“No, Anathi is not in my prince, Mikayla. It is her sister . . . has to be her dead twin.”
My eyebrows crinkle. Chumi’s claim that one twin survived while the other died comes to the forefront of my mind.
The door opens, and Kmota rushes over. “This would be a good time to walk out the front door. Prince Fari is communicating with the driver and won’t notice that you didn’t come straight down stairs, My Queen.”
“Cikizwa, it cannot be Anathi’s sister. She was the good twin.” I start to explain that in Chumi’s story that the good twin died in utero, but Kmota grabs my arm and pulls me out.
We move along the corridor, Kmota tightening her hold on my arm as a silent sign. I pause as she peeks out. Then she pulls me for dear life. We align ourselves as if we were meandering from the base of the stairs, a few guards pass by the open front doors.
Just outside, the stars twinkle, Fari stands at the door of a Rolls Royce. His eyes brighten upon seeing me, sweeping up and down my frame, drinking me in like a fine wine.
Then his dark orbs are drenched in hatred. My gaze follows over my shoulder to where his childhood love has begun to run past me and toward him.
Cikizwa clutches the root in her hand. “Fari, please eat—”
The back of his hand slaps into her so hard that she falls to the ground. The side of her temple thuds against the limestone ground.
Kmota jumps almost out of her skin. The Okeke warrior in her ready to fight. I turn toward her, eyes blazed, tears prickling. “We can’t.”
I crouch down to Cikizwa. Blood is all over her lips, and I touch the side of her head. There’s a dazed look in her eye as she quietly sobs. “She may be concussed!”
“Leave her!” Prince Fari pulls me up from the ground against his chest.
In this instant, I am not a queen. I am a female seeing red. “You hit a woman, Fari!”
I smack and slap at him.
His arms reach around, tightening me into a bear hug. It’s enough of a sign to know I’ll risk a similar fate for continuing this conversation.
“Mkhulule—let her go. Remove your hands from my queen this instant!” Kmota growls. “Or I’ll kill—”
“Watch your words,” Fari warns, in a disgustingly soft tone.
“Or we kill you,” another guard calls out.
There are Zihula soldiers around, tension rising. They glare at Kmota, though their strong frames are held at bay by the confusion of seeing Fari’s treatment of Cikizwa. Had he not just accosted her, I know that Kmota’s statement about killing him would’ve been treason and her own death.
“If I am to be your queen,” I growl, which causes Fari to smile at me and let me go, “I will not take kindly to domestic violence. Besides, you all should have apprehended her before she even got so close to the prince.”
They stare at me. It’s true. They did not perceive Cikizwa as a threat.
“Now, take her away.” I order. Help her up, I plead with my eyes. “Hold her for the night, keep her up.” Make sure she doesn’t fall into a coma.
Fari, unaware of my true intention, smiles. “Yes, you hear my future queen. Send her away from the palace.”
Kmota stares at me, subtly nodding.
Fari holds out his hand. I climb into the car without it. Kmota gets into the Maybach that will be following us.
Fari scoots all the way over until I’m stuck between him and the opposite door.
“You know, don’t you?” he growls.
“Shouldn’t you be smiling, Fari?” I glare at him. “You intend to propose to me in front of the nation tonight, right?”
He clamps his hand over my jaw. I slap him, and he slaps me back, not nearly using the force he had with Cikizwa, but my brain thumps inside of my skull, throbbing.
“The bitch once meant the world to Fari,” he says.
My breath hitches. Anathi, she’s talking to me through him. When she inhabits me, she doesn’t have enough power to carry on much of a conversation, just enough to spark damage. Let’s see how long I can keep her going. I will discover the length of time she’s inhabited the prince.
It’s uncanny how Fari nods his head toward Cikizwa yet speaks of himself as another. “They did everything together. Trained with warriors, swam in the ocean with dolphins. They have one. His name is Ehlekisayo—Funny. He’s a funny fellow, always making Cikizwa laugh. Fari loves her laugh.”
“Where is Fari?” My words echo in my ears. It’s unfathomable that I’m staring at this beautiful man asking for him. “Where is he?”
