Chapter Eleven. Eshe #2
An almost-eerie calm settles over me as I follow Malachi up the curving staircase to the second level.
We pause at the top, scan the floor, then continue on to the third floor.
A part of me wants to balk at letting him take the lead.
Especially when this is my mission, my aunt, my burden.
But there’s also no one I’d trust more to head into war beside other than my Seven.
Then there’s the fact that, given he still wants to kill me—so he says—the smart thing to do would keep him in front of me rather than in back of me.
As Malachi’s foot hovers above the second-to-last step, I tap his shoulder. He halts and glances back at me. I shake my head and point down at the step. As long as I can remember, that step squeaked. It would possibly alert someone to our presence.
He nods, getting my message, and climbs over the step.
I repeat the motion, and seconds later, he reaches the third landing with me right behind him.
Malachi flattens his back to the wall and peeks around the corner.
Without looking back at me, he holds up two fingers, relaying there are two soldiers standing guard.
After easing his hand to the sheath at his thighs, he removes one, then two knives.
He pauses. Then, in a motion so fast that it’s damn near supernatural, he moves out and hurls them down the hall.
I’m right behind him, running. And before the bodies can hit the ground, I catch one and he hooks the other.
Carefully, we lay them down on either side of the door.
Just as Malachi bends down and removes his weapons from the soldiers’ throats, the door at the end of the hall that leads to the kitchen opens, and a guy holding a tray and tea set steps out.
Shock flashes over his face. In the few seconds between him digesting that we’re standing in front of him and dropping the tray to go for the gun at his hip, I’m at his throat, my SIG jammed under his chin.
“Don’t even think about it. I’ll kill you and help your mama pick out the picture for the programs and the T-shirts.
You get me?” He nods, his dark eyes narrowed, the tea set on the tray not betraying one rattle.
Admiration for him trickles through me. Even with a gun trained on him, he’s not cowering.
“You’re going to take that tea in to Abena like you usually do.
Don’t go in there trying to be cute. I’m telling you now—if I even feel like you’re attempting to throw ol’ girl a lifeline, I’m blowing your shit back. Understood?”
He nods again, his attention flicking over my shoulder. That tea set still doesn’t rattle in his grip, but I don’t miss the flash of fear in his eyes. Can he tell who’s standing behind me? Malachi isn’t wearing his signature balaclava, but those eyes might be a giveaway.
I mentally shrug.
Won’t matter after tonight.
“Go.” I shift to the side and move in behind him, SIG pressed to his spine.
Malachi’s presence is a large protective wall at my back. I intended on carrying this out on my own. But in this moment, I’m … not mad that he’s here with me.
The server knocks on the door, and seconds later, Abena calls out.
“Come in, Marshall.”
Marshall glances over his shoulder at me, and I dip my head.
His jaw flexes, and he releases a sigh as he twists the knob and opens the door.
He doesn’t falter as he strides into the room, his gait easy, natural.
Malachi and I hang back, letting him shield us until Marshall has made it halfway into the room.
Abena, sitting up in her bed, her attention focused on the tablet on her lap rather than the man holding her tea, doesn’t notice when we slip in and close the door behind us.
“Evening, Abena,” I murmur.
Her head shoots up, her wide dark eyes slamming into mine. Shock loosens her lovely features, her lips slackening even as her body stiffens against the mountains of pillows at her back.
“What the fuck is this?” she rasps, her gaze swinging from me to Marshall, then back to me. I guess she hasn’t noticed Malachi yet. But then again, that’s his special talent.
I move forward, partially hiding Marshall behind me and keeping her attention centered on me and not the kid who did nothing but be in the wrong, shitty place at the wrong, shitty time. Still … I relieve him of his gun and toss it across the room.
“I believe they call it ‘chickens coming home to roost,’” I say.
Abena dives for her bedside table and the alarm button that’s located right under the drawer, but I bury a bullet in the pillow not even an inch from her fingertips.
The silencer compresses the blast of the gun, but she still flinches, cradling her hand as if I shot it instead of the bundle of down.
