17. Chapter 17
Queen Adanna
The stench of burnt jet fuel, rain-slicked asphalt, and fresh copper hung in the warm night air of the private airstrip. My pulse hammered and vibrated through my jaw so hard my back teeth ached.
I was trying not to turn around, stalk back across the tarmac, and drive the heel of my boot through Brooklyn’s face.
The entire extraction was a bloodbath because of her.
She moved like a corpse in the dark, dragging her feet, failing to execute her perimeter sweep.
Her laziness had compromised our entire position.
Nyah’s boat caught the brunt of the crossfire, nearly getting split against the haulers.
In the chaos, one of the victims lost her footing on the deck and pitched backward straight into the churning black water.
Nyah and I had dived for the rail, reaching out to snag her wrist, but the ocean erupted first. A tiger shark hit the girl mid-torso, dragging her screaming beneath the blood-stained foam before either of us could squeeze off a single round.
A civilian was dead.
A clean retrieval turned into a massacre.
All because Brooklyn couldn't hit her fucking marks.
I left Kandi and Nyah on the runway to handle the traumatized survivors, clean up the haul, and unpack the cargo crates from the belly of the chopper.
I didn't have the stomach for hand-holding tonight. If I stayed near the equipment for two more seconds, I was going to put a bullet through someone’s skull just to quiet the noise.
"Danni, watch your temper," Jade’s voice crackled sternly through the tiny comm piece wedged in my ear. "Your vitals are spiking. Do not do something reckless on that landing strip—"
I reached up, ripped the earpiece out, switched it off, and jammed it deep into the pocket of my vest. I yanked my keys out, making a direct line for my SUV parked nearby.
Before my hand could touch the driver’s side door, a shadow detached itself from the shadow of the tail wing, cutting off my path.
Brooklyn stood there smoothing down the lapels of her tactical jacket, trying to fix her composure like she hadn't just single-handedly butchered a simple syndicate operation.
"Can we talk?" she asked, her voice tight, trying to sound collected.
"You got a civilian killed," I said. "We don't have a fucking thing to discuss."
"It’s been a while!" Brooklyn snapped, taking a step toward me. "Look, I’m sorry, okay? It won't happen again!"
I stopped dead in my tracks.
I turned my head slow, locking my unblinking eyes onto hers. The ignorance rolling off her made my stomach turn.
"I don't give fuck-ups like you the benefit of the doubt," I spat. "I give you the doubt of the benefit. You are a sluggish, incompetent liability. If it were up to me, you'd be rotting at the bottom of that water right alongside that girl."
Brooklyn’s face flushed dark with rage.
"You talk to me like I’m trash!" Brooklyn screamed, stepping right in my face. "Like you’ve never fucked up! Like you’re fucking immaculate, Adanna! You act like you’re God on this island, but you’re nothing but a cold-hearted, sociopathic bitch!"
“Yo mama!”
Click.
Click.
The sounds echoed across the empty runway.
Before she could finish her sentence, my Glock was pressed hard against the soft skin under her chin, forcing her head back. At the exact same second, Brooklyn pulled her sidearm, shoving the barrel directly against the center of my chest.
We stood chest-to-chest in the dim runway lights, both of our fingers resting on our triggers, matching murderous stares.
The tension between us was scorched. I wanted to pull the trigger so badly my hand trembled with the urge.
I hated a stupid bitch who acted clueless after messing up.
It frustrated me to no end. She stood there playing the victim when her incompetence had just cost a life.
"Pull it," I whispered, leaning into the barrel against my chest. "Give me the excuse to paint this concrete with your brains."
"Boss! Drop it!" Kandi’s voice roared from twenty yards away. She came running across the tarmac as she stepped between us. "Go home, Boss! Leave it! Go home right now!"
I kept my sights locked onto Brooklyn’s eyes, watching the tiny flicker of panic begin to bleed through her arrogant facade. She knew I wasn't bluffing. She knew my brain didn't calculate fear the way hers did.
Slowly, deliberately, I lowered my barrel.
"The next time you move slow on my clock, Brooklyn," I murmured, "the sharks won't have to wait for you to fall in. I'll feed you to them myself."