“Almost gone.”
“Is there any way to bring him back?”
His movements are unhuman now. The tilt of his head makes my bones tremble with fear. “You marry Fari, rule Zihula and Nivean respectively, Fari returns. He still loves you though, not Cikizwa. She does not understand that true love can be overruled. She isn’t as understanding as you.”
I’m so afraid that I wish to God Jagger was here beside me. I’m talking to a demon. I hold my shoulders up, keeping composure. “How am I understanding?”
“You did not allow me to stay inside of you, though you are here with us. Cooperating.”
Closing my eyes for a moment, I bite down repulsion. I grab Fari’s hands and beg, “Anathi, please—”
“I am not Anathi, My Queen.”
“You aren’t?” I begin, voice on the verge of breaking.
“You just said, excuse me, thought it. Demon. I am the elevation of Anathi. What she has aspired to achieve. She did not have enough strength yet, or does not, rather, while inhabiting you in order to send me a welcome. But I promise not to keep you, Mikayla. I will let you and Fari—”
“Lies! You will continue to have a vice grip on our lives as you have done. Will we become sick like King Damba?”
It licks me.
The horror inside of me is unleashed in a sheer scream. The driver rolls down the partition. “Queen?”
“Close it, now,” Fari speaks. The window zips up. He clamps my cheeks. No amount of pushing or hitting at him will stop his supernatural power as he kisses me, drawing forth blood from my lip. “Our children will be gorgeous.”
I reach over for the door handle. It doesn’t unlock. Then I recall my upbringing and start screaming Jesus in my head. Jesus. Jesus. Over and over.
“There’s something about that name Jesus,” my adoptive grandmother always used to say.
Prince Fari slides over to his side of the seat. “Tsk. That’s the game you want to play?”
“When I’m done, I’m sending you back to hell.”
“I’ve lurked in the Africas for centuries, Mikayla. You won’t be the first to fall under my rule.”
The illumination from the headlights of the servant’s car behind us grow softer. I peer over my shoulder as the Maybach appears to be stalled.
“What-what is going on?”
“Kmota is more warrior than some,” Fari says, playing with his cufflinks, “and as I said, I’ve been around. She might rival the Okeke from the 1800s—pure savagery—and the reason there is still a Nivean today. I respect that.” He laughs. The sound scrapes at my eardrums. “Yesterday, you got rid of that last warrior, Denso, was his name, right? Only to keep Kmota on, indicating that you needed her as a servant. Well, I don’t think you will. We have lots of followers, Mikayla.”
This feels like a nightmare, one that you keep warning yourself to wake up. My gaze turns traitorous as it roams over at Fari. This is the man that I had incessant dreams about from when he helped me with my Uncle Qaaim’s attempt to address South Africa and shame me.
“Fari, you are still in there.” Another voice speaks through me. “You have to fight it.”
It turns toward me slowly, face sinister—the only proof that the dark, gorgeous man has become no more. “He’s not as strong as you.”
Those words floor me. I think back to when I was four or five and seen wandering on Long Beach uttering Xhosa, a language that the Department of Children Ser
vices was unable to decipher before I was sent to my adoptive parents. Waking up, peeing in the bed, I’d wonder if I’d crossed over the brink of them to consider loving me any longer. I was such a quiet, scared thing. Until I slowly opened up to them.
This thing before me just made the wrong move. It validated my strength and capabilities. Instead of deflecting my fear and leaning my entire frame against the door panel, I sit tall, spine erect. “Prince Fari, your bloodline has ruled Zihula for centuries. You are a kind, just man who loves and cares for your people.”
Fari’s wrist flicks.
On key, a loud slamming sound rings into my ear. The car behind us—what just happened?
I whip my head around, the car closer than it was before, and see the front bumper concave as if some imaginary force field has stopped it dead in its tracks. The driver’s skull is crushed against the front windowpane, but we keep moving.
And then Fari’s wrist flicks again. I grip at the headrest, staring at the car as it somersaults sideways and off the cliff.
