Chapter Twenty-Four
THE EMPRESS GET’S HER LICK BACK
LYRIC ~THE WEDDING~
“ G otdamn, I love her,” Hassan’s heavy whisper tickles my ear and can’t help but giggle. “You can tell you got your start with hip-hop videos.”
“Aye. It made me and Sadiq billionaires.” He shrugs with the arrogance of someone who made his own way. I smirk, knowing exactly how that feels.
“Thank you for asking Ana?s to meet with me about the champagne branding.” I give him the doe eyes I know he can’t resist.
“Damn, you keep looking at me like that. I’ll bring Akchiro Takeda himself to meet with you,” he chuffs, adjusting himself just as the car pulls into the covered garage of the venue.
Just then, my phone chimes. “Hey, babe.” Smiling down at Fi and an already wiggling Ayaan, I lean over so Hassan can see his son’s antics.
“Ayaan.” One word of authority from his daddy has my son straitening and acting like he has some sense. “Be good for Fi until we get back.”
Ayaan nods, like he’s been given a huge responsibility.
“Okay, Baba.” He beams at us over the video chat.
Hassan absently rubs soothing circles on my back, knowing how hard it was for me to leave our son. Last time I did an event we all almost lost our lives and unlike the crew Asif led, we still haven’t found the crew or the ringleaders.
Every security precaution has been put in place as a deterrence. Hassan reached out to the Nikko and his Bastard Brother Syndicate to see if there were any whispers within their network about doing a job.
“They’d expect us to finish the job we were entrusted with, Hassan.” They told us in the SCIF Hassan set up to share secret intelligence about my safety.
Now that I’m Crown Princess; a title bestowed secretly after the first attack. Then publicly the night after he spoke new words of promise to me. My safety is a matter of national security.
“After the attack, I realized I’d inadvertently I put you in danger. Immediately, I rectified that, but making it public will leave no doubt.” The decree went out the same day.
Many things changed soon after. The irreverence the press used in the coverage of me ended. I assume they feel more loyalty to Her Royal Highness than a High Consort. No matter the title, I’m the Empress tonight.
The new driver opens the door with a bow. Hassan steps out, reaching in to take my hand like I’m his cherished treasure. The crowd swoons when he presses a chaste kiss to the back of my hand.
Hands linked, we make our way into the venue. I’m scheduled to sing a set at the venue. Khadijah cleverly came up with the idea of having a pay-per-view exclusive that will show me performing only for a people willing to pay and undisclosed amount for the privilege. The FOMO had millionaires and a billionaire willing to pay upward of ten-thousand dollars a ticket. That alone nearly fully funded several of the many infrastructure projects Hassan has planned for the earthquake survivors.
“I’m glad I get to witness the nuptials.” I tell Hassan as we are shown our seats of honor.
Soon Khadijah is brought in on the amira, with her wedding party celebrating all around her.
Deacon, his brothers and several friends follow. Though this is a moment of celebration, with the looks of Bishop, Porter and Priest Shipmoore shoot our way, I can think nothing less than menacing.
They definitely blame us for Prosper’s disappearance, and from the looks on their faces, they will confront Hassan at the first opportunity.
Forcing my attention to away from their stony expressions of the billionaire Shipmoore brothers, I focus on the beautiful ceremony.
The love that Deacon Shipmoore has for Khadijah is so palpable. My heart nearly bursts when she reaches up and wipes a stray tear from his hard, chiseled jaw.
The praises and cheers are overwhelming as soon as the marriage is blessed by the smiling Imam. They have a secular wedding planned in Great Britain, later. In interviews, Deacon said he hoped that his sister, Prosper, would be able to attend.
“Your Highness, if you’d follow me.” An attendant bows before me as the wedding guests are led to the reception area.
“I’ll see you in there.” Smiling up at Hassan, I move to follow the attendant, but he stops me.
“Aye.” He stops me before I can make a move to follow the woman. “If anything seems off, hit the code. Your security is outside the door.” He reminds me of the security protocols drilled into me since the return from Western Cape.
“I know, babe.” I say for his ears only as he presses a kiss to the crown of my head with reverence he’s shown more and more every day.
“You have your watch and phone.” He flashes his for emphasis.
“I’ll call you.” Cupping his face. I kiss him, not caring of the audience. I watch as a self-satisfied smile spreads across his face.
Damn, he fine. I think to myself and I give him a little wave as I follow the attendant out.
As soon as I step out into the corridor, I’m flanked by my six black garbed guards on either side. Totally protected on all sides, I walk with confidence down the hall to the room assigned for me.
I’d had my costumes sent ahead. Fi designed an ornate headpiece which would allow me not to have to change my hair style.
The piece is a masterwork that symbolized my reign as the Empress. Tonight is the night, I finally say publicly what has largely been speculation from the moment I wedded Hassan — I’m retiring from singing.
