man Upstairs.

  Ryan shut off his memories and leaned in when Angela slid the glass across the counter and motioned for the bartender to come nearer. The man’s close-set eyes seemed to bore into Ryan’s. Then his gaze shifted upward when Angela edged toward him.

  “I’d like a top-up,” she said.

  “That will not be a problem.” He smiled, then winked. “Give me a minute.”

  He dealt with another customer while the other bar staff hustled back and forth behind the counter, serving drinks. Jahani returned with her order and set it on the counter.

  Angela slid the cherry into her mouth while Jahani watched, then handed him the toothpick. She beckoned to him again, and when he leaned forward, she laid a hand on his chest and whispered, “Thanks for taking care of me.”

  The bartender’s skin flushed darker and with desire evident in his eyes, he said, “You are welcome. Maybe we can have a drink together later this evening.”

  “Yes, Jahani.” She tapped his nametag and continued in a throaty voice. “We should.”

  Ryan had to admit she was smooth. As closely as he was watching, he barely caught the moment when she attached the mic to Jahani.

  “How small is that bug?” Ryan squinted at the screen as if it would give up its secrets.

  Dro chuckled. “So small that if he picks up on it, the chip will resemble a clump of dust particles, clinging to a sliver of plastic.”

  “Sounds slick.”

  “State-of-the-art and all that.”

  Angela sauntered back to her seat, then sipped from her glass as she glanced around the room, which pulsated with the sounds of Koffee’s Rapture.

  Ryan wanted to see some action now, but knew instinctively that any underhanded business would happen later in the evening. Eyes closed, he let out his breath on a long exhale.

  “It’s a little early for you to be exhausted,” Dro teased, looking sideways at him.

  “Nah, nothing like that. I was just thinking.”

  Dro nodded, his attention focused on the screen. “I know how it is when your other half is in danger and you don’t have a clue how or why things happen
the way they do.”

  “You hit the nail on the head.”

  “It happened to me with Lola. I nearly went mad when some criminal kidnapped her. Couldn’t eat, sleep, or think about anything other than getting her back, so I understand. Khalil had my brother Kings knock me out so they would handle the business. They didn’t want me to increase Chicago’s body count.” His lips quirked, then he added. “I won’t tell you not to worry, but—”

  “Trust me,” Ryan said, shaking his head, “I’m not about that life. Worry solves nothing, but I feel you on putting some heat on somebody’s ass.”

  “Good.” Dro cracked a smile. “I want to reassure you, we’ll be about this business as if she was one of our own—and she is. We’ll get her back, alive and in one piece.”

  Despite the reassurance, Ryan sighed again. His energy was off and as long as he didn’t fix that, he’d be no use to Dro. “D’you mind if I stretch my legs for a minute?”

  Eyes fixed on the laptop, Dro waved him away. “Do what you have to do.”

  Ryan pushed the door open and walked to the railing a few feet away, to stare at the river. The city lights glinting on the surface distracted him from what he came to do. The wash of the water against the rocks below was hypnotic and as the wind ruffled his black shirt, he pulled in his breath and let it out. After listening to his breathing for a minute, Ryan poured his heart into a prayer, which included a healing request for Drake and comfort for the rest of the family. He shouldn’t have left his room without praying, but as Mama would say, better to do it later than not at all.

  Then he made declarations, claiming Aziza’s safety and her quick return to him, which cleared his head and lightened his spirit.

  “Thank you, Father,” he whispered. “I believe and I will receive.”

  With renewed energy, he crossed the outdoor tiles between him and the Limo.

  Bashir gave him a cursory glance as he approached the car with a purposeful stride.

  He slid into the seat next to Dro and shut the door. “Anything yet?”

  “You see that guy, there?” He pointed to someone sitting at a table across from the bar. “He and Jahani are exchanging signals. I think they’re after that woman there.”