“Stop!” I shout loudly. “Stop the car.”
The window rolls down again. And my heart drops into my stomach. The driver’s lips are stitched together. Tears are in his eyes.
“He can’t stop. Now, Fari’s even more broken because you’re right, he is here.” The thing presses its hand against Fari’s chest. “And he cares for his people. They are all dead or dying.”
“Kmota,” I give a hushed whisper. The doubt that clung to me this entire time fades. I’m not sure why she stayed to serve me, but . . .
“Mikayla, I strongly suggest that if any of your other friends are following us, you call them off.” Fari hands over his cell phone. “Kmota, the rest of the Zihula’s in the car with her, that wasn’t even the extent to what I’m capable of.”
My hand trembles as I take the phone. I could call Denso and tell him to back off, but I’m unaware of where he is or even if he had followed us. Warning him away is of no use, MamLalumi blessed him the last morning she saw us. Blessed him to honor me as his queen.
Jagger . . . Calling him and just giving him a fair warning as if he were a Nivean, that could work. I could just start speaking before he has a chance to. Tell him to leave me or suffer the consequences that this thing inhabiting Fari would laugh and second my statement. Jagger on the other hand would try to find me.
His guns won’t be a match to this supernatural maniac.
Squaring my shoulders, I scoff. “I believe that you’d like to see more bloodshed. You think I’ll spout off where we are and then—”
“I do.”
“Doesn’t matter. I can take you down myself. I am the daughter of King Bannan. He might not have been loved by many Niveans, but he was a warrior! And my ancestors on my mother’s side, Mthembu. You don’t stand a chance against me.”
His wrist flicks again, and I’m drowned in oblivion.
49
Jagger
Before the girl can straddle me, I slide my forearm against her waist. The movement skillfully settles her back at her side on the couch.
“Oh, you’re playing hard to get?” She giggles, leaning against my arm.
Staring her straight in the eye, I give it to her the same way she gave me the flask, with no chaser. “Sweetheart, I just don’t want you.”
Like magic, her dark eyes begin to gloss. The woman settles back, mumbling, “Should’ve known you were one of the good ones.”
“I don’t know what good means, but I . . .” I lean against the headrest, growling at the massive headache I’m sporting and the thoughts of Mikayla permeating every second of my life.
The alluring stranger, who can’t do a damn thing for me, holds the flask out. “Get it all out, big guy. Love ain’t easy.”
* * *
Since I last saw Mikayla, the days blur one into the other. I haven’t been on guard, no fear of any potential threats. But I awaken, feeling a bite against my neck, and I know it’s that of a sharp knife blade. Eyes closed, I try to register in my brain where I last laid my head . . . but can’t recall.
Frowning, I glare up into sinister black orbs. Trick is crouched before me in a thermal, jeans, and boots. He nudges his bristled jaw to something behind me, asking, “Did you fuck her?”
I roll over onto the floor and glance at the woman who drank with me last night. Somehow, she got the couch and my pillow.
“Juggernaut, you better speak quickly because there’s a bloody lethal dose of—”
I tune him out and sit up. “Look, you crazy fuck, I didn’t screw the girl.”
“Oh, someone’s jealous.” She sits up slowly, readjusting the top of her tube dress.
He glares at her. “Don’t be so conceited lass. Get up. Get out. This fuck is dating my best friend.”
“Best?” I scoff.
“Bollocks, do I need to school you on some bloody fucking vocab? Best, arsehole. As defined as: who I would kill for and have already killed for. And you, girl.” He points the knife at her. “Get out. Your friends got the boot at the wee hours, should’ve took you with them.”
She doesn’t move. There’s fear in her eyes. With concern, she casts her gaze toward me for what to do.
“Yeah, sweetheart, go. This idiot has no morals.” Shit, that was rubbed off from Mikayla on to me! I recall kicking out woman after woman from my bed while single, although I didn’t give them the boot coldheartedly like Trick.
She scrambles up, grabs the empty flask, her strappy purse, and heads to the door, not even stopping to lace her high heels. I stand up, just as the front door closes.
