by Amarie Avant
“Wait down here.”
Taking two stairs at I time, I don’t stop until I’m in the attic at Mikayla’s side. Pulling the gag from her mouth, her face instantly pouts. I start to unbind the leather cuffs when she lashes out. I let her pummel my face with hits, slaps, and punches.
“I’m sorry, Mikayla.” I grab her.
“You were going to kill me.” She pulls her arms, clasping them over her breasts.
“I wasn’t going to kill you,” I mumble. “You broke my heart.”
“I’d never,” she murmurs, before rushing into the bathroom.
44
Jagger
While my home is invaded by more people than I’ve ever consider inviting over, I head upstairs to the master suite. The glass walls slide open as I walk toward them. I stop outside on the veranda overlooking the ocean, leaning my forearms over the ledge and grumble. This once was my favorite spot. I felt like a king with Blue Cove Resort right where it belonged, below me.
With my cold and calculating ways, I denied Pierce the right to purchase this land. I got it after I made my first pot of gold with X-Member. I didn’t have shit to build on it, not even enough money to buy seeds to plant a tree. But I let it sit barren for years. Then I stumped Pierce again when his lawyers led him to my door in order to by the air rights and build up.
I’d rather burn in hell.
It wasn’t like he did anything wrong. He paid top dollar for the resort from my father.
Now, with the way Mikayla looked at me, really fucking looked at me after I let her up from the bondage table, sets my mind to wondering. She’s my first real relationship, and what we have is unbelievable, though new.
In my world people don’t make mistakes.
Mikayla has forgiven me for so many things . . . but this? I grab my magnum from my back pocket, hefting it in both my hands, recalling just how readily Mikayla has avoided me over the past couple of hours. She had no words for me.
“What the fuck is wrong with you, Jag?” Soon as the words are hurled from my mouth, my psyche reminds me: My love for her is filled with greed, jealousy, and rage.
Hand back, in the perfect pitcher stance, with the .357 in my fist, I hawk my arm over my shoulder. But. I. Cannot. Let. Go. I can’t leave this life that saved me.
“Alright, say she doesn’t forgive me,” I mumble, placing the gun back into my waistband.
What ultimatum do I have? That look in those beautiful brown eyes was enough to know I shot myself in the foot.
My reaction to everything must be the reason why she chose not to trust me enough in the first place.
I pull out my cellphone and dial the informant who has helped keep tabs on Mikayla for me. Aside from divulging that my woman was sick on a few occasions, Kmota Okeke has only raised suspicion about a few guards. She also assisted when Mikayla’s uncle, Qaaim, had the knowledge that she went out of town. Qaaim had one last sympathizer feeding him information and helping him pay for the photographer services. Kmota ensured that the threat was permanently neutralized, without Mikayla being aware due to her hectic schedule.
If Mikayla only knew . . . I huff. This is literally the first time I haven’t gone in guns blazing. Kmota’s orders are to gather intel on the guards she perceives as a threat, not react, because I have to hand it to Zane Solarin—the only diplomat that I know.
“Mholweni, Kmota,” I greet her. Shocking, I know. I murdered her cousin, Abayomi Okeke. When I found out Mikayla planned to keep her on out of distrust and a need to show her kingdom that she wanted to be the bigger person, I reached out to Kmota.
In one of those unicorn moments of mine because of Mikayla’s sweet nature, I apologized to Kmota for the misunderstanding that led to Abayomi’s death. It was either that or shoot her right between the eyes, so that Mikayla did not suffer from the mistake I made. Now, I recall Mikayla’s grievance about Kmota dropping her tea—and the importance of it. I have to believe Kmota made an erroneous mistake and was not acting with bad intentions.
We had a very progressive conversation the first time I sought Kmota’s assistance, though tense, and while we spoke, I recorded the call conducting a lie-detector test. Kmota spoke about the Okeke warriors in her family and how even the female servants served as capable fighters if necessary. Kmota was quite frank. She hated me but would keep Mikayla safe out of respect for Abayomi. After confirming she passed a fail proof detector, I reached out to her again and still do from time to time.
