by Yasmin Angoe
Keigel stands with me, watching their caravan leave. Thankfully he has refrained from making any more stereotypical African jokes.
He lets out a huge breath and a curse. “Yo, Nena, your life’s complicated. Your fam’s fucking intense.”
If only Keigel knew how complicated and intense life can really be.
Because here’s the thing about the complexities of life, its cruelties and injustices, which permeate everything good and pure.
I can write a book about all of it.
71
AFTER
In her lifetime, Nena had experienced terrible things. She’d been left to die. She’d suffered immeasurable loss. She’d killed without remorse. She’d lost a large piece of humanity, the part that made her soft and caring and able to have relationships beyond her immediate family. She wondered more times than not what she’d done to deserve her lot in life. She thought maybe she’d offended God somehow, made him abandon her to the likes of Paul and Monsieur.
But she had found the Knights. She’d been given a new mother, a father, and a sister. Nena had recently found something she’d never imagined having, love and a daughter in Georgia. Now, she stood to lose them all to the same man again.
Would God do that to her again? Surely there were consequences for all the killing she’d done. Maybe tonight was her reckoning.
Or maybe he had grace, she thought as she raced her bike past Keigel’s home, ignoring his single wave from where he sat in his chair on the porch.
Maybe there would be a reprieve, she thought, maneuvering her roaring machine into her driveway and cutting the engine. She barely gave her property a once-over. It was dark, with no lights, normal. She hurried through the front door, not bothering to check the premises or draw her sidearm.
She walked quickly; there wasn’t time to spare. She had one singular thought: to get Georgia.
She went to the hall. Everything was as she’d left it. The guest room door was open, and she ignored it, heading to her office-slash-command-center, where she conducted business if she wasn’t in her backyard. She quickly keyed in the access code to the door.
Five steps took her to the closet. She pushed the clothes aside and stood before the large chest of drawers that from the outside looked like any typical piece of bedroom furniture. If someone pulled open a drawer, they’d see underwear and bras. But beneath the top drawer was a tiny hidden panel where she needed to hold her thumb on the biometrics scanner long enough for it to register her pulse and confirm her prints. She ignored the larger arsenal hidden within the closet, focusing on the bureau.
The level of urgency and anxiety she felt made her hands feel cold, and she balled them into fists, rubbing the fingers against each other to warm them, before placing her left thumb on the sensor.
The door popped open softly, revealing her assortment of weaponry—assault rifles, knives, garroting wire, handguns, explosive charges. From the bottom of the compartment, she popped out a box of ammunition.
She grabbed a black duffel from the corner of the closet, began stuffing it with what she might need. She didn’t want to weigh herself down. But she wanted to make sure she was prepared for whatever Paul had waiting for her.
She heard a creak behind her and spun around with her gun locked and loaded.
Her muzzle came face to face with Keigel, his arms raised in the air. “What the fuck, Nena! Don’t shoot. It’s me.”
It took a second for her to blink Echo away and bring Nena back.
She scowled at him. “What are you doing here? You’re lucky I look before I shoot.”
Arms still raised, Keigel asked, “Can I?”
She slipped her gun in her back holster, her silent permission for him to lower his hands. She resumed the business at hand. “Next time knock before entering.”
“One of the homies told me you left your door wide open. And you blew past like hounds were on your ass. I came to check on you ’cause it ain’t like you.”
He watched her load up her bag and zip it. He noticed her arsenal for the first time. “You preparing for war?”
She turned to him. “Not your fight, Keigel.”
He leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms on his chest. “You been good to me since I’ve known you. We like family. Your fight is mine.”
“This isn’t lemon-pepper wings and gang turf wars, Keigel.”
He looked at her. “I know it,” he said somberly.
“I can’t risk another important person being put in jeopardy.”
He broke out in a grin. “So I’m important to you?” He chuckled. “I always knew it.” He did a little dance, which any other time Nena would have found amusing.
When Keigel finally sobered, he said, “But seriously, I can’t risk my protection getting killed ’cause she going into some war without backup. Let me and the homies be your backup.”
“No homies,” she reiterated, stopping her packing briefly to make her point clear. “No one goes.”
“Then me. Whoever got you like this, you shouldn’t go in by yourself.”
“I can do this by myself.”
“Doesn’t mean you should,” he said, unmoved. “It’s okay to accept help once in a while, you know. You got people, girl. I’m your people.”
They stared at each other. Him determined not to let her pass without his being right on her heels. Her trying to figure out why she was considering his offer and when he’d become her “people.” She turned away from him, pulling open the drawer that contained the decoy bras and underwear. She shoved them aside and pulled out her two most cherished items.
She didn’t care if Keigel thought her crazy as she squeezed a dime-size amount of her mother’s scent and rubbed it on her face and neck. She took her father’s cologne and spritzed it about her head and shoulders as if anointing herself. She inhaled deeply. Then inhaled again. Deeper, infusing herself with her parents, praying for them to give her strength and courage to see this thing with Paul to the bitter end.
“Fine,” she sighed, closing up her closet and pushing past him. “You’re driving.”
“And you?”
“I’m going to figure out how not to get you killed.”