I’ll miss performing. Full stop, there is nothing like the love and adoration of my fans. But I one thing realized as I visited the people who suffered the tragedy of the earthquake is serving others is just as fulfilling. It’s different for sure and I don’t ever think I will ever be a traditional wife. A queen for her people, yes. We all have our special gifts and mine is making people loved by my presence. I realize my spirit for service is just as great as the one I have preforming.
“Shukran,” I say to the guards who’ve protected me on this little journey to my dressing room.
Walking in to the spacious dressing room, which is actually three times the size of any I have had while on tour. I notice the elaborate headdress Fi designed. “It looks heavy.” She assured me when I said I was scared I’d break my neck trying to wear it. “It’s light but pointy.” She had the nerve to snicker as Fariq and I look on marveling at her creation.
“You are amazing,” He said, looking at her with adoration shining in his eyes.
In that moment, I realized that despite the circumstances that brought us here, we both found what our hearts long for — partners who see us. Love us as we. I feel like we won.
Taking in the sheer size of the room, I take in the lengths Khadijah went to make me feel pampered and appreciated. “Deacon and I have a surprise for you.” There are lounges placed in inviting groups in case I wanted to have my entourage with me. I decided to keep it small. Who it seems, is a little late. There is a massage table and a chair overlooking the city. Walking deeper into the room, I see a bathtub ready if I want to freshen up after my performance. Though, I appreciate the sentiment. I’m leaving when I’m done. Bouquets of flowers from the bride and groom, their families and the fans cover every surface. Some stand as tall as my five-foot-three. There are also enough gifts here to rival those of the bride. Though her daddy may not be a happy camper, the rest of the family surely has no problem showing their appreciation. “Y’all take this hospitality stuff seriously.” I whisper, looking at the triple tier pink diamond necklace gifted by her oldest brother, Jhadari.
It wasn’t lost on me after our impromptu meeting that her fiancé reached out to Hassan to make the arrangements for the wedding and not her father.
“I’d hope that the Ben Saladins would come to the table since it was so well known that Jhori dotes on his daughter.” I told Hassan a few days later as we bathed together.
“Not that prideful motherfucker.” Hassan muttered, as he made long swathes, caressing my back with the loofa. “It’s fine. I’ll never beg a bitch to do anything for me. Just as he made his billions doing work for the kingdom, so can another. Now, come let me put you to bed. You look exhausted.” Hugging me to him, he rose out of the bath, then took his time drying me off. Which proved to kick me right out of the tiredness plaguing me and straight onto his dick.
The thing about Hassan is how intentional he’s being in showing me his love. He didn’t like me doing this for Khadijah, but he’ supported me just the same.
My security has quadrupled. I can talk to my sisters now that I have my phone back.
“Did you put a tracker on my damn phone?” I pressed Hassan on a hunch.
“You bet your little ass I did, wife.” He quipped back. “Would you prefer it in your body?”
Baby steps, I reminded myself, taking the phone back and updating my social media. Ana?s immediately reached out, wanting to negotiate the terms of the merger with her brand. I’d have to remain a silent partner, which is fine with me. I want as much anonymity as possible in the next phase of my life.
Knowing I can’t wait for the hairstylist of the wardrobe assistant any longer, I step over to the clothing wrack. At first I’m confused by what I’m seeing. Feet are propped up and sticking out beneath the dresses, like the Wicked Witch of the West. Confusion has me frowning down at what I’m seeing for longer than it should.
“Their deaths are your fault, whore.” The wrathful words have me spinning around, into the hate filled face of Jhori Bin Saladin. That’s when I see the second woman — the hair and make-up artist hired for the event slumped behind him against the wall with her head hanging at an odd angle.
Before the words register, he’s grabbing me by the throat, trying to break my neck. He doesn’t count on the fact that Didi’s cousin, Xander-Rafe LeRoi, taught me how to defend myself back when I first went on the road along with his sisters and cousins back when he first joined the BPB. I kept those lessons up and when I got my money up and wanted to hire him as my personal security, he declined, because serving the people of Birmingham means so much to him. He still flew out every year to coach me for a few weeks.
So that’s how Jhori Bin Saladin fucked around and found out I was the wrong one to try to kill. Instead of grabbing his wrists, I stick my arms between his arms and break his hold on my throat with an upthrust and outward motion.
Immediately, I punch him in the throat. His height makes it impossible to get a straight shot. My knuckles glance off to the side.
He stumbles back but manages to backhand me, causing me to crash into the headdress place on a settee. Stars dance in front of my vision. Blood fills my mouth and I immediately feel my cheek swelling.
“You’re nothing. My daughter will be queen.” Heaving, he smiles at my quizzical expression. “Accidents happened all the time. And Deacon Shipmoore will have a rather tragic one. Then, after an appropriate time of grieving, Khadijah and Hassan will find each other again. She will give him the legitimate the heirs the Al Rasheed line deserves. No Black American mongrels.” The malice in his gaze lets me know this motherfucker has absolutely no qualms about killing my baby.