“Oh, Mr. Johansson,” she replies. Each time we chat, the personal hatred she has for me dwindles a bit. “I’ve called and called. Denso and the others left worried.”
“Kayla is with me. You’re all going to be headed back to Zihula.” I pause, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Mikayla doesn’t trust you right now, but—”
“I didn’t drop the tea, Mr. Johansson. One of her other servants bumped into me. I believe it was on purpose. I have since rectified that. What’s this talk of Zihula? I haven’t mentioned it to you before, but I am beginning to distrust the prince.”
I bring her up to speed on the witch, letting her know that Prince Fari is hardly important, unless Anathi’s obsession is considered.
“Sir, I believe we may be underestimating Prince Fari. But I’ll do as you say and attempt to get in Mikayla’s good graces. If he tries something with Queen Mikayla, he will answer to me. Personally.”
“Good.”
“Mr. Johansson, I’m not doing this for you.” Her usual tart response comes back.
“That’s fine too, Kmota. Your queen hates me. Maybe she’ll follow the path your families made for her.” During our first chat, Kmota mentioned that it was destined for Mikayla to marry an Okeke, namely Abayomi, though her family held hope that she’d consider one of their other many, affluent warriors.
“That would be a blessing. If there are any signs that Mikayla is being coerced in any way, again, I will call, but I might not wait for your arrival to take action. Mholweni emini nje—good day.”
She hangs up.
I set the phone down, glancing over the horizon where the sun has left a golden streak across the still waters. Let that be a good omen, or Mikayla will not forgive me for murdering Prince Fari. Almost an hour has passed, and I still haven’t prepared myself to return downstairs where Denso and Chumi have joined the Solarins and Mikayla.
It’s another few moments when Mikayla murmurs, “Jag.”
My eyebrows crinkle together. Had I been so bound in contemplation that I hadn’t heard her enter? I turn around, leaning my elbows against the railing as Mikayla walks across the stingray aquarium floor. She stops at the sliding glass door, leaning there.
“I can’t leave without us clearing the air.”
I blink at her. Shit, she’ll be gone so soon.
“Oh, you don’t have anything to say, Jagger?’ Mikayla is exasperated, head cocked to the side.
“I apologized. You hate me. Clearly you don’t have time in your busy schedule for me to make it up to you.” My hard tone lessens, like a tie being undone.
She stands up straight, hands on hips, and takes a few steps forward, jutting her index finger into my chest. “You tried to kill me!”
“I did not have any bullets in the chamber, Mikayla.”
“Did you get a kick out of seeing me cry, believing my time to die had come? Huh!” She issues another poke.
I grab her wrist, pulling her flush against me. The woman who forced my heart loathes me. Her body, on the other hand, still reacts. Her hard nipples graze against the top of my abdominals. I grab her cheek, my face descending, and then . . .
Smack.
It’s enough to reset a man’s jaw, but I’m not any old man. I keep my teeth clamped, let the burn on my cheek ride through.
“You had your feelings hurt and acted like a baby, a dangerous, sociopathic toddler!” Mikayla forces her arm between us. She almost falls while trying to push back. I grab her. She slaps me again. I let her go. In a wide legged sta
nce, eyes glossed, she says, “I understood you. While I was laying on that table, I knew you lashed out because I denied you, verbally. Had the situation been reversed, Jag, I might have tried to pick up a gun. But point it at you? Pull the fucking trigger? Jagger, I hate you.”
Teeth gritted, I wait for her to say that she doesn’t ever wanna see me again. My jaw clinched that alone tells her to do her worst.
The dam glossing in her chocolate brown eyes crashes. A flood of tears slips down her cheeks. Lips shuddering, she mumbles, “Sala kakuhle, Jag.”
45
Mikayla
The final goodbye. With my back pressed against the seat of the jet, I’d vomit yet there’s nothing in my stomach. When I told Jagger “goodbye,” and tried to walk away, the silent wolf went dormant and the beast of a bully I know him to be had his arms wrapped around me, pulling me toward him.
