Chapter Fourteen. Malachi #5
As the female soldier slaps zip ties on my wrists, the other five crowd around me, herding me toward the shed.
Behind me, the suppressed, sharp sound of a gunshot disrupts the evening air.
On my left, a tall, slender woman with dark red hair stiffens, and I catch her low, shaky inhale.
The man Abena killed—he was more than a Mwuaji soldier to her.
That was obvious. He meant something. Something personal.
Did Abena miss that? Or does she just not give a fuck?
What would Eshe have done in that same situation? Would she have been a more merciful leader? Deserving or not, the Mwuaji should have the chance to discover the answer to that for themselves. If not for Abena’s jealousy- and greed-fueled actions, they would know.
They lead me into the interior of the building, and quickly, my eyes acclimate to the dim lighting. It’s spartan. A table set off to the side, a bench pushed against the back wall, and a chair set in the middle of the room.
A chair.
No Eshe.
“Where is she?” I growl, fury and panic rolling through me, nearly fucking swamping me. I pack it down and focus on Abena, who strolls in front of the chair and sinks down onto it, crossing her legs. “Where the fuck is Eshe?”
“Oh wow, Huntsman.” She smiles and props her elbow on her thigh, leaning forward.
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you had feelings for my niece.
Please don’t tell me the infamous Huntsman has fallen for Eshe Diallo?
Makes sense though. Why else would you be here, ready to trade your life for hers?
” Her smile widens. “Oh God, I hope so. That would make what’s coming even more delicious. ”
She stands, the smile dropping from her lips and leaving a cold, blank mask.
“Put him down.”
A side door opens, and two more soldiers roll in a gurney.
My muscles tense, but I still don’t see Eshe, don’t know where Abena is stashing her.
And until I lay eyes on her, I can’t afford to fight.
So I allow them to strap me to the gurney, and as the cuffs tighten across my chest and arms, I can’t help but compare this to the last time I was chained to a bed.
Can’t help but compare the woman who gave me the darkest, sweetest pleasure with the edge of her knife to the bitch who stands over me now, wielding a dagger and staring down at me with lust shining in her dark eyes.
Can’t help but think how that time catapulted us here to this moment.
We’re full circle.
“What was that shit you talked when I offered to fuck you before?” She draws the blade of the knife over the edge of my jaw, down my neck, then slides the tip just under my skin at the base of my throat. “‘Try it,’ I believe your words were,” she purrs, gloating.
The bite of pain is negligible, doesn’t even warrant a flinch.
But my stomach roils, and bile churns, searing my chest and throat. Because this feels wrong. Dirty.
“While I was waiting on you to get here, I passed the time imagining all the ways I could ‘try it.’ Too bad sloppy seconds aren’t my thing, but damn, you make me almost reconsider.”
She leans over me, presses an open-mouthed kiss to my throat, and it requires every bit of control in me not to strain away from her touch that burns my skin like acid.
I’m going to kill her.
I don’t know how. But even if I have to pull a Jesus Christ, I’m ripping this bitch’s throat out and spitting in that hole.
“The only thing that would make this better is if Eshe were here to witness this.” She grips my chin and jerks my face toward her.
“Too bad she’s not, Huntsman. Too bad she’s never been here.
That video? A little clip of my niece’s kidnapping from years ago.
Who knew it would come in handy? Glad I kept it. ”
A sheet of ice slicks through my veins, and for a moment, my lungs cease pumping. I yank my gaze from the ceiling to glimpse the triumphant glint in hers, and the rage starts to eat away at the shock.
She’s never been here.
Abena didn’t have Eshe? The fucking cunt tricked me. And for the first time, blinded by emotion, I fell into the goddamn trap.
Yet, under the anger … relief threads through me like silver filaments.
Eshe’s okay. She’s not hurt, hasn’t been tortured like an animal. If my being here means she avoided that fate, then I’d still do it again.
I smile.
And I turn my head back toward the ceiling. But not before I catch the bewildered shock that slackens Abena’s face.
“Oh no, muthafucka. You’re going to give me what I want. Where the fuck is Eshe? You two left the obodo together, so don’t try to tell me you don’t know. Give her to me, and I’ll make your death quick,” she snaps.
When she doesn’t get shit out of me, she emits a low, vicious snarl and jams her knife into the meaty portion of my arm. Red-hot pain flashes through me, but experience informs me the injury isn’t life-threatening. I grind my teeth, not releasing a sound.
Or an answer.
That enrages Abena more.
“Where, Huntsman?” she demands, this time plunging the knife through my opposite arm, the same place.
And she gets the same result. Nothing from me. She’s wasting her fucking time. I was raised on fucking pain like a baby reared on their mother’s breast milk.
The bitch played her card. And lost.
Over and over, she slices my body, drenching me in blood, cocooning me in agony.
By the time she drops the knife to the silver table, she’s splattered in crimson and sweat, and I’m weakened from blood loss but still silent.
In the half hour she’s worked me over, I’ve inhaled the searing ache, the sharp, blinding pain.
Consumed it until I’m almost high like an addict.
I teeter on a needle’s edge, caught between scorching pleasure and agonizing pain, my body strung tight like a bow.
But I remain silent.
“I can do this all night, and there are plenty of places on your body to run through.” Abena leans over me, slicing my shirt down the middle and baring my chest. “I’m not going to kill you, because you’re too fucking valuable alive. But I can make you pray for death.”
I dip my head, meet Abena’s manic gaze. “Fuck. God.”
Her face darkens, and for a moment, I think she might break that vow not to kill me.
“You want Eshe so bad, you can be just like that bitch, then,” she sneers, picking up the knife once more.
With a sharp, brutal swing, she hacks off my finger—the same finger Eshe’s kidnappers took.
The blowback of pain crushes my spine to the gurney, and I damn near bite off my tongue, trapping the roar that barrels out of my throat.
Abena grabs a blowtorch and aims it on a metal disc.
Once it glows red, she jams the disc onto the stump where my finger used to be, and my body shakes as I almost pass out from the agony.
Black claws at my vision, gnawing at my consciousness, and I scrape and fight to stay alert.
My chest heaves up and down, my breath deep rasps in my ears.
“You’re so ready to die for my niece,” Abena goads.
The smell of my burned flesh taints the air, as does my hate.
“Let’s see if she’s willing to do the same.
” Without looking away from me, she raises and waves a hand, beckoning someone forward.
In seconds, one of the soldiers from outside appears at her side.
“Go ahead.” Abena impatiently dips her head toward me, and he lifts a phone, focusing it on me and scanning my entire bloodied body.
The bitch is gonna be pissed when she finds out that shit is useless. Eshe’s cell is under a pile of rock and cement. No way that video is getting through to her.
Sucks for Abena.
After several moments, he hands the phone over to her. She watches the recording, and satisfaction blooms over her face. Her gaze returns to me over the cell.
“What’s the saying? A picture’s worth a thousand words?
Looks like I don’t need you to answer my questions after all, Huntsman.
Once I send this to my niece, we’ll both find out if you mean anything to her, won’t we?
If you’re lucky, you’ll get to see your precious Eshe again before I slice you open from one end to the other in front of her.
You might say ‘fuck God,’ but she’s going to meet him screaming your name. ”