Chapter Fifteen. Eshe
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Eshe
I close the door of the apartment behind me and wait to hear the locks engage.
Only then do I shift away from it, scanning the hall for any movement.
But the entrances to the other two homes on the third floor of the building remain closed, and a perusal of the floor doesn’t betray any shadows beneath the doors.
Striding for the end of the corridor, I continue to visually sweep the area until I bypass the elevator, twist the knob on the exit, and step into the stairwell.
It was probably foolish to visit Penn. Selfish even.
But I had to lay eyes on her, had to make sure she was safe.
And she is. Thank God. At least I can wipe that sin from the slate.
Or at the very least cross a line through it.
The doctor with her promises a full recovery and the relief at that news removes some of the pressure from my chest. I can breathe just a tiny bit easier.
Now, hopefully, Malachi’s car still affords me an extra layer of protection from the assassin on my ass long enough for me to visit Sienna at her safe house and then make it to Ma’s cottage.
If this Poison is as good as Malachi claims, then I can’t avoid her forever.
But this will grant me some time to form a solid plan before the three-day deadline Tera instituted.
Tera.
Penn.
Sienna.
The rest of my Seven.
Malachi.
Drawing Poison to the cottage means she will be away from my people.
The people I love. My fingers clench around the railing, and I briefly pause on the steps before forcing myself to continue.
Malachi. God, I want to be angry. I want to scream, yell, throw the tantrum to end all tantrums just to release this …
pain. The pain of rejection, of loss, of grief.
I don’t close my eyes, and I haven’t since leaving his loft. When I did, I too-vividly saw the cold rage in his face, the bright steel in his eyes. Heard the contempt in his voice. Felt the heated disdain that rolled off his golden skin.
The first person I’ve said I love you to since my mother …
The first person I’ve ever fallen in love with …
And he wants nothing to do with me or the damaged heart I have to offer.
For the first time, I wonder if there’s something defective in me.
Something so abnormal that stalking a man and claiming him as mine seems acceptable.
Something so flawed that it renders me unlovable and broken beyond repair.
Is that what Malachi sees when he looks at me? I’m good enough to fuck but not to love?
Pain, bright and sharp as a dagger’s blade, stabs me in the chest, and I halt again, nearly stumbling on the step as I suck in a shallow breath that tastes of orange and turpentine.
I open eyes that I didn’t realize had closed and stare at the freshly painted mint walls. How pathetic does it make me that I’d still run for him? Still pin that red-and-white bullseye on my back for him?
Fucking very.
Forcing my feet to move, I descend the rest of the stairs and don’t stop until I push through the bottom door into the apartment building’s spotless lobby.
As soon as the door closes behind me, I pull out the burner phone Malachi gave me and turn off the Do Not Disturb.
Glancing down at the screen, I notice three missed calls.
I frown, not recognizing the number. Before I can decipher who it could be, it rings again.
And it’s the same number. Who the fuck is this?
It’s not from one of my Seven. And they are the only ones who would call the cell …
Maybe it’s Malachi.
The thought, with its hopeful tone, jumps in my head before I can quash it. But I slide my thumb across the screen with a bated breath anyway.
“Hello?”
“Eshe?”
“Who’s this?” I demand, jerking to a halt in the middle of the vestibule and frowning down at the black-and-white diamond pattern on the floor.
“Jamari. Remember me?”
My eyebrows lift but not my confusion. And a band tightens around my rib cage, shortening the breath in my lungs.
“Yeah, Jamari. I remember. Why’re you calling?
What’s wrong?” I ask, moving again and pushing through the building’s entrance.
I jog down the front steps, aggravation flaring like a struck match at the sight of some asshole wearing a backpack leaning on the rear of the Camaro.
“The fuck?” I murmur. “Hey, muthafucka—”
Jamari straightens and turns to face me, lowering his arm. I follow suit, briefly glancing down to end the call since I’m staring at the person on the line.
“Hi, Eshe…”
“Jamari.” I slide the burner into the back pocket of my pants and ease my gun out of its holster. “How did you find me?”
His eyes widen, and he pops up his hands even though I haven’t pulled my Glock completely free yet. “Hey, wait, wait. The Camaro. Before he left, Malachi told me he loaned you the Camaro. He wanted me to track it down and bring it back. But you’re not supposed to be with it.”
