Chapter 13 Nil #2
Idris looks between us with a pursed smile while he nods. “For what it’s worth,” he says, “I appreciate the levity. Even if the delivery could use restraint.”
Stan shrugs. “I don’t really do restraint.”
“I’ve noticed,” Idris replies with a small smile. “Thank you. Both of you. I don’t ask lightly when it comes to Em.”
“Yeah,” Stan says. “She’s ours to look out for. However that ends up looking.”
Idris steps back from the bed. “I’ll arrange the logistics and keep you informed. Until then, please keep her close once I’m away.”
He guides all three of us out the door, waiting for it to slide shut before he tells us one more thing in a frantic whisper. Seeing Idris like this doesn’t make sense, but it does as soon as he tells us why he’s doing all of this.
When he gives us a half a smile before going back into Em’s room, I look back at Stan, determined as ever to take care of her. “Let’s not fuck this up.”
“Come on, Ocean Eyes, it’s us.” Stan bumps my shoulder. “Have some faith. We won’t fuck this up. We’d never let Em down.”
***
We dock in Cairo under a bright sky that doesn’t match the weight we’re carrying off the ship. Sand whips with the warm wind. It’s sunny out here, but the ship looms dark behind us.
The hull locks in with a heavy thunk. Crew voices carry down the gangway. Dock guards start moving people like chess pieces, checking IDs, badges, and baggage. We’re acting like this is a normal end after a trip that was anything but.
It’s a good thing Idris told us about Em. I’m staying by her side every second. She’s here with us physically. Mentally, it’s like she’s somewhere else.
I get the feeling. Losing my family in a fire did that to me. Losing my sister to a monster did worse. Taking Kys made my mind wander without aim. It was a nice distraction from the pain for the year I spent keeping my enemy close.
In the next hour at the docks, Darius and Idris handle the logistics. Plane tickets printed. Names called. Instructions repeated until people stop asking questions.
People peel off in small groups, relieved and eager to get away from the ship. Jon’s especially eager, since Stan won’t stop making jokes about his cutout tongue.
“Listen,” Stan says, strolling backwards, “I’m not sayin’ this trip left anyone speechless, but Jon took it a little too literally.”
Jon flips him off without breaking stride.
He leans toward me and stage-whispers, “He’s got plenty of bite left. Just, y’know, no tongue.”
I scoff, frowning when he smiles, too pleased with himself.
Cars are waiting on the other side of the docks. Black sedans with tinted windows, engines idling. Inside each one, there’s a driver that gives off the look that they’re paid not to question anything. Security ushers us in. The ship slips out of view.
The drive to the airport is quiet. Cairo passes by in flashes of sun and stone and traffic that doesn’t care what kind of nightmare just docked at its edge.
The airport hits like a slap of summer. High ceilings. Polished floors. Screens blinking arrivals and departures in multiple languages. Voices overlap in waves. Suitcases roll over polished floors.
I’m hovering around Em, but she’s usually beside Idris. His hand rests light at her back, guiding her through the crowd. She follows easy. He catches my eye and makes a small gesture toward a quieter section of seats near a long stretch of windows.
I sit beside her there. Stan drops into the chair on her other side. He’s talking away, filling the space so silence doesn’t crawl in.
Idris and Darius split up to handle everyone getting out. People thank them and move on. Everyone’s being sent home. Different flights. Different cities. People walk like momentum keeps panic away.
We wait by the windows overlooking the tarmac. Planes taxi past in massive sweeps. Idris returns long enough to tell us Damon and Kayla’s flight is inbound, then heads back to Darius to finish triage.
Stan disappears for some time and comes back with a paper bag of airport food. He stares down at it with a pout. “I want it on record,” he says, “that if I die, this was the murder weapon.”
I poke at the soggy fries he takes out. “You bought it.”
“They marketed it as food, Ocean Eyes. Pretty sure that’s entrapment.”
Em’s been staring through the glass windows. I slide the fries her way and wait. Eventually, she picks one up and eats it. Small wins.
I learn, after sitting for so long, that airports stretch time in a weird way. A minute feels like an hour. Then an hour disappears in seconds.
Some more time passes, and then Stan straightens with a smile on his face. “Heads up! Here comes the power couple.”
Damon and Kayla come through the gate. They look exactly as I remember them before the fall.
Damon’s walking tall, dressed in a dark suit that fits like it was tailored by someone who hates wrinkles. His eyes go to Idris and Darius first, then to us.