Kmota breaks my thoughts. “My Queen, are you—”
“Fine.” I’m as short with her as I’ve ever been.
“I’m sorry. I’m fucking sorry, Kayla,” Jagger had said.
My fingernails sunk into the skin of his forearm. I scratched, clawed, and kicked my legs up, in an attempt to bring us down. But I wasn’t in my right mind. I just kept seeing Jagger, the man I was supposed to be dumb, stupid in love with, walking toward me with .357 in hand. Ready to blow my fucking brains out.
Tears burned my eyes, Jagger turned me back around. “Babe, you can’t leave. Not right now. I know this shit is imperative, no time to spare. Give me one minute. Let me—”
“I hate you, Jagger Johansson!” Declaring the words so loudly, my body jarred. “Do you think I hate you for stealing me on my way off to med school or our first night together? Think again, asshole.” My argument ended slowly, callously, filled with rage. “I hate you a gazillion times more now.”
The acceleration of the Learjet gives way as it begins to coast through the air. I glance around. The Zihula red and white insignia is on the leather chair behind me. Every way I turn, I’m reminded that claiming my throne without a man at my side—be it the blood thirsty Jagger, or the witch’s brew Fari—is going to be hard.
Once this farce is over, granted that I don’t fall into Anathi’s web any longer, I’m addressing Nivean. They must know that I will not marry because it’s fitting for a woman ruling a nation. Our eastern bordering country has been ruled by a playboy king much like Prince Fari for decades. You don’t hear his people whispering. At least, I’m not sure about that. But I did hear the gossip that he’d “sow his royal oats” and hand over a princely crown once his first gray hair was found. That gossip was said by Chinwa, laughing and all, because she said that his servant told her it was a morning and nightly ritual to check.
But all jokes aside, Mikayla Bryant-Mthembu has never needed a man to survive—education was my passion in the past. Seeing that my nation survives and thrives is the future.
My forehead kisses the tiny, cold window just above Zihula. The runway where we landed before is cluttered with traffic. Two media choppers are at the end of the hangar. I gasp.
“We have to move diligently.” I turn around in my seat to address Denso, Eadric, Zane, who said he had just come for investigative purposes only, and Elder Chumi was blunter about it.
“I still think we should spike Fari’s tea with the entire lot.” Denso rubs the back of his neck. “My wife says the longer he’s been tethered to Anathi, the more he’ll need.”
“Heh.” Eadric chuckles. “Then we might as well give him an entire pot the way Zane says Fari has acted differently for months.”
I chew my lip, my mind moving in overdrive. As I recall it, Fari was a platonic and supportive friend of mine when I conceded the throne, though I don’t have a baseline to compare it to, it must’ve been around that time when Anathi began to inhabit him. Yet, another thought pops into my head. “Did his behavior coincide with the sickness of King Damba?”
Zane’s eyes connect with me. “You are a brilliant young woman!”
“She is,” Chumi assures. “That was around the time you arrived in South Africa. Let’s assume that perhaps he was in transition before—I know it’s Mikayla’s understanding that he was sane during your introduction.”
Denso chimes in. “He could’ve been in some sort of altering faze at that time. Mikayla wasn’t just an overnight transformation.”
“Alright.” I jump as the plane’s tires kiss the asphalt. “I play the elated fiancée. Eadric do you think you can try to score some alone time with King Damba? See if the tea might be the anecdote to his illness as well? I know the tea is just a momentary option until the men you sent for MamLalumi return.” I try to stop my eyes from finding Elder Chumi. It’s been months. We might not have been able to catch up with her on foot, but word travels fast. Every town that had a telephone connection has been advised that we have “townspeople” in dire need of her help.
“I will do my best, My Queen,” Eadric says.
“I can help, Eadric.” Kmota speaks up.
Telling Kmota why I overreacted about the tea was a reason for me to look in her eye and see how much of a liar she truly is. Her facial expression never changed. Kmota is always following Eadric around. I don’t want there to be any palace affairs going on under my watch, and that wife of his looks like she can scrap. I’m tempted to ask if she is Okeke like Kmota and Abayomi as well. But the underlying truth is, I want to keep Kmota by my side and watch her like a hawk because if she makes a wrong move, then when we break this case wide open. Zane will back me up when I have to tell the Okeke clan.
