4. Kita
T he sound of the plane’s engine was too loud, or maybe it wasn’t loud enough—because even over the noise, I couldn’t drown out Damian talking to himself. I was cuffed to my seat, the cold metal biting into my wrists, and every jolt of turbulence made the restraints dig deeper into my skin. Across from me, Damian sat slumped in his seat, his face bruised, his eyes red-rimmed from crying.
“They’re gonna torture me,” he said, his voice cracking. “You too, Kita. That nigga doesn’t leave loose ends.”
I rolled my eyes, even as my stomach twisted at his words. He might’ve been right, but I wasn’t about to let him see how scared I was. “You think whining like a little bitch is gonna save us?” I snapped. “Shut up, Damian. You’re the one who said he wouldn’t find us.”
He turned his head to glare at me, tears streaking his face. “Well, he did, Kita. Stop acting like you weren’t knee-deep in this shit before I even came into the picture. Don’t act innocent now.”
“Oh, so this is my fault?” I shot back, my voice rising. “I didn’t ask you to betray your brother or run your mouth about things you couldn’t handle.”
“I didn’t ask you to suck my dick as revenge or send Troy after him!” Damian fired back, his voice shaking with anger. “I can’t even say sorry because you’re just as dirty in this as I am!”
I clenched my fists, the cuffs rattling against the armrests. “You’re pathetic, Damian. Always trying to push the blame onto someone else. Grow the fuck up.”
We went back and forth, our voices rising above the drone of the engine. Across the aisle, Hocus sat with his feet propped up on a seat with a Glock in his lap, watching us with an expression of pure irritation. Finally, he leaned forward, his deep voice cutting through our argument like a knife.
“Dead people shouldn’t be talking,” he flatly said, his dark eyes locking on Damian. “Y’all keep running your mouths like someone gives a fuck.”
Damian turned his anger toward Hocus, his lips curling into a sneer. “You’re just a flunkie,” he spat. “A lapdog for Damier. You’ll never be anything more. Damier’s the billionaire, not you.”
Hocus’s expression didn’t change, not even a twitch. Calm as ever, he reached into his backpack, pulled out a roll of duct tape, and tore off two strips. Before either of us could react, he slapped one piece over Damian’s mouth and then leaned over to do the same to me.
“Finally,” Hocus muttered, settling back into his seat. “Some peace and quiet.”
I glared at him, my chest heaving with anger, but the tape silenced me. Damian thrashed in his seat, his muffled protests falling on deaf ears. Hocus closed his eyes like he was about to take a nap, leaving us to stew in our frustration and fear.
$$$$$
When the plane landed, Hocus yanked Damian out of his seat first, dragging him down the aisle. He didn’t even glance back at me as two more men appeared, their faces blank as they unbuckled me and hauled me to my feet. My wrists were still cuffed, and my legs felt like jelly as they marched me out of the plane. The cold night air hit my face, sharp and biting, and I shivered as I was shoved into a blacked-out SUV.
I tried to ask where we were going, but the tape over my mouth turned my words into muffled grunts. One of the men blindfolded me, the darkness pressing down on me like a weight. My heart raced as the car started moving. The smooth hum of the engine and the occasional bump of the road were the only sounds around me. I had no idea where they were taking me, and not knowing was almost worse than anything else.
I clenched my thighs, desperate to relieve the growing pressure in my bladder. “Mmmph,” I tried to say, twisting my wrists against the cuffs. The men ignored me, and I bit down hard on the inside of my cheek to keep from crying.
The drive felt endless, every second stretching out like an hour. Finally, the car came to a stop, and I was yanked out, my legs nearly buckling as my feet hit the ground. They marched me inside somewhere—I could feel the change in the air, the warmth of an interior space replacing the chill outside. The faint scent of expensive perfume and polished wood hit my nose. Wherever this was, it reeked of money.
When they sat me down, I barely had time to process before someone ripped the blindfold off. I blinked against the sudden light, my eyes adjusting to the sight of a tall, elegant woman standing in front of me. My stomach dropped.
Mrs. Knight.
Everyone in Los Angeles knew her. She wasn’t just Damier and Damian’s mother—she was a legend in her own right, a woman whose power rivaled that of the men in her family. And now, she was staring down at me like I was nothing more than dirt under her Prada shoe.
Before I could even think of what to say, her hand came down hard across my face. The slap rang out in the room, sharp and brutal, making my head snap to the side. My lip split against my teeth, and I tasted blood.
“You’ve got some nerve,” Mrs. Knight said, her voice cold and cutting. “Hiding out with my son. My crazy son, at that.”
I swallowed hard, my mind racing as she stepped closer, her piercing gaze pinning me in place. “I know everything, lil girl,” she said, her tone dripping with disdain. “I know you were on that ridiculous reality show Damier did. I know you worked at his club. I know you started dating Damian out of revenge because Damier didn’t pick you. And I know you sent Troy to try and destroy my son.”
Her words came like daggers, each one hitting a mark I couldn’t deny. “You think you’re clever, planting drugs in Damier’s club? Using your little schemes to get back at him? You’re not clever, Kita. You’re pathetic.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but the tape silenced me. She smirked, leaning down until her face was inches from mine. “Oh, and King filled me in on what happened in Canada. Congratulations on the baby. Too bad you won’t live long enough to raise it.”
Fear twisted in my gut as she straightened, her expression hard as stone. “Here’s how this is going to work,” she said. “You’ll stay here, in this house, until that baby is born. After that, Damier gets to decide what to do with you. My guess? He’ll take your head off.”
I tried to plead, tried to beg, but the tape muffled my words. Mrs. Knight snatched it off with one quick, painful tug, making me wince.
“Please,” I said, my voice shaking. “Mrs. Knight, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for things to go this far. I was angry. I wasn’t thinking?—”
She held up a hand, cutting me off. “Save it. I don’t care about your apologies. There’s a bathroom in your room. You’ll stay there until I decide you’re worth letting out.”
With that, she turned and left, the door slamming shut behind her. The sound of the lock turning sent a chill down my spine. I looked around the room—a plain, sterile space with nothing but a bed and sealed windows. It was like a prison disguised as a guest room.
My bladder screamed for relief, and I stumbled to the bathroom, my hands trembling as I fumbled with the door. After emptying my bladder, I sat on the cold tile floor, my head in my hands, sobbing uncontrollably.
When I finally crawled back to the bed, my tears soaked the pillow as I screamed into it. The fear, the regret, the anger—it all poured out of me until my body couldn’t take it anymore. Exhaustion finally claimed me, and I fell into a restless sleep, haunted by the knowledge that my fate was no longer my own.