I turned on my heel, opened the SUV door, and slammed myself into the driver's seat.
I cranked the engine, shifted into drive, and slammed my foot onto the gas.
The tires screeched against the airstrip as I jetted off the airport landing before I gave into the temptation to put a round straight through her chest.
Under normal circumstances, I wouldn't have gone back to the palace. I would've stayed out, hunted down the rest of the target list, or locked myself in the war room until the bloodlust burned out of my veins.
But I had told Dame I would come right back.
My body was still on fire, and my skin was hot. And for some infuriating, unexplainable reason, I didn't want Damini to see me like this.
I didn't know why I cared. I didn't know why the thought of him looking at me while I was this worked up made something tight twist in my chest. I didn't want him to see the monster under the skin before he was ready for it.
As the iron gates of our compound swung open, I tore up the long driveway, bringing the SUV to a sliding halt in front of the main entrance.
I sat in the driver's seat for a second.
My grip tightened on the steering wheel until my knuckles turned sore, trying to regain control of the storm raging inside me before I stepped through the door to see my King.
I kicked the front door shut behind me, unbuckling my tactical belt and dropping my holstered Glock and side-blades onto the entryway console. The heavy metal clattered loudly against the wood, echoing into the quiet halls of the compound.
The house was silent, but as I walked deeper into the main living space, the tension in my chest began to shift. Sitting casually in his leather recliner, feet kicked up, watching a low-volume game on the flat screen, was Damini.
The moment my boots hit the hardwood, his eyes snapped to mine. A smirk spread across his face and he popped up out of that chair instantly. It resembled a dog thrilled to death just to see its owner walk through the door.
He strode across the floor.
"Hi, my Queen.”
“Hi, my King.”
“I ran you a bath," he said softly.
I blinked, searching his face, genuinely confused as to why he would do something like that.
"Uhh I was told your body takes a beating after missions and you need better recovery," he murmured, leaning down to press a kiss against my cheek.
My lower lip twisted into a faint smirk.
I gave him a short nod and headed down the hallway toward the bathroom.
Damini fell in step right behind me, keeping his mouth shut.
He must’ve sense the storm-cloud look still hovering over my face.
Even though he stayed right on my heels, I actually appreciated the quietness.
Inside the bathroom, I stripped off my tactical pants, ripped off my black undershirt, and left the bathroom door wide open. I didn't care about privacy with him anymore, not after the other day.
Standing in front of the vanity mirror, I reached for my silk bonnet and tucked my hair inside.
In the glass reflection, I caught Damini standing near the threshold, watching me.
I watched his gaze slide down my skin, lingering over the fresh bruises already blooming dark purple and black across my ribcage and back.
Because of Brooklyn’s incompetent timing, the drop went completely sideways, forcing me into a hand-to-hand fight with four men at once.
I turned around, walked over to the deep porcelain clawfoot tub, and stepped into the steaming water, sinking down until the heat bit into my sore muscles.
Damini stepped into the room, towering over the tub.
"Can I wash you?" he asked.
"I don't need you to," I replied evenly.
Damini dropped down to his knees on the plush bathmat. He reached for the sea sponge, soaking it in the hot water before drizzling a generous amount of my favorite unscented soap over the surface.
He worked the sponge into a thick, creamy lather, then reached into the tub.
He started at the back of my neck, smoothing the warm, sudsy sponge down over my shoulder blades with painstaking care.
As he slid the sponge over my bruised ribs, his touch was impossibly soft.
He cleaned the dried blood off my knuckles, wiping away the grime from the mission, treating my skin like it was something precious he needed to preserve.
It felt like he was washing a baby. The gentle, delicate care was almost annoying but deep down, it was infuriatingly comforting.
I leaned my head back against the rim of the tub, watching his face. "You can ask me, Dame."
Damini paused. His hand shifted, moving slowly across my wet shoulders, working the warm suds down toward my stomach.
"Are you okay?" he asked quietly.
"I'm fine."
"Do you always look this beat up after a mission?"
"It depends on how it went," I murmured, staring right back into his eyes. "We had some... complications that I don't care to discuss."
