Chapter 4
Chapter
Four
Awkward.
Quiet.
Suffocating.
I’m so ready for the damn ride to be over so I can show him my proof and get
these stupid ties off my ankles and wrists.
“How much longer?” Sunjiya asks, trying to break this uncomfortable as shit silence in the car.
“Fifteen minutes,” Akeem responds without taking his eyes off the highway.
They have been driving for over an hour, and because she is unfamiliar with this city or area, Sunjiya’s clueless of their true location.
After she emerged from the bathroom, she was ordered up the stairs and out of the ranch home.
The moment she was in Akeem’s rental car, he re-tied her ankles, together this time, and tied her wrists to the seatbelt on the door.
She tried her best to survey all of her surroundings, but after a few minutes in the car of only passing land, she drifted to sleep.
The sedative in her system hasn’t completely worn off.
Its residue mixed with a smooth ride caused her to close her eyes, forget her current predicament, and fall into a light slumber.
She just pulled out of her sleep a few minutes ago.
After rotating her neck a few times to relieve its stiffness, she focuses her attention on the road. They have left the miles and miles of land and are now in the city with billboards and exit signs on the sides of the highway. According to the sign just ahead, Crescent Falls is twenty-miles away.
At least he’s being honest.
Akeem is in complete control. He’s calling the shots and carrying the guns, two now because he added a holstered one before they left the ranch.
He could have been driving her to Miami and she’d be powerless to stop him.
She’s at his mercy and there’s nothing she can do but hope her phone and ID are enough to convince him she’s not Tanjaya and is only in this city because Tanjaya texted her.
Besides her ID and phone, all she has is her mouthpiece and an uncanny ability to talk her way out of most situations.
Exercising the only thing she has at this moment in this car with this gun-toting man, she asks, “If I prove that I’m who I say I am, will you let me go or are you going to kill me?”
Although Akeem knows none of his bullets will harm any part of her body, he embellishes and says, “I can’t answer that right now.”
“It’s a simple question,” she snaps.
“Not as simple as you think. We’re almost there. Chill out.”
Did this man really just say that?
“Chill out? You can’t be serious right now.
You’re a fucking kidnapper and killer. You had me tied up in a basement in the middle of God knows where.
You have me tied up in this stupid car with two guns on you.
I can’t dammit chill out,” she screams and her voice starts to crack just a little, enough for her to hear and hate it.
If I’m going to die, it’ll be on my fucking terms. Hurt shoulder and all, I’m going to fight hard as hell. Killing me won’t be easy, not at all.
“So you know what? Fuck you and you chill the fuck out,” she spits angrily and he doesn’t respond at all.
Akeem’s eyes stay steady on the road as he presses the power button on the radio and turns the volume up, drowning out her words. He needs to think. He has to figure this shit out and her voice, especially when it cracks, distracts him. She distracts him.
After three songs, a few interruptions from the DJ, and a commercial break, they take the first Crescent Falls exit and head to Blue Pointe Apartments. Five minutes later, he pulls up behind building fifteen and parks. Then he kills the engine and turns to face her.
“Don’t try shit when we get out of this car,” he warns.
“What can I do?” she asks sarcastically then cuts her eyes at him. “Besides, I can’t wait to prove that you have the wrong fucking person.”
Before getting out of the car, he cuts her zip ties. Although she tries to resist, Akeem assists her out of the car and rests his arm on her hip. He leads her into the apartment. The door is unlocked from his earlier exit, so he coaxes her in as soon as he opens the door.
“The last thing I remember before you…” she says with wide eyes. “…is being in here.”
She nods toward the kitchen then ambles that way. He follows, watching her while simultaneously looking for anything to refute her claims. Because she returned to the apartment ahead of schedule, he had been unable to gather any intel.
Akeem starts with the cabinet drawers. The first one he opens has a hodgepodge of plasticware sets, unused chopsticks, a handful of peppermints, and packets of various condiments.
The second one isn’t as full, just a stack of papers and opened and unopened envelopes that aren’t addressed or stamped.
