Chapter Twelve. Malachi
CHAPTER TWELVE
Malachi
I stare at Eshe from the dense shadows surrounding the perimeter of the obodo’s fence.
She should give up. The Mwuaji soldiers are damn near on top of her, her hands must be cut up from grabbing onto the razor wire, and from my vantage point, her top is good and tangled.
The only way it’s coming off is with a good layer of skin and tissue.
And yet she continues to struggle and fight.
That’s the shit that got her in the situation she’s in now.
The shit that damn near got both of us killed.
Didn’t nobody tell your big pussy-whipped ass to go after her.
Facts.
Can’t argue with myself when I’m right. I should’ve kept my ass in my bed and let her go on this suicide mission by herself.
Ill planned. Running off emotion. Those two elements right there are guaranteed failure.
And after warning her of that, even then I should’ve said fuck it.
I’m in the business of killing, not getting killed. And still, I followed.
She’s dangerous. For me. For herself.
If I’m fucking smart, I’ll see this shit as a sign—a goddamn omen like them fucking wise men and their star—to get the fuck on. Abena now knows I’m alive when, before tonight, I had some kind of anonymity since Eshe spread the rumor that she killed me. That’s done.
I don’t owe Eshe shit, and she’s brought me nothing but trouble.
I turn, wade deeper into the shadows.
Shit.
Racing back across the couple of hundred yards, I pull my Glocks and jam fresh ammunition in them.
Double fisting them, I fire on the Mwuaji soldiers climbing too close to Eshe, picking them off like fish in a barrel.
Their cries pierce the night, and they fall to the ground, colliding with others or hanging from the fence, limbs twisted and snagged in the razor.
Sliding one of the guns into the holster at my back, I continue shooting even as I haul ass and vault onto the fence directly beneath Eshe.
Making quick work of scaling it, I hurriedly holster my second gun and pull out my knife, then slice away the back of the hoodie.
She falls out of the shirt, and I catch her in my one arm, stabilizing her body until she hooks her fingers and feet into the wire.
I glance down, and fuck—more soldiers charge toward us. So many. And I don’t have either of my weapons in my hands. I’m fu—
The crack of gunfire ricochets in the night air seconds before a bullet plows into a soldier reaching for Eshe. An instant later, another bullet sends another one wheeling back and off the fence. Then another. And another.
Someone is picking off the Mwuaji soldiers one by one. I don’t question it. Not right now. There’ll be time for that later. At this moment, we just need to get the fuck outta here.
“Here.” I hold my Glock out to her, and when her gaze meets mine, a ripple of something courses through me. It’s something I don’t have the time or inclination to dissect. “Take it.”
She curls her fingers around the grip and takes aim, firing as she clambers down.
Our boots hit the ground at the same time, and we waste no time in booking it in the direction of the river road.
Even when the bullets cease slamming into the grass at our heels, we still run.
And don’t stop until the lights of the compound are far in the distance.
Before we fully disappear into the night, I look over my shoulder and up toward the compound roof, the direction from where the bullets came. A shadow, darker than the rest, shifts from the others. The form is tall, thick. Feminine.
I can’t see her face—have never seen her face—but I know with a certainty that the figure is Poison.
Why would she essentially save our lives? Shit, I don’t know. Maybe because if the Mwuaji kill us before Poison, she doesn’t get paid. And the Creed will look at our deaths as a failure. Then they will come for her.
So yeah, I don’t know the reason behind her actions, but being from the same world, I can guess. And fuck it. I’m thankful no matter how mercenary.
“No, this way,” I say, veering to the right when she would’ve continued straight.
We’ve been going for at least twenty minutes without stopping, and Eshe has kept up with me, not falling behind or complaining. I can’t even lie, I’m impressed.
“The road back to Boston is this way.” She jabs a finger over her shoulder.
“Yeah, and every Mwuaji soldier is going to be watching that road and the area on either side of it. I’ve arranged another mode of transportation. This way,” I repeat, then take off, leaving her to follow me. Or not. It’s up to her.
Several seconds pass, and then her footsteps pound on the ground behind me.
She trusts me. It’s the only reason why she would place her safety in my hands without further follow-up questions or proof.
Yeah, I got her down off that fence, but part of me still wants to snatch her up and shake her for being so foolish as to believe me. Me, of all people.
But the other part …
The other part yearns to wrap a hand around the back of her neck and yank her to me, tip her head back, and claim her mouth again.