"Okay," he said, not pushing the boundary. He dipped the sponge back into the water, squeezing hot liquid over my collarbones. "Well... I met some students in need today. I'm getting them some visas so they can go to school in North Carolina."
I nodded slowly. "That's good. Especially the ones who want to take up engineering. They can bring their knowledge back home to continue to modernize things."
"That's if the Elders will allow for those modern suggestions to come up," Damini noted, his thumb smoothing over the slope of my neck.
"Hmph," I replied softly.
Damini leaned a little closer, his hand sliding behind my back under the warm water, caressing the sensitive skin along my spine. I didn't say a word. I just stared straight ahead through the rising steam, listening to the slow, heavy rhythm of his breathing.
"It’s only been a few weeks since we took over and I've been doing some research on your...
condition," he murmured, a faint glint of humor dancing in his eyes.
"Reading up on how to be a good partner to a sociopath.
It said I'm supposed to be clear, direct, and not expect you to feel things the normal way. "
He squeezed the washcloth out over my chest, letting the hot, soapy water cascade down between my breasts, before smoothing his calloused palm down over my sternum.
"It said I shouldn't waste my time appealing to your conscience or expecting remorse when shit goes sideways," he continued.
"Said guilt-tripping you is a fool's errand because you literally don't care.
What I'm supposed to avoid expecting traditional empathy.
I'm supposed to give you boundaries, and high stimulation so you don't harm things out of boredom. "
He reached down, taking my other arm, lifting it out of the water to scrub beneath the second armpit.
"Said if I try to force you into feeling something you can't feel, all I'm doing is teaching you how to lie to me better. And I don't like being lied to."
My lower lip twitched, a faint slice of amusement slipping through my guard before I could stop it.
Damini caught it immediately, the corner of his mouth curving up. "There goes that smile again."
"Don't patronize me," I murmured, my dark eyes narrowing at him through the bath steam. "What's really on your mind, Dame?"
He dropped the sponge back into the water and rested his forearms against the porcelain rim of the tub.
"How many people have you killed?" he asked.
I tilted my head back against the edge of the tub, letting my gaze drift up to the steam coiling against the ceiling. I actually had to think about it. The faces didn't haunt me, but the numbers were cataloged somewhere in the back room of my mind.
"I lost count after two hundred and ten," I said plainly.
Dame’s eyes remained fixed on mine, absorbing the number without a flicker of hesitation or disgust.
“Okay.” He shifted his weight as he pondered it. "And how are we supposed to have a good marriage if you don't love anyone?"
“Your research told you about that?”
He nodded, awaiting my answer.
I met his stare directly. I didn't owe him fairy tales, and I certainly wasn't going to sell him a lie just to make him feel secure.
"I don't need love to operate, Damini," I answered. "I take care of what's mine. I protect what belongs to me, and I destroy anything that threatens it. Love isn't required for that."
Dame stared at me for a long moment, letting the truth of my words settle into the room. He didn't argue. He didn't try to fix me, nor did he search my eyes for some hidden, secret tenderness that wasn't there. He just gave a nod and accepted the terms of who I was.
"What are some thoughts in your head? Don’t think, just talk." I said softly, watching him process me.
"Truthfully?" He rumbled. "I think about sinking my dick in your guts all the time."
I tilted my head, looking down at his tattooed chest propped against the tub's edge. "And now?"
"Now, I'm trying not to," he said, gesturing down toward my ribs where faint purple marks were starting to bloom. "Your body took a beating tonight."
"Who said I was hurting?"
"Your body did," he replied.
"Then you're not listening clearly."
My hand cut through the sudsy water. I wrapped my fingers around his wrist and dragged his hand down between my legs. I pressed his thick palm flush against my bare center.
Damini froze. His breath hitched hard, and his jaw slacked off. Seeing the almighty King of Okoye completely lost for words broke my stoic composure. A rare, full grin burst across my face by the mischievous victory.
Damini swallowed hard. "Why you keep fucking with me?"
I leaned forward. "I'd rather you fuck me."
Damini let out a ragged growl as his thumb stroked up against my center.
"I haven't even got to massage you yet, Danni."
"Then hurry up," I whispered. "I'm ready."