“Aht, aht. We don’t need to involve any more people. ”
“I always knew you were a traitorous bitch, Eshe,” Abena sneers. “I hope you didn’t really believe that little mask would hide who you are.” She laughs. “God, I should’ve smothered you in your sleep years ago and saved myself the trouble.”
“Don’t flatter yourself, Auntie.” I roll my face covering up and offer her a feral smile.
“I want you to know who’s taking your worthless, ain’t-shit life.
And let’s be clear: You couldn’t kill me in your sleep, much less mine.
That’s not what you do, how you’re built.
You’d much rather have someone else do your dirty work.
Guess you figured it worked with the mother, why not have a go again with the daughter, right? ”
Rage gathers inside me like a tropical storm, gaining power and speed, threatening to tear everything down in its path. I’m set on destruction—Abena’s. And if I go down as a result, well, fuck it.
“Your mother, your mother. Aisha, Aisha. I’m so fucking sick and tired of hearing you whine about my goddamn sister.
She was a cunt just like my mother. Just like you.
And the best thing they ever did for this family was lie down and die like the bitches they were,” Abena snarls, hate twisting her features into a hard, ugly mask.
“You disrespectful piece of shit.”
She laughs, tipping her head back, and I can just imagine my knife going across her throat, splaying it open, and her blood coating me.
“No, Niece. That’s ‘you disrespectful piece of shit, oba.’ Your queen. A position you will never know. You will never sit on that throne. You will never be your precious Aisha.” She smiles, and if mine was feral, hers is savage. “You’re welcome.”
You’re welcome.
Yourewelcomeyourewelcomeyourewelcome.
A scream swirls in the pit of my stomach, and it surges upward, throwing blows against my ribs and heart, clawing at my throat. It howls in my brain, buzzing, buzzing. My vision goes red—
“Kill her. And let’s go.”
The cold, rational voice in my ear shoves the haze back a fraction so it’s a film, and the furious winds in my ears ease to quiet noise. Fury continues to have me in its grip, but I’m no longer a berserker on the edge of mass annihilation.
“You.” Accusation drips from Abena’s voice as she throws the covers back and swings her legs over the side of the bed. “You’re supposed to be dead.”
“Do it,” Malachi urges.
As if I need the encouragement.
“Do this, Eshe, and the full weight of this family will be on your—” Abena snaps.
“Shut the fuck up,” I growl, charging over to the bed and pistol-whipping her across the cheekbone.
Fierce satisfaction burns through me like the Olympic fucking torch when her skin breaks open and crimson blood sprays across my lips.
I lick them. Behind me there’s a commotion, but I trust Malachi to handle it.
Nothing’s going to stop me from this now that I’m so close, I can literally taste it.
I press the SIG to Abena’s forehead and pull on the trigger …
“Eshe! Move!”
A gun blast nearly deafens me, and a pained grunt reaches my ear just before a solid body slams into mine. I roll, staring up into a bright blue pair of eyes—but not Malachi’s.
Ekon’s.
In a whir of motion, he vaults off me and grabs Abena from the bed. I jump to my feet, right behind him, but the closed door to her bedroom shudders, shouts coming from the other side.
“Fuck!” In the time I glance from her door, Ekon, with Abena cradled in his arms, disappears into one of the obodo’s many hidden passages. Some I know of and some I don’t. Helplessness and rage consume me as the wall beside the tall armoire slides shut. “Where did he come from?”
I spin around, scouring Abena’s bedroom, and Malachi, his fist wrapped around Marshall’s arm, points toward an open door on the other side of the room.
“What is that?” Malachi asks Marshall, who wipes blood from a gash on his forehead.
“An adjacent bedroom.” He pauses. “The Mirror just started using it.”
Malachi’s head turns to me. “You didn’t know that?”
Embarrassment rushes to my face because I hear the accusation in his tone. That Abena’s in the wind and we’re trapped here because I went in emotional without all the facts.
“Obviously not.” I look at Marshall. “Is there a way out of here? Another exit besides the hall?”
When he doesn’t immediately reply, Malachi lowers his arm toward his leg and the knife sheath there. Marshall shakes his head, holding up a hand.