Unease skates down my spine, tingles at the base. Leaving my Glock at my back, I take a step toward him.
“What do you mean, ‘before he left’? And why wouldn’t I be with the car? Where else would I be? Or better yet, where do you think I’m supposed to be?”
He slides his hands in the front pockets of the bomber jacket and glances around. Maybe he senses the same disquiet I do.
“Get in the car.” I unlock it with the key fob, and we both slide in. As soon as his door closes, I turn to him. “A’ight. Talk.”
“A few hours ago, H received a video of you.” His brown gaze roams over my face as if searching for …
something. “You were being tortured. There was blood. So much blood. And your screams.” He swallows, and the look in his eyes …
“Abena gave him an address and ultimatum: Show up and exchange himself for you, or she would cut you in pieces. I saw the video myself. But now, up close…”
“I’ve been here since I left Malachi’s loft earlier today.
Abena hasn’t—” The fuck? Tortured? Screams?
My pulse starts to race, and without my permission, I stroke the too-smooth skin flap where my pinkie once was.
“Jamari, I need you to think carefully, okay? What was I wearing? Or what did you see in the room? Anything you can remember.”
“I don’t need to remember. I can just show you.”
He pulls out his phone, and in moments, I’m staring at footage of sixteen-year-old me strapped to an all-too-familiar chair, in a room that I still see in my nightmares. When that video ends, he plays the one of Abena with the instructions she left for Malachi.
“That fucking bitch,” I whisper.
“I don’t get it,” Jamari says as I pass him back the phone. “Why would she go through all that trouble to get him? He didn’t have anything to give her.”
“He is what she wanted. If she has him, she has me.”
“Fuck,” Jamari breathes. “She’s using him as bait to trap you.”
“Yeah.” I chuckle, sightlessly staring at the apartment building through the windshield.
“If it worked once, why not try it again?” I shake my head.
“Only, it’s been hours since she’s had him.
Why hasn’t she…? Shit.” Dread and fear twist my stomach, which cramps so hard, I almost double over.
“Jamari, my phone was lost in the explosion at Elysian. Is there any way you can access the phone company’s records and get my texts or phone calls? ”
“Hell yeah.” He zips open his backpack and pulls out a laptop. After I give him my info, he has my records pulled up in an alarmingly short amount of time.
“Holy shit.” I gape at him. “You’re like a Black Penelope Garcia.”
He smirks. “Nah, ma. Don’t get shit twisted. She a white Jamari Scott.”
Turning the laptop toward me, he taps on the most recent message at the top of the column. All amusement flees his face when he clicks on the attachment included in the text. His low, pained whimper mirrors the one I trap before it escapes me.
Other than that sound, silence fills the car as we watch the short, shadowed, but startlingly clear video of a bloody, injured Malachi.
My attention zeroes in on one wound in particular.
She cut off his finger. That evil muthafucka cut off his finger.
The scream that surges up from the depths of my soul—from the soul of that tortured sixteen-year-old girl—gathers in my chest and explodes.
Only years of discipline imprison the enraged, anguished howl, but it ricochets in my head, temporarily deafening me.
I failed. I failed him.
The sole reason for me walking away from Malachi was to protect him, and yet … the very thing I sacrificed to avoid happening occurred. Abena got her hands on the one person who has the power to bring me to my knees.
“Eshe?” Jamari’s soft, hesitant touch on my shoulder snaps me from my plunge into madness and rage. “Eshe. Did you see the rest of Abena’s text?”
“No,” I say, my voice a hoarse rasp. “What does it say?”
“That you have until tomorrow night to come to the obodo, kneel before her, and confess to treason in front of the family. If not, she’ll kill H.”
I wrap a hand around the steering wheel, squeeze until the leather creaks a complaint. “Okay.” I nod, then glance at Jamari, my heart lodged at the base of my throat. I swallow, but cotton fills my mouth. “Thanks for your help.”
“Yeah, no problem. What now?” he asks, shutting his laptop down and returning it to his backpack as I start the car.
“Now you tell me where to drop you off.”
He shifts in his seat, leaning against the passenger window, gaping at me. “What? No, no way. I’m not going anywhere but with you.”
I shake my head. “Nah, Jamari. That’s not happening. I’m not heading to the fucking mall. I’m walking into an ambush. I couldn’t protect you. Shit, taking you with me would be a guarantee of your death.”