72
AFTER
Keigel sped down the interstate, following the directions Nena had typed into the GPS.
“This place is going to be out there in the boondocks,” he warned.
“He wouldn’t want witnesses.”
Keigel shot her a glance. “Yeah, for the ambush he’s probably set up for you.” When she didn’t answer, he continued, “So what’s the plan again?”
She laid out the simple plan for him again. He didn’t like it. Thought she was going in blind and wanted to call in his crew as backup.
“I didn’t want you to come along, much less any of your people.”
His nostrils flared in frustration, and he exited off Route 75 to Bumfuck, Florida, where they probably were going to die.
She’d procrastinated long enough. It was time to do what she should have weeks ago. Come clean to her mother. She enabled the secured line and dialed her mother’s number, then listened as the phone rang on the other side. It was four in the morning in London, where her mother had taken her dad to finish recuperating two days prior.
“Darling.”
Her mother’s voice sent relief through her. She was safe. Nena hadn’t been sure how far Paul had gone in his assault against her.
“Hey, Mum,” she said. “How’s Dad?”
“He’s fine, his usual bossy self. I’m fine.” She paused. “But how are you? Where are you?”
“On my way to make things right.”
There was a weighty pause on her mother’s end. Then finally, “So it is true. All Elin has just told me? You can’t wait for reinforcements?”
“I can’t wait. It has to be done now and for good this time. He’s done too much, hurt too many. I can’t have him hurt you or Elin—or Dad, more than he already has.”
&
nbsp; “And these Americans? The Baxters? You’re protecting them too.”
Nena stared out at the night sky, nearly pitch black along this narrow road to a secluded home. The car’s headlights were barely enough to illuminate their way. “They’re part of my family now.” She swallowed, hoping her mother would understand. “I’m sorry I have to go against the Council on this.”
“Darling?”
“Yes, Mum?” She was prepared to go against her mother, against the Tribe, and against whoever else stood in her way. She’d gladly end up like Goon, ignominiously retired, if it meant the people she loved were free of Paul forever.
“Kill the son of a bitch. Consider it a personal directive from High Council.”
“Thank you, Mum.” She released a deep breath, feeling as if every burden had suddenly been lifted from her shoulders. It was time for recompense.
73
AFTER
The winding drive to Paul’s estate, conveniently located away from curious eyes, did nothing to allay Nena’s unease at going in without any intel. The house had only recently been bought, still had that new-house smell.
She had no time for intel on its layout or where in it they were holding Georgia. Nena had no idea what she was walking into and didn’t care. She’d walk into hell for Georgia.
“Come on, Nena,” Keigel argued. “You can’t run up in there solo. That’s suicide.”
Against Keigel’s better judgment, she wanted him waiting outside, near the car, and ready to leave the moment she freed Georgia. And Nena would free her, come hell or high water.
“I have to go alone if Georgia has any chance.” She looked at him, assessing if he was ready for this important job. “You good?”
“I’m good, but you better be coming out here with this kid.”
She grunted, not really answering, because that part she couldn’t guarantee. She left Keigel standing there to stare after her, hoping he’d be safe and that she’d read Paul correctly and he wanted this meeting to be only for a party of one, her.
Nena entered the great hall. It was quiet, devoid of any security detail. She didn’t focus on the lack of guards, deciding her guess Paul wanted no witnesses was correct. That way there would be no one to expose anything he planned to do to her.
She scanned her surroundings, her boots echoing in the sparsely furnished home. She strode through the archway, where the great hall split into a T. With a quick assessment, she could see the left was a hall with the kitchen at its end. The right led to the library. Ahead of her was a split-level staircase, where she spied Oliver descending. At the midpoint landing, he stopped and glowered down at her.
His father stood at the very top of the stairs, his hand wound tightly into Georgia’s hair. Paul wore an amused expression, quite the opposite of Oliver’s murderous one. Georgia’s expression was plain terrified. She gripped Paul’s hands to keep from having her hair ripped out.
Nena leveled her gaze once more at the immediate threat.
“Glad you could make it to our family reunion,” Paul said solicitously.
Family reunion. His words were blasphemous. “Just because your son married Elin doesn’t make you family,” she said.
Paul was giddy, laughing gregariously. “Haven’t figured it out yet?” He pointed a long finger at Oliver. “Has it been so long you don’t recognize your own brother when he stands before you?”
It was now Oliver’s turn to snap his head in shock toward his father, a move so sudden Nena was positive he got whiplash from it.
Nena’s eyes narrowed in on him. Ofori? She scowled, looking back up at Paul. It wasn’t possible. Ofori was dead. He’d died in N’nkakuwe.
“You’re senile, old man.” She scowled. “You killed Ofori years ago.”
“Or perhaps I didn’t.”
“Father?” Oliver asked, confused.
Paul narrowed his eyes. “What are you two, nineteen months apart? Nearly twins, but not quite so. And you really did not recognize each other?”
“I don’t understand.” Oliver’s confusion made him sound younger.
“Elin’s sister is yours. By blood, you fucking idiot. That is Aninyeh.”