He removes them all and places them on the counter.
The other three drawers are empty, similar to the majority of the apartment.
This wasn’t her final stop.
She’s definitely running. But why? And where to?
He glances at her at the exact moment she looks over her shoulder. Those damn eyes again.
“What are you running from?” he asks, convinced again that she’s Tanjaya. The eyes aren’t lying; she is.
“You, if you didn’t have those guns,” she snaps.
“I’m not her,” she says slowly, almost pleading.
“Maybe she’s running. I don’t know, but I can’t even think about her right now.
My life is the one on the line and that’s all I can think about, that and finding my shit and getting away from you.
” She sighs heavily then shakes her head before stepping around the small table in the kitchen.
“And look at God!” she exclaims. “My wallet.”
He aborts his mission in the cabinets. When she tries to bend gingerly to grab the small designer wallet in the corner, he steps in front of her, grabs it, and places it into his pocket.
“Find your phone,” he tells her.
After shaking her head, she walks toward the living room. He returns to the kitchen, finds a takeout bag in the bottom of the pantry, and fills it with the papers and envelopes. He notices a sticky note attached to the side of the fridge.
CFCU 4788
BOA 2536
WF 9988
NF 4855
At first glance the letters and numbers don’t mean anything but Akeem knows simple clues often reveal major information.
So he snatches the note and adds it to the bag.
When he walks into the living room, she’s struggling to remove the cushions from the small loveseat so he takes over.
He finds a small phone embedded in the side crease.
When he hands it to her, she takes it then shakes her head. “This must be hers,” she says. He holds his hand out for her to give it back but she shakes her head. “It’ll have our texts,” she insists.
“I know,” he says. She relents and drops the phone. He places it into the bag.
Annoyed and pissed about this whole damn situation, Sunjiya takes in a sharp inhale of breath and blows it out loudly, then storms out of the living room.
Either the sedative has finally completely worn off or her anger fuels her because her stride has returned.
Any time away from him is welcomed, so she walks as fast as she can to the bedroom.
There, she plops onto the bed and closes her eyes.
How the hell do I get out of this shit?
Her seconds of solitude from her captor are interrupted when he enters the room.
As she sits on the bed, he searches the small dresser but only finds clothes.
Then he steps into the closet. Only a few items hang on the rack, seven shoe boxes and a jacket rest on the floor.
He picks the jacket up and finds a lighter in the left pocket with a logo on the side, Lazy Nights Club.
He places the lighter into the bag and searches the boxes.
Shoes are in six of the boxes but one has a passport and key.
The passport says Tanjaya Willis and it’s devoid of any stamps.
After adding both items to the bag, he steps out of the closet.
Sunjiya has moved off the bed so he checks the bathroom for her and she’s inside holding a cell.
“It was on the sink,” she utters. “Let me guess, you want it too?” she scoffs. Without responding, he holds the bag in front of her and she begrudgingly drops the cell. “Where to now?” she asks bitterly. This asshole.
“Back so I can look this shit over.”
“You can’t check my shit now so you can see and leave me here?” she snaps.
“We’re going back. Together,” he proclaims.
Her ID and phone are just a start, not the final answer.
Shit like that can be made for the right price by the right kind of people.
To convince him that the woman in front of him is not Tanjaya, he needs enough to be sure.
He needs to comb through every item in the bag and the intel from Axton.
Until then, Sunjiya, or whoever she is, will stay with him at that ranch and no call to Marcelin will be made.
“Can I pee first?” she asks while shaking her head slowly, infuriated. He offers a quick nod then steps out of the bathroom. Before he can pull the door closed, she kicks it shut. “Fuck you,” she yells.
While she’s in the bathroom, he does another sweep of the apartment.
He doesn’t find much more but a random postcard behind the garbage can next to the fridge with palm trees on the front.
It reads: Wishing you a happy birthday from Florida.
Love and miss you, Aunt Pri. The address has been blacked out but the postmark is clear.
It was sent last October from a 32456 zip code.
“I’m ready,” Sunjiya announces when she steps into the living room.