by Ashley
* * *
“Hey, Harrah, wait a minute!” Ali yelled after her as she rushed around the hotel room that they had just checked into.
She was frantic as she placed a chair beneath the door handle and then went to the window to pull the curtains closed. “I don’t think we were followed,” she said.
“Followed by who, Harrah? You’re not making sense. Who are you so afraid of?” Ali asked as he watched her, perplexed.
Harrah stopped and sat down on the edge of the bed as she looked up at Ali. “You’re in danger, Ali . . . we both are.”
He crossed the room and stood between her legs, reaching down to grab her chin and force her to look at him. “What are you saying?” he asked.
“Dahlia, the woman who killed Zulu . . . she wants to kill you. She has taken Zulu’s soldiers; even Salim seems to work for her now. It’s like she just stepped into his shoes. She came to my home, killed the men Zulu had left behind for my protection. She told me she would let me live if I helped her get to you,” Harrah said. “It had been years. I didn’t even think that you would return, but here you are standing in front of me. I could never live with myself if I betrayed you. You are the love of my life.”
The news of Dahlia’s plot against him was disturbing, and he drew back from Harrah slightly as he processed it all. “Dry your eyes, Harrah. This Dahlia woman will not hurt you. Now that I’m here, everything will be fine. She won’t be able to hold on to Zulu’s spot. The five families will never approve. I’m going to pick up right where I left off, and once I do, she will be the first to go. Don’t worry about her. I promise, she only intimidates you because you are vulnerable right now. She is no threat to me,” he said.
Harrah was shocked. How could he be so calm? When circumstances seemed so dire, he was always unusually calm. “You don’t know what she is capable of.” The tremor of her voice revealed her dread.
“I know what I’m capable of,” he asserted. He bent down and kissed her lips gently. “I’m back, Harrah, and I won’t allow this woman or anyone else to harm you. The fact that you brought me here to warn me shows your loyalty. Even after all these years, you are still so beautiful, inside and out,” he stated. “I want you to stay here. Do not leave this room until I come back.”
Harrah grasped his hand tightly in panic. “No! You can’t leave!”
He gently removed her hand. “I’m going to speak with the five families. Once they realize I’m alive, they won’t welcome Dahlia into the fold. She will have no legs to stand on without the African Mafia as support. Then all of what was Zulu’s becomes mine . . . including you.”
* * *
RING! RING!
Confusion filled Harrah’s brain as the loud shrill of the hotel phone awakened her from her restless sleep. At first, she thought it might be a dream, but the ringing was nonstop. Harrah rolled over and picked up the receiver.
“Ali,” she whispered. She knew that no one else knew where she was. He was the only person who could possibly be calling her.
“Come and meet me at our spot,” Ali replied.
She looked at the red numbers on the digital clock beside her. “It’s four in the morning,” she said. “Now?”
“Yes, now. Come and run away with me, Harrah. We don’t have to stay here in Sierra Leone. With Zulu’s money, we can leave and never look back. I left the car downstairs. Take it, and meet me now,” he urged.
“What about the diamonds? Zulu’s empire?” she asked.
“This is a young man’s game. You stay in it too long, and you end up like Zulu did. No one can avoid fate forever. Let’s go away . . . tonight. Meet me at the bluffs,” he said.
It didn’t take much convincing. She was up and daydreaming about sailing off into the sunset together. Finally, she would be able to love who she wanted, live how she desired, and leave all of the bullshit behind. She had so much money as a widow that they would never have to worry, and Dahlia would never be able to track them down. By the time Dahlia realized that they had fled, they would be long gone. She dressed quickly, grabbed the keys, and raced out the door.
The bluffs. A beautiful cliff carved out of the countryside, lining the tumultuous ocean water beneath it. It was the first place that she and Ali had made love. Surrounded by nothingness, it had been far enough from Zulu’s watchful eye. It was the first place Ali had brought her to make love. She remembered it as if it had happened just yesterday. He had laid her down on the blanket he had brought to cover the dirt. The sky had been so bright that it looked as if the world’s most expensive chandelier twinkled above their heads. She could still smell the fresh salt from the ocean as the waves crashed into the rocks below. It was their place, far away from everyone. She was sure that no one else even knew it was there.
She navigated through the pitch-black countryside with nothing but her own headlights illuminating her path. Finally, she pulled up. Her lights shone ahead, and she saw him standing at the edge of the cliff, dressed in white linen. She threw the car into park and opened the door, placing one foot on the ground as she leaned her arm over the door. “Ali!” she called to him. The wind carried her voice to his ears, and he turned toward her.
He extended his hand, and she left the car, leaving the door open and the lights shining as she approached him. When their fingertips met, she smiled, but it dissipated when she saw the troubled look on his face. His expression was almost pained. He pulled her to his body and hugged her tightly, squeezing her body as he grasped her long, kinky, natural mane.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
She pulled back and frowned. “What?”
She heard the hum of vehicles, and she turned toward the sound of car doors slamming. She peered curiously, but couldn’t see past the shining of her own headlights.
“Who is that?” she asked frantically. She looked at him desperately for answers, still clinging to him. “Ali?”