“If you think Hassan can be manipulated like that and he will just marry Khadijah, you are fucking delusional. Bitch, I’m irreplaceable.” I say with pride. “I love your daughter, but she could never be me. Why do you think she took her L the with so much grace? She loves Deacon, sure, but even she knows there’s no comparison with the Empress.” The way he swells up like the Hulk is almost laughable.
He charges, ready to tear me to shreds. I don’t let that cause fear. “Always stay calm. Conquer your fear, Empress. That’s how you survive.” I can hear Xander-Rafe LeRoi’s words in my ear as I let him barrel down on me full speed.
Just as he throws his body forward, I grab the headdress, pulling it tight against my body. Fi’s famous pointy end thrust outward. Too late, he realizes his mistake as he impales himself on the gilded crown headdress. Like Fi said, it’s light but pointy. The sharp end spears him in the chest.
Shock and hate fill the stare above me. A stream of blood spills from the corner of his mouth. His body is rigid as he fights death for the few miserable seconds it takes the devil to drag his ass to hell.
Finally he slumps. His body is heavy as hell. Pushing my cramping hands outward as I shift my body to one side, I manage to shove his heavy ass off me.
He lands with a muffle thump. Thick, dark blood rapidly fills his pristine white shirt. Soon it pools beneath him. I stumble back against the chaise in my haste to get away, not wanting it to touch me more than the copious amounts that have already dripped on me when he skewered himself.
Saying I have the heebie-jeebies is an understatement. I feel gross with his blood marring the beautiful creation Summer made me for the event. On shaky legs, I make my way over the short distance to the settee furthest away from the bodies. I press my watch to summon my villain prince.
“Lyric.”
I don’t know how long I sit there staring into space.
“Lyric, habibti?” I look up into the jade gaze of Hassan, though he’s brought himself down on my level.
Concern etches his face. “What happened to you?” his voice is soft, calm but his gaze is fraught with intense emotions.
“He — um.” I stop, the words seeming to escape me.
“Lyric?” He sounds alarmed. Shaking me a little, he gets my attention to focus back on him.
“Tell me what happened.” His tone is sharper now, broking no refusal.
Raising a trembling finger, I motion to the back of the room.
Rising, he places a comforting hand on my shoulder before leaving me there for an interminable amount of time.
Minutes tick by, then I hear him speaking to someone on the phone. I hear the heavy tread of his feet as he re-approaches me.
He gets on his hunches facing me. “You did good, sweetheart.” Cupping the unbruised side of my face, he presses a reverent kiss on my forehead.
Hot tears spill down my cheeks. Still, the words don’t come.
Gathering me into the safety of his arms, he gently brushes the hair that came loose in the struggle out of my face.
“A team is going to come to secure this room. I’m having the venue cleared as we speak. Then I will take you home. It will be like nothing ever happened.” All this is whispered into my ear.
“I k-ki—” a firm long finger presses against my lips. His hard gaze focuses on me. He shakes his head. I clamp my mouth shut as I read the communication he’s giving that anyone could be listening.
“There is a terrorist threat. The venue is being cleared, then we are going home. Understood?” He waits for my jerky nod.
“I’m so fucking proud of you, sparrow.” From the look in his eyes, I know he means it.
The shock from the ordeal gradually subsides as I let my husband hold me.
The knowledge settles on me. I saved my life. I’ve been through too much to let some entitled billionaire take my life.
A knock sounds on the door. Hassan sits me back on the settee, rising to move the door.
Two massive men come through the door. Strangers. One has white blood hair, and the other is jet black. Though I’d never seen them before in my life from how Nikko described his brothers, all having silver eyes. I know they are Volk and Kairi Savalle, two of the Bastard Brothers. In the days that followed my Western Cape visit, Hassan told me the violent history of the Bastard Brothers, including their names.
“Nikko says hello, Empress.” The blond says with a heavy Russian accent. His tall lithe counterpart shoots him a dispassionate look, then gives Hassan and me a brief bow.
“I thought he’d send a team.” Hassan says by way of salutation.
“We were in the vicinity.” Volk shrugs, “In case there was another mishap.”
So Nikko was had them in place, there was another attempt on my life.
“Your concerns were correct, it seems. Where are the bodies?” Kairi asks, heading to the rear of the room as if by instinct.
“Chop him up, throw him out to sea or burn him don’t give a fuck,” Hassan says. “Return the women to their families. I will compensate their families for their loss.”
Striding over the clothing rack, Hassan takes down a thick black robe I normally use after performances. Drawing me to my feet, he drapes the voluminous material around me, making sure to cover my head.
Pulling me into the crook of his arms, he whispers, “Let’s go home, songbird.”