I do neither.
We push through trees and underbrush, and the loamy smell of the Charles River permeates the air. Soon, we crouch down on the bank and wait. Minutes later, a thin white light flickers once, twice, three times in quick succession.
“That’s our signal and ride.”
Reaching back, I grab her hand and, still bent down, race as quietly and quickly as possible toward the light. A darker shadow bobs on the water several feet away, and I approach it, tugging Eshe behind me.
“H,” the obscure figure in the canoe softly calls, and raises a hand. He throws his hood back, and Jamari grins at me. “I thought I was going to have to come look for you.”
“Stop calling me that stupid name. And no, you didn’t. You were going to keep your ass in the boat like I told you.”
I let Eshe climb into the canoe first and move to the middle.
Then, with a low grunt, I shove the small boat off the bank, wade into the water a little, and follow them into it.
The vessel rocks for several moments before settling.
Jamari releases an exaggerated sigh, and shaking my head, I yank off my ski mask, pick up an oar, and begin paddling. He does the same.
The half-moon is high and bright in the sky, and we avoid the part of the river illuminated by its pearly glow.
Soon, we’ve adopted a smooth rhythm, and we’re skimming across the river.
It’s quiet, the only sound the muted dip of our oars hitting the water.
We’re not far enough away for me to completely let my guard down, to relax, but for the first time since entering that hidden passageway, we don’t have people with guns on our asses.
I focus on the steady, almost … hypnotic movement.
Focus on it and studying the graceful line of Eshe’s back, the tangled mass of curls.
At some point, I gave her my shirt to cover her half-naked torso, since I’d only left her in a sports bra up on that fence.
And though my shirt swamps her in the overly large material, it can’t hide the slump of her shoulders, the slight bow of her head.
I’ve never witnessed defeat on Eshe. Not even when I walked into my loft earlier tonight. But right now? I may not have seen her wear it, but I recognize it.
My fingers tighten around the oar.
Stay right where you are, muthafuckas. Don’t you move. Don’t trace the line of her spine. Don’t caress the nape of her neck. Don’t you fucking dare stroke those curls.
I briefly close my eyes and inhale a deep breath. When I open them, I meet Jamari’s wide gaze. I give him a flat, baleful stare, and he smiles, then shifts his attention over my shoulder. A few seconds later, I catch the flaring of his eyes, and he looks at me again.
Silently groaning, I grind out, “Don’t do it.”
For the first time, Eshe seems to stir, and she straightens, glancing at Jamari, then over her shoulder at me, faintly frowning.
Jamari cocks his head. “Now, H…”
“No, you—”
Jamari clears his throat, settling the oar across his lap. “Don’t you leave him, Samwise Gamgee. And I don’t mean to.”
Eshe emits a sound that’s somewhere between a gasp and a laugh. Half turning, she faces me, her full, pretty lips forming an O. I stare at them, imagining my dick spreading that small circle wider and wider before I give myself a hard mental shake.
“Did he just…?” Eshe waves a hand toward Jamari.
I scowl in reply.
“What?” Jamari chuckles, dipping his oar back in the water. “You weren’t thinking it?”
“No.”
Eshe peeks back toward the shore we just left. “I mean … it is kinda giving Lord of the Rings.”
I groan. “Don’t encourage him.”
Quiet falls between us.
Then a snicker.
Shit. I pinch the bridge of my nose.
“I heard it as soon as I said it. Fuckers,” I mutter, just as they laugh uncontrollably.
Warmth bubbles up in my chest, and maybe it’s the night, the rush of the near-death experience, or the release of stress, but I loose a low, soft chuckle. The shit’s so foreign, so weird, it feels like rusty nails scraping over my throat. Sounds like it, too. And yet, it feels … good.
Eshe’s and Jamari’s laughter abruptly cuts off, and they both gape at me.
“The fuck?” Jamari whispers.
“What’s happening right now?” Eshe frowns, looking two seconds away from setting the back of her hand over my forehead as if checking for a temperature like an old-school mama.
“Fuck both of you.”
More cackling, and then we row across the Charles River to safety.
“Bunking down in the same place twice? Isn’t that breaking some unspoken rule of yours?” Eshe asks, as I punch in the code to the rear entrance to the warehouse on the waterfront.
Leaning forward, I wait for the retinal scan to finish and then push the door open.