She saw the silhouettes of men and a curvaceous outline that could only belong to one woman.
“What did you do?” she asked, heartbroken.
The woman walked in their direction until Dahlia’s face finally came into view. She wore white editor’s pants with an animal-print button-up Versace blouse. She looked more ready to shoot a fashion spread than to commit the acts she had planned.
“Harrah, darling, you disappoint me,” Dahlia said. “Women like you are so sickening. I gave you a chance to save yourself, and you chose to save a man. You see how it ended up when I put the same choice in his hands. Men are selfish; that’s why they are the rulers of the world. As soon as you told him that I wanted him dead, Ali came to find me. He told me of your betrayal and cut a deal for himself.”
Harrah let go of Ali as if she had suddenly been burned by fire. The deceit was too much to handle. She had been duped by the person for whom she had risked it all.
SLAP!
Her hand whipped across his face so quickly that he never saw it coming. “How could you? How could you? You bastard!” she screamed as she cried and beat his chest.
Sadness filled his gaze. “I’m sorry.”
He clasped her wrists to stop her assault, but she snatched her hands away. “Don’t touch me!”
She backpedaled, moving around Dahlia as she turned to run, but there was no escaping this dreadful night. She ran right into the men of the African Mafia. She felt like a stray dog that had been cornered in an alley as she ran back and forth, trying to decide where to go.
“You see, Harrah, Ali came to me after you warned him of my threats. He offered me a partnership. He knows the business, he can put in the work, and he and I have reached a mutual and equally beneficial understanding. There was one stipulation to our treaty, however. I told him to lure you here. Since you betrayed me, all bets are off between you and me.”
“Please,” Harrah begged. She shook her head from side to side as she watched Salim step up. “Salim! You cannot let her do this.”
Dahlia chuckled softly. “Don’t beg. It doesn
’t become you.”
Salim opened his arms, and Harrah fell into them. He felt a sense of responsibility toward her. They had come to know each other well over the years. This would be one death that would forever weigh on his conscience. “Shh, don’t cry. I will make sure that it is quick. No pain. Soon you will soar in the sky with the rest of the angels. Look up . . .”
She trembled as she looked back at Ali.
“Don’t look at him,” Salim said. “Look up into the sky. I want the last thing you see to be true beauty, Harrah.”
Harrah lifted her eyes to the sky as she sobbed and tears fell down her face.
BOOM!
In one swift movement, Salim placed a gun beneath her chin and fired a bullet up and directly into her brain. She immediately became dead weight in his arms. Salim grinned to Ali before stepping back among the goons behind him.
Dahlia turned to Ali, whose eyes had misted as he stared at the burgundy blood trail that was seeping into the dirt.
“Don’t cry. You will be joining her shortly,” she said.
She turned to walk away, and Ali’s face fell in confusion, in anger. “We had a deal!”
“I don’t make deals with disloyal mu’fuckas. If you did this to the woman you loved, imagine what you would do to me,” Dahlia said knowingly.
“You bitch! Don’t you walk away from me! You whore! Don’t you fucking turn your back on me!” Ali’s voice boomed in the night, but Dahlia ignored him. As she walked toward her waiting vehicle, a group of her goons walked toward Ali. Her driver opened the door for her. She stepped one foot inside while leaving the other on the gravel below.
“Wait,” she said, staring straight ahead.
Ali’s screams erupted, and Dahlia smirked in satisfaction, knowing that her bidding was being done. She lifted her second foot into the car.
She rolled down her window to address Salim. “Make sure they bring me a trophy. The five families will want proof.”
ELEVEN
EVERYTHING SEEMED TO MOVE IN SLOW MOTION as Dahlia stood behind Salim. The heads of the five families represented the most powerful criminal entities in all of Africa. Not the typical gangsters. They were elderly and feeble, and their appearance would make you underestimate them, but Dahlia had heard many street tales about the moves that they had made. Their syndicates had put in work all over the world, and their reputations preceded them. The quickened rhythm of her pulse thundered in her ears. She was nervous. In the presence of greatness, she realized that everything was on the line. This was the moment she had been waiting for.
“Salim, what are you doing here, and with a guest at that? You know the rules. I find your intrusion disrespectful,” one of the men said. He sat with his hands folded neatly on the table, and he peered at Salim through his one good eye. He bore a scar on the left side of his face, a long, deep gash that went right over his eye, causing it to droop low. Dahlia wondered silently how he had gotten such a scar, and the thought of the fate of the one who had put it there sent chills down her spine.
“I mean no disrespect, dear elder,” Salim said, hands steepled in front of his body as if he were about to pray. “I assure you this intrusion will be to the liking of all of you.”
“She is a woman. Women do not belong at this table,” the elder said sternly in disapproval.
“I will make it worth your while.” Dahlia spoke up as she took a step forward. She was tired of the old-school politicking. Yes, she was a woman, but she was also a boss and didn’t need any man taking a stand for her. “I can speak for myself.”
The old man waved his hand and sat back in his seat with a loud exhale, as if she were wasting his time. “You have two minutes.”
Dahlia wasted no time cutting to the chase. “I want Zulu’s seat,” she said.