Oliver reeled at his father’s words. He grabbed at the railing as if to support himself. “That’s not possible,” he said. “Surely you mean by marriage.”
Meanwhile Nena observed them, wary that this might be yet another of Paul’s tricks. She didn’t put it past him. She’d watched her family die. All of them—nearly all of them. She swallowed.
Ofori.
She’d only heard the shots fired. She’d never seen him die, not like she had with Papa and the twins.
“You said she died. You said the Frenchman killed her.”
“Well, apparently she’s a fucking cat with nine lives, dear son,” Paul sneered. “She killed Attah, Bena. I suppose she fancies herself getting revenge, am I right, Aninyeh?”
Oliver looked back and forth, between his father and her. “How can it be? How could we have not known for all these years that she’s alive?”
“Same as how she hasn’t known we lived. She got fucking lucky and made it through just fine.”
“I did,” Nena said coldly. But not just fine. Not unscathed.
“Perhaps, Father, perhaps you are unwell.”
Paul brought his hands to his face as if to keep himself calm. “Clearly, I picked the wrong child to mentor. Seems your little sister has the balls you’ve never quite grown. Maybe there’s time yet to trade you in for the model I really wanted.”
Even Nena felt the bite of Paul’s words. She watched Oliver wilt visibly beneath the intensity of Paul’s reaction. It was both moving and disgusting.
“Are you done?” she asked, watching Georgia squirm, willing the girl to keep silent.
Oliver reasoned with Paul. “Since she’s alive, maybe we can use her to further solidify your position within the Tribe.”
“Are you fucking mad, boy?” Paul bellowed. “You always have your head in the damn clouds, thinking about how things should be instead of how things are. You never think”—he tapped his finger to his head—“beyond two steps. I shielded you from the serious decisions, boy. I made you Ivy League, gave you a silver spoon, like Americans say, just so you wouldn’t have to work like a dog and achieve nothing like your father, Michael.”
Nena flinched at the mention of her father. Paul should never speak his name.
“She will never accept me, Oliver; she will never rally behind me.”
“If I can get past what happened at N’nkakuwe—” Oliver reasoned, looking at her.
“I sold her,” Paul spat. “I didn’t sell you. That should tell you something.”
She caught the flicker of satisfaction crossing Oliver’s expression. It was like a slap in her face. She didn’t want to believe Oliver was Ofori. No brother of hers would align himself with a man like Paul. Not after watching his brothers slain. And yet . . .
Her eyes narrowed as she looked, really looked, at the man Paul claimed was her brother. As she looked, it was as if his features began to take on those of her parents. She could see it now as she couldn’t before when he’d sat across from her at Elin’s table the night of the dinner party. His lips were her mother’s lips, the heart-shaped ones that used to kiss her tenderly as their mother laid her down to sleep with her Olay scent wafting around her. His nose was her father’s nose, with the structure of his cheekbones.
“It’s not possible,” she whispered, not wanting to believe.
Another step down the staircase. Now, Oliver—Ofori—stalked her like a lion with its prey. She had never dared dream anyone else had survived. She’d watched her village burn. Heard the shots she thought had taken his life. Now her brother was here, walking toward her. Her brother, alive this entire time. Her instincts screamed danger, but her heart wanted nothing but to take him in her arms.
Paul shook Georgia by her head, forcing a cry from her. “Stop your squirming, girl.” He paused, regaining his
composure. “Maybe my son has a point. Now that you two know each other, maybe you can be of value to me.”
Ofori’s hands tightened into fists, and he took another step down. He had one more step to go.
Nena spat, “You will never be our father.” How could he believe she’d ever agree to work with him?
“No.” Paul smiled mischievously. “I think you’ve had enough fathers, don’t you? Think of the possibilities with you by my side. As my equal.”
Ofori’s head snapped toward the top of the stairs. “Father!”
Hurt flushed Ofori’s face. She saw in him the son who thought he was never good enough for anyone, not their father, Michael, not even Paul. What a life he must have lived, always trying to be the everything son for a man who cared nothing for him.
She held out a hand to stop him. “Release the girl. She’s got nothing to do with this. Nothing’s gained from hurting her except to bring the American authorities on your head.”
Paul snorted. “And yet you care for the girl and her father.” An observation rather than a question. “Look how far you’ve come to retrieve her. You could have walked away. I tire of this.”
He yanked Georgia slightly, making her yelp. Nena tensed, ready to fly up the stairs. “Put your sister in the holding room and watch her closely until I am ready.” Paul turned on his heel, pushing Georgia in front of him as she fought to break free from his grasp.
Nena could hear Georgia fighting with him all the way down the hall as Ofori slowly approached her with deadened eyes, his hands flexing. She didn’t want to fight. Surely she could reason with him. They were family. They had survived.
“Where is he taking her?”
He didn’t answer.
“You could join us,” she offered.
“Why would I want to?” He grabbed her upper arm.
“You married Elin. You’re already family.”
“I’ll never be family like you. A son-in-law? Her parents only tolerated me for business’s sake.”
She couldn’t object. He spoke the truth.
He pushed her toward the library. “My father gave me a chance. He chose me over you.”