“Eadric has proven himself, Kmota. And by the looks of the coverage Fari has set up,” I nod to the reporters outside, “I’ll need you at my side to make sure I’m always looking my best.”
She stares at me. All the many times I didn’t put much interest into the outfits she placed out for me and took it upon myself to dress less royal, more personable and really, with comfort, is not lost to her. She offers the faintest nods of agreement.
We exit the jet.
“Queen Mikayla, how do you feel about becoming engaged to one of South Africa’s wealthiest kings?”
“Queen, Queen, have you set the date?”
“Your Highness, where is the ring?”
Microphones are just out of reach as Denso, Eadric and Zane stand before me. Kmota is behind me, and Elder Chumi takes his place at my side.
“Queen Mikayla will not answer to a bevy of questions tossed at her feet!” Chumi shouts.
Through the crowd, two rows of Zihula warriors arrive, heavy limbs taut, moving slowly like panthers. Between them, Prince Fari steals my breath away—no amount of either compulsion or blindness will deter how handsome he is.
He’s dressed in a white suit, a lion fur over his shoulder with yellow diamond eyes, and a brocade hat on his head, which matches the vest he’s wearing. Shit, he could walk down the aisle right now!
Not with me, but he truly is a handsome man.
Fari moves with the grace of a king. If my quick wit in the jet were true, then he had something to do with King Damba’s illness. Pride moves like its own sun above his head. The crowd of Zihula people and reporters make way for him.
He dominates my side, just about stepping on Chumi’s toes. The elder grumbles like my father would when correcting my “ain’ts” as a child.
“The ring.” Prince Fari snakes his hand around my waist, pressing me against his side. “You all must see the ring. It had to be resized, but I will present it to the princess at a dinner engagement at the end of the week.”
What? It’s only Monday.
More questions pile on top of more questions.
“You will all be advised at the appropriate time.” He winks. This is a show for him, and I’m the damn clown! It takes all my strength not to bump him with my hip and then toss a right hook across his face. “As for the venue!” Prince Fari waves his hand around gracefully. “Zihula is the eighth wonder of the world.”
&nbs
p; The weasel laughs along with everyone at his own joke.
Through the crowd, a pair of dark brown eyes toss daggers at my soul. It’s the same woman that Anathi promised to hurt if I just touched her during my last visit to Zihula. Kmota steps to my side, whispering, “May I now be of assistance?”
Fari cuts her a hard look while I come to the terms that she really wants to be of assistance in this investigation.
The mysterious woman hates me for a reason.
Should I have a potential enemy reach out to her?
I nod curtly. Kmota eyes the jealous beauty before falling back behind me. She will seek out the woman later. And while she does, I will have Denso also send out a message to find my hater’s identity. He did say that some Niveans married into the Zihula tribe and showed their disgust of Qaaim.
Prince Fari continues to play the metaphoric fiddle for the crowd as I wonder what craziness I got myself into.
First my own flesh and blood murdered my parents and played a game of chess with my life for decades, now this.
46
Mikayla
Thursday. . .
“Were you able to gather any information about the woman?” I wait on bated breath for Kmota to respond.
Her head lowers. “Sorry, My Queen. I followed her the first day—”
“I am aware.” I close my eyes instantly, shoving a hand through my short kink of hair. “Just give me a moment please.”
She leaves the room.
“You don’t trust Kmota do you?” Denso’s voice pulls through the haze of quicksand that I’m drowning in.
“She’s Okeke. I am trying my damndest, Denso She doesn’t make it easy.”
He snorts. “Kmota is from the largest family, Queen Mikayla, but I assure you that your belief in keeping her as a servant so as not to churn the waters with the Okeke is unfounded. Not that the waters aren’t already choppy and black with storm, but you can trust her. She might not be the friendliest of the Okeke, more warrior than anything—”