“Zulu’s seat is reserved. Now, if you have no other matters, you can see yourself out.”
Dahlia’s eyebrows rose at the blatant disregard for her request, and she had to close her mouth to stop her slick tongue from responding with sharp wit. These men were old-fashioned in their ways. They thought her place was in the kitchen, not on the front lines. She was supposed to cook and clean, but Dahlia was more the hustle-and-murder type. Her mind was too brilliant to play wifey. She wanted to rule the world. In fact, if they let her in, she would eventually take one of their spots. It was just the Dahlia way. She conquered everything around her.
“I assure you that the position I wish to fill is vacant,” she replied.
“Ali Akban will pick up where Zulu left off,” the man replied sternly.
“Ali Akban is dead,” she snapped back.
She knew that she had hit them with the unexpected when she saw the men look at one another in uncertainty.
“You don’t believe me?” she asked.
Dahlia nodded, and Salim exited the room. He returned with a wool bag and passed it to Dahlia. She reached inside and placed her trophy on the table in front of the elders. Stifled gasps of horror rang out at the sight of Ali Akban’s severed heard. It was wrapped in plastic, but there was no doubting that it was him.
“Ali Akban is dead. Zulu is dead. Both killed at my hand. Any other person you endorse over me will meet a similar fate. I have proved well enough that I can handle this position. All I need is your official endorsement,” she said confidently, with flair and arrogance.
“Get it off of the table,” the same man said, unable to tear his eyes away from the gruesome remains. He seemed to be the spokesman for the group. Salim stepped forward and placed the head back inside the bag. The man looked begrudgingly at Dahlia. He didn’t want to give her anything, but he had to admit that her ruthlessness was impressive. Where fear of repercussion had halted any man from attacking Zulu or Ali, Dahlia had done it without worry. “You are either incredibly stupid or incredibly smart. I cannot tell just yet.” He looked around the round table, and his peers nodded one by one. Finally, he also did so. “You have our blessing.”
It took everything in Dahlia to contain her smile. Now she was official. She had the entire African Mafia behind her. It was time to take over the States one region at a time, starting with the City of Angels. It was time to get back to L.A. Her payback to Liberty and Po had not been forgotten, either, but she would put it on the back burner while she took over the game. Finally, she would be able to rule on her own. She was the king, and no one was going to knock her off the throne. Dahlia had manipulated her way to the top, and the game would never be the same.
TWELVE
CLICK. CLICK. CLICK.
The sound of Valentino stilettos stabbing the concrete echoed in the dark alley as Dahlia paced back and forth before the group of young thugs. The yellow light from the street lamp shone down upon them, and her hostages stood shivering from the lack of clothing. Her goons held them in place with pistols aimed, ready to fire at her command.
“Gentlemen,” she said as she stopped walking and turned to stand squarely. “This is what you call a takeover. You’ve been hustling on the streets tax-free for too long. Now there are only two options. One, you hustle my product, or two, you pay rent to occupy my blocks. Any opposition will be eliminated.”
She began to pace once more, her hands folded prissily in front of her, purely ladylike. “I don’t expect all of you to take me seriously. I’m a woman, you think that whoever you are working for now can protect you, you underestimate my power. I represent the African Mafia. I assure you, there is not a gang in L.A. who can outgun me or whose reach goes farther. It would be in your best interest to comply, but should you choose not too . . .”
Her tone was flat, but her heart raced inside her chest. This was her introduction to the Los Angeles underworld. She was used to manipulation, but tonight she was crossing the threshold into the territory of queen pin. She was slowly becoming a cold-blooded killer and understood that in order to be respected, she had to instill fear. The only thing that instilled fear was the threat of death. The streets had to know that she was capable of pulli
ng the trigger if anyone stepped on her toes. She had come too far to let her nerves get the best of her. There was no time to second-guess her methods. She had to be willing to murder, had to be willing to silence her conscience. The knots that filled her stomach made it feel as if she would vomit as she was plagued with apprehension. Yes, she had killed before, but it was always for a reason. Someone who had crossed her deserved to get their lights snuffed out, but none of these men before her had done anything of the sort. She wasn’t the devil. She still had principles, but the task at hand was completely necessary in order for her to win. It was a blood sacrifice that must be made.
Dahlia pulled out a handgun and stepped up to one of the hustlers.
BOOM!
Without hesitation and without flinching, she put a bullet square between his eyes. She then stepped down the line and—BOOM!—she delivered another shot to a second thug. Dahlia stepped down the line, knocking off hustlers as if she were shooting ducks on the old-school Nintendo game. She turned off the guilt button of her humanity and popped them one by one. She stopped when she got to the last young man standing. He stood in the nude, trembling as he clutched his hands over his privates. He squeezed his eyes closed when it was his turn to die. He was younger than the rest yet had more courage than they did. He didn’t snivel or beg as the others had done. Instead, he stood in front of her, unseeing but his chest broad and accepting of his fate.
Dahlia lowered her gun. “Open your eyes. You’re going to live today,” she said. She passed her pistol to Salim and stepped back.
He opened his eyes.
“Who do you work for?” she asked.
