CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN
JACKIE
The suite had finally gone quiet.
Hours earlier it had been loud with children running around and asking questions nobody could answer.
She and Syxe had spent most of the day pretending everything was fine when everybody knew it wasn’t.
Now every light except one had been turned off.
All the children were asleep. Even little Sevynne had finally surrendered after fighting it for nearly an hour.
Syxe had tried to stay up, but eventually exhaustion won, and Jackie watched her drift off curled around Sevynne in the bedroom across from hers.
Now it was just her, alone, sitting there wide awake and staring out at the dark section of the property.
Security lights glowed in the distance beyond the windows, and every now and then she caught movement from one of the patrols making their rounds.
The men had been gone for hours. Long enough for the adrenaline to wear off, but not long enough to stop the anxiety from creeping in.
Every sound made her look up—whether it was a door closing somewhere downstairs or the distant rumble of a vehicle moving somewhere on the property.
None of it meant anything. And somehow that was the worst part.
Nobody was updating her. Nobody had even checked in.
She hadn’t seen Najee in hours. Yet somewhere out there, things were happening.
And all she could do was sit here, wait, and pray.
She hated how helpless it made her feel.
Most of all she hated the not knowing. Yet there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about any of it.
Somewhere else in the house, Najee was still awake.
She knew that much. He’d come upstairs a few times throughout the night to check on everybody before disappearing back downstairs to the war room, back to the men.
Even that felt different. She wasn’t used to seeing him in this element—quieter, distracted, like part of him had left with that convoy.
Jackie couldn’t blame him. Because while everyone was focused on catching Marcus, she was thinking about her own son, MJ, and wondering if he would make it out of this alive.
No one had said it out loud, but Jackie knew exactly what kind of mission the men had gone on.
The thought settled deep in her chest. Eventually she slid from the couch onto her knees.
Her hands trembled as she clasped them together.
“Lord, cover my child in the blood of Jesus Christ,” she whispered as her voice cracked.
“Please keep him safe. Please send him home. I know I ain’t been perfect.
I know I done made my share of mistakes.
But please… please don’t take my baby.” A sob escaped before she could stop it. “I can’t lose my son.”
The room fell quiet again as Jackie let out a deep breath and wiped her tears.
Sevynne stirred in the bedroom. A small whimper drifted through the cracked door, and she immediately pushed herself to her feet and crossed the room.
She rubbed her godson’s back gently until the fussing stopped.
A few minutes later Sevynne settled again, fast asleep.
Jackie stood there a moment longer watching him breathe before she gave up on sleep altogether.
She slipped quietly from the suite and eased the door shut behind her.
The hallway beyond was dark, most of the lights dimmed hours ago, leaving only small wall sconces casting pools of soft light across the marble floors.
For a while she simply wandered—because sitting still had become nearly impossible.
The house felt different at this hour. Larger.
Emptier. The silence filled every inch of the house, making even the smallest sound seem magnified.
That was how she heard the voices. Faint. Low.
Coming from somewhere downstairs. Jackie stopped and listened.
There it was again, not laughter but conversation.
She followed the sound through the hallway and toward the main staircase.
The voices grew clearer the closer she got.
Male voices. Several of them. One belonged to Brother Amin.
Another to Newdy. Jackie slowed her steps.
The study doors weren’t completely closed, just enough for fragments of conversation to slip through.
“…two confirmed…” The rest disappeared. A few seconds later she heard Newdy’s voice.
“What about the other one?” Somebody answered too quietly for her to make out.
Silence followed. Then Brother Amin spoke, calm and steady the way he always sounded.
“Notify the family.” Jackie’s stomach dropped. Family. Fatalities.
The words slammed together in her head before she could stop them.
She took another step closer, then another, trying to catch enough of the conversation to piece together what was happening.
But it was impossible, at least from where she stood.
The reality was that the people in that room knew things, and she knew nothing.
In an act of sheer desperation, she decided to get closer.
She took one more step when she felt him—or rather, his energy. “Interesting.”
The voice came from behind her. Jackie turned, her breath catching.
Brother Malik stood several feet away. For a second she understood exactly where Najee got his face from.
The resemblance was uncanny and impossible to miss.
Brother Malik was tall, maybe 6’4, distinguished, and impeccably dressed despite the hour in a tailored navy-blue three-piece Thom Browne suit with a red bowtie.
He had the same sharp features and the same intelligent eyes as the man she laid next to every night.
Only his were older, colder, and more calculating.
His gaze moved over her slowly, cold and appraising, like he was trying to solve a problem.
The look made her skin crawl. Brother Malik started toward her, hands clasped behind his back, eyes never leaving her face.
Then her hair. Then the loose cardigan she’d thrown over her silk abaya.
Then back to her eyes again. By the time he stopped, he was standing entirely too close.
A faint smile touched his mouth. “So you’re the kafir my son and my nephew tried to kill each other over.
” Jackie blinked. The words were delivered so casually it took a second for them to register. Brother Malik took another step closer.
“I didn’t get a good look at you at the gala. But I imagined you’d be beautiful. Because why else.” His gaze moved over her again, thoughtful and evaluating. Then he nodded once.
“But I understand it now.” Jackie frowned. “Understand what?”
A humorless smile crossed his face. “My son’s fascination.
” His eyes lingered on her a moment longer before he tilted his head.
“You kind of remind me of her.” The comment caught Jackie off guard.
“Who?” For the first time, something dark flickered across Brother Malik’s face.
“His mother.” Jackie opened her mouth, but another voice interrupted before she could respond.
“Jackie.” Both of them turned. Zambia stood near the kitchen entrance, a steaming mug in her hand.
She looked from Jackie to Brother Malik and immediately seemed to understand exactly what was happening.
“The kitchen’s over here, sis.” Her tone was light, almost casual, but there was something deliberate buried beneath the surface—an exit.
Brother Malik’s expression never changed.
“As-salamu alaikum, Uncle Malik.”
“Wa alaikum as-salam, sista Zambia.” His tone shifted—still polite, but cooler.
“I didn’t even see you come in. How long you been here?”
“A few hours. I’ve been upstairs going over swatches with Ummi for the upcoming ceremony.”
“That’s right. You and Cassius are finally making your union spiritually valid in the eyes of Allah and claiming your birthright.” His eyes drifted over her slowly, lingering a second too long.
“Are you prepared, to serve my nephew—my good virtuous sista?”
A small smile touched Zambia’s face. “Inshallah. If I can drop this last ten pounds.” She let out a nervous laugh. Brother Malik’s gaze drifted over her again. “You look perfect.”
“Alhamdulillah.” Zambia lowered her gaze and looked away.
A voice called from inside the study. “Malik.” Both women turned.
Brother Amin stood in the doorway. For a moment Jackie was struck again by how much the two brothers looked alike—same height, same sharp features, they even had the same commanding presence. Yet somehow, they felt nothing alike.
“There’s something I need you to see.” Whatever was happening inside that room required his full attention immediately.
Brother Malik glanced between the two women one final time, then nodded.
“Excuse me.” A moment later he disappeared back into the study alongside his brother.
Zambia watched the door close behind them, then looked at Jackie.
“Why were you talking to that fucking freak?”
Jackie blinked. “I wasn’t talking to him. He was talking to me.”