Kayla’s impossible to miss. Long brown curls. Fur winter coat thrown over a fitted dress. Heeled leather boots clicking across the floor. She smirks the second she spots Stan.
“Oh thank fuck,” she says. “You survived, you big lug.”
Stan beams. “Obviously. And before you say anything, I’m spoken for.”
Her brow lifts. “Who’s the lucky fella?” Her gaze slides over to me. “Or should I say unlucky?”
“Nil’s the lucky guy,” Stan says, chest puffing up. “Fully, carnally, completely destroyed by his big, thick di—”
Damon steps in smooth, hand extended toward me. “It’s good to see you again,” he says. “Cali—”
“Nope!” Stan cuts in, slinging an arm around my shoulders. “This is Nil. He’s spoken for. By me. By my mouth. And other parts.”
Damon shoots his brother a look that could cut glass. “Nil,” he repeats, staring at me. “I’ll make a note of the change, but I’m curious why you don’t use your given one.”
“I don’t feel like answering to it yet,” I say with a shrug.
Damon studies me when he says, “Understood.”
Kayla lights up, walking over to me. “That sounds like something your sister would say.”
Hearing about her warms my chest. I smile a little at Kayla in silent thanks.
She turns to Em. “Hi again, Em. Wish we saw each other under better circumstances.”
Em lifts her gaze. “Hello, Kayla.”
Kayla smirks. “It’s Kaye,” she tells her. “You told me you’d try calling me that, remember?”
Em looks back down at her food.
“She’s eating,” I say. “Maybe we’ll talk later?”
Kayla’s brows shoot up a bit, but she smiles. “Yep, no problem.”
Darius and Idris return to our spot. Idris greets Damon with relief. Darius nods at him. The three men drift into a low conversation near the glass wall.
I’d listen, but behind me, Stan and Kayla keep sniping at each other.
“You look like shit,” Kayla tells him.
“You look like a divorce waiting to happen,” he shoots back.
“Still mad I married the hotter brother?”
“Devastated,” Stan says. “I cry about it while getting railed by the prettiest man on Earth.”
Kayla laughs. I tune them out and turn back to Em. Her shoulders are up to her ears. Her eyes look dull. But she’s picking at her food.
I nudge a drink closer to her hand. She wraps her fingers around it and takes a sip.
She moves closer to me, her shoulders lowering. It feels like my ribs respond to how close and quiet she’s being, with this thudding ache I haven’t felt since the hospital. I stretch my back out to fix it. That doesn’t work.
So I just hunch over Em, to make sure she knows all she has to focus on is the food in front of her. Everything else can wait and be handled by everyone else. All we have to do is sit beside each other.
***
Time stretches thin as the terminal empties. Boarding calls fade. The seats around us open up. The air feels colder when there are fewer bodies in it.
Em’s sitting beside Idris now. He speaks to her in whispers, his hand resting on her wrist. Her fingers stay wrapped around her drink, bringing it to her lips, while Idris slips a plastic pill box into her pocket.
Across the terminal, Darius and Damon are talking in a private lounge framed by thick glass. Their shoulders are squared.
Stan’s glancing that way while Kayla talks about my sister’s honeymoon, something about a beach-facing villa and a bartender who Sterling almost beat up for serving my sister the wrong drink with not enough tiny umbrellas.
“Yeah, um, if she wants a million of those,” Stan says, “she gets a gazillion. You got the bartender’s name and address? Asking for an assassin.”
Kayla giggles. “God, I missed you. All I’ve had for company is Dae in that big house, and he’s always so serious, like there’s a stick up his ass.”
“Well, did you leave it in there the last time you were pegging the guy?”
Kayla barks out a laugh, wiping tears from her eyes. “A girl can dream.”
Stan shudders. “Ugh, I wish I didn’t just imagine what I said.”
Then Stan goes still. His mouth opens, then closes. The hair along his arms rise, visible even from where I’m sitting.
There’s a cold draft that comes in, like a window was left open, except this is a huge airport. Maybe a plane landed? I look around and don’t see one letting passengers out.
A tall man walks in, looking like Darius or Idris but a couple decades older. That must be Set Adel.
He walks up to us from the end of the wide walkway.
He might look like his sons, but he’s not as tan. He’s a tad paler with sharper cheekbones, sporting a tailored dark coat. His blue eyes scan the space and stop at Idris, who has his back turned to his father, while he’s still whispering things to Em.
Set passes the glass wall of the lounge, and I catch his eyes in the blurry reflection, right beside my blue pair.