“Okay so you didn’t screw this one. What have you done with Mikayla?” He steps up to me, eyes somehow darker with mistrust. “Or should I call her?”
I step closer to him, chest puffed up. I can’t fucking stand this guy. He gets to be all morbid and sad over his dead wife, then he gets to run around slamming his cock into girls and break their hearts. You can say that I led a similar life, but none of the women I screwed had any expectations. Now, he’s all gung-ho for my woman. I push at his chest, and somehow, I’m playing that stupid karma move that I promised Mikayla I wouldn’t.
The chick who just left had mentioned the vile shit Trick did in bed, so I change the subject from my business to his. “Did you used to smack your wife around—"
“Do not—
“Cut her back all up because you had a little fetish for blood?”
“No.”
He presses his hands against my chest. For a man a lot leaner than my bulk, Trick pushes me back a few paces. I’ll blame it on not being up to par. I continue to argue. “Then what’s the sudden fetish with hurting them?”
“Hurt? Bollocks, mate, you’ve got it all wrong. By the time I spank my women, they’re in such a state of euphoria I can smell the arousal coming from their cunts.”
“But did you do that with your wife?”
“I was a different man with my wife. End of discussion.”
“You never hurt a hair on her head, and yet, you treat these women like shit. Line them up, run through them. Not that precious wife of yours, huh?”
Trick tosses his fist at my nose. I catch it. Not one to be outsmarted, he twists his forearm and body, and his elbow goes flying against my jaw. It fucks my shit all the way up. I bring my foot forward, pressing my power through my forehead and slam that into his nose.
“Barmy mother . . .” He wipes a backhand over the leakage, grabbing out at my shoulders in an attempt to knee me in the groin. He’s the dirtiest fighter I know. That would’ve nearly killed me. I twist my body, and the blow of his knee hits my hip and Trick grabs me into a headlock.
“You made this shit too easy, mate.” His bicep hardens.
I bring all my weight forward, sending him over my back and onto the wooden coffee table. The four posts cave instantly, and he jolts down to the floor. Just as my boot stomps down, Trick grabs my foot and twists, bringing me down.
This fight is far from easy. We both h
ave technique. Where I’m lacking in speed, I pick up the slack in weight. On the ground, we trade punches. Blood sprays out as Trick and I pummel each other’s faces.
Then that blade is at my neck again, Trick mentions what it’s coated in with a terse smile. “Simmer down, mate. I do believe you recall the venom of the Indian Taipan, deadly enough to murder one hundred men . . . yada yada yada.”
“Do it. I lost Mikayla. And I won’t be a pathetic fuck like you, getting my kicks from torturing women.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. I lost Mikayla. I did something stupid. I know I did. The look on her face, what I’ve done is irreversible. But you, you let your wife die on you.”
There’s a rage in his gaze like I’ve never seen before. The knife chews further into my skin. “I like to see the vulnerability in their eyes. Much like yours are now. But with women it’s different. The pain brings me closer to a female than I’ve ever been since my Ally died. Now you’re gonna die.”
He nicks at my neck, enough to send the lava venom screaming into my bloodstream. Trick settles back on his hunches to watch because another person’s pain brings him back to life. My body becomes virtually paralyzed, and I lie still.
“I know this pain you’re enduring mate. Worked my way up to it.” From the corner of my eyes, I see him light a cigarette. “Increased my resistance slowly, but there’s another world to be had in getting there. Bollocks, Juggernaut, you won’t sense that euphoria, not with the dosage I gave you. Nope. You got five minutes.”
Ten. Twenty. Sixty. I begin to count as my body burns in fire.
“Kmota?” he asks. “Who is she? Oh, cat got your tongue?”
A delirium settles in my bones, and I stop mentally counting. One hundred and twenty seconds have passed. Did he just say Kmota?
“Jag . . . it’s Mikayla,” Kmota’s voice comes through the speaker phone.
“What about Mikayla? Where is she?” Trick asks.
“Who . . . is . . . where is Jagger? Please. She’s not safe.”
Black Queen, Dark Knight II Page 28