A memory comes crashing into mind. Clo’s hand at my shoulder.
White light. A room full of mirrors. Her voice, calm and pleased, telling me the blue suits me better than my natural brown eyes.
Telling me it matches with the others’ eye colors, even my sister’s.
Whispering wickedly to me how I’ll look right when I stand in front of her other puppets.
Biting down my snarl, I drag my focus away before the memory sinks teeth into me.
Damon and Darius leave the lounge to trail after Set, stopping near us. Set’s smile is smooth, so polished it could charm a room full of people into believing he’s an ally or a friend, when he’s anything but.
I’m not easily fooled. Not after acting the role of Clo’s right-hand man. Not after I saw this man’s signature on too many paper trails. He’s as bad as her. Maybe even worse.
“Good evening, everyone,” Set says, voice warm and measured for eyes so soulless. “Looks like you all reached Cairo in one piece.”
Nobody laughs. Stan almost does but reads the room. I cross my arms, frowning at Set. He turns toward his sons. He speaks calmly and quietly. Logistics delivered like polite conversation.
Within minutes, the plan’s set up. The ship stays on dock.
So do Set, Darius, Idris, and Damon. They say they’re staying to contain what happened and to keep it from reaching anyone it shouldn’t.
Their voices stay shockingly still while they talk about it, which makes it worse.
How the hell can they be so passive about the awful stuff that happened on the ship?
Kayla steps up to Em once the decision’s made. “You’re coming with us, Em. We’ll make sure you’ll have your space, a warm bed, and plenty of good food. And you’ll never be alone, okay?”
Em turns toward Idris. He smiles at her, looking warm and reassuring. “I’ll come see you soon,” he whispers. “Right after we fix all of this. It’ll get done, Em. Trust me.”
Set observes the exchange, hands folded on his back, expression sobering.
Escorts appear right after. Damon acknowledges them, then turns to Kayla. “You’ll have staff at the estate while I’m away,” he says.
Kayla’s brows pull together. “Are you fucking kidding me, Dae?”
“You’re carrying our heir,” Damon says, voice deep and dangerous. “You’ll accept the help.”
Kayla pouts. “I hate you a little right now.”
Damon smirks. “But I love you a lot always, little bird.” He kisses her hair. “Miss one text and more staff appear.”
“Oh, fuck off,” Kayla groans but goes into his embrace anyway.
Beyond the glass, the Song-Smith’s private jet waits on the tarmac, stairs unfolding down.
Kayla guides Em forward. Idris shadows them until the last possible second, eyes tracking Em’s every move.
Stan pats him on the back. “Don’t worry, Prince Charming. We’ve got her from here.”
Idris gives him a small smile. “I’m holding you to that.”
I give Idris a short nod. He returns it. Damon nods too. Darius watches me with that same stoic focus. Set shoots me a smile that seems so practiced, it rivals the ones Clo always wore. Those two would make a damn pair.
I turn with the others and board. A few staff on the flight talk to Kayla, while she helps Em sit. Stan talks too while buckling her up. Em lets them help, but her shoulders are still tight, and her eyes are fixed on nothing. Kayla takes the seat beside her, warming her up with snacks and juice.
Stan drops into the seat to my left, across the aisle from Em and Kayla. He starts stealing some of their snacks, reaching out and smacking his lips unapologetically. Kayla slaps his hands away. He whines about it and tries stealing some more again, while he and Kayla bicker.
I catch Em’s lips lifting a little. Small wins, but they feel huge.
The plane lifts off. Cairo drops away in a tilt of high noon sunlight, the blue sky, and the Red Sea. I take in the sight of pyramids for a while.
My eyes take in the Nile too, becoming narrower and narrower as we cruise through the clouds.
Kayla looks over at me. “You excited to see your sister sometime soon?”
I stare out the window for a while. “Yeah,” I say with a smile I can’t fight. “I am.”
Stan pops a nut into his mouth. “He’s gonna cry. I’m gonna cry. Then I’ll ride him like we’re trying to outrun our trauma with orgasms.”
Kayla looks like she can’t hold back a chuckle. “So romantic.”
“Yeah, it is,” Stan says. “Grief sex is a love language, and I happen to be fluent.”
I ignore him and glance at Em. Her eyes still look distant. Her fingers grip on the thin blanket Kayla puts around her. But her breathing’s even. She ate. She drank. She’s warm. She’s with us.
So I sit back and keep watch until Cairo becomes a distant memory and Darkhaven comes closer.