They lay the breakfast out on the deck table and tell me they’ll run the kitchen in Shona’s absence. I’m grateful for their kindness and foresight. Shona can do with a rest when she gets back.
Worry about Banga doesn’t dissipate, but by ten Shona calls to let me know he’s going to pull through. Relief surges through me, not only because Banga is the best book cooker on the continent, but also because he’s like family.
I hang around with Cas in the morning, making sure she’s all right, but in the afternoon I leave her to nap with two armed men standing guard at the door while I go to the airport to collect the items I had flown in. One of them is a large box with Cas’s new clothes, and the small one is a gift. On my way home, I stop at the hardware store and buy a few pairs of gardening gloves.
As requested, Ruben’s weapon supplier is in when I get back. The smaller caliber pistols are laid out on the dining room table. I try to picture Cas’s small hands as I get a feel for each pistol in my palm. I want something that’s powerful enough to be deadly but small enough for her to keep steady.
I select a Star .55 caliber with a beautifully hand-carved, ivory shaft. The pistol is small and light enough to carry in a thigh holster or evening bag, but a bullet in the right body part will kill instantly. I throw in a hip, thigh, and ankle holster, as well as a few boxes of ammunition.
Ruben shakes his head as I pay for my purchases.
I give him a narrow-eyed look. “Is there a problem?”
He raises his hands. “No prob, man.”
If he still thinks Cas will shoot me in the back with the gun I’m planning on giving her, that’s his problem. I’m not exposing her to my world and claiming her in front of all the dangerous men we deal with without making sure she’s got her own protection.
When the dealer packs up and leaves, I get a beer from the bar fridge and twist off the cap. “If you’ve got something to say, lay it out now.” I tip back the bottle and take a sip. “I’ll happily take it outside.”
Ruben scratches his head. “The question I’m asking myself is what a girl like her is doing with a guy like you. Catch my drift?”
“No.” I put the bottle down harder than necessary. “Why don’t you explain it to me?”
“She’s not our type, Ian. A girl like her doesn’t look twice at scum like us. She’s not here because of your dick. She’s here because she’s a fucking snitch.”
I clench my jaw. “Watch your fucking mouth.”
“Just saying.”
“Stop saying.” My voice rises in anger. “I’ve fucking heard enough.”
“Okay.” Raising his hands again, he gives me a smirk and backs out of the room. “Your call, man.”
I watch him leave through slitted eyes. If he can’t deal with the way things are going, he can leave.
Cutting Ruben out will be complicated. One, we need his contacts, and two, he knows too much. If he leaves on unhappy terms, there’s always the chance he’d sell information to the highest bidder.
Yet Ruben isn’t a traitor. He’s loyal to the gang. He’s been our partner for as long as Leon and I have turned of legal age. The balance of our relationship has been upturned the day I chose Cas over them. I’ve always believed we’d eventually find our equilibrium again and go back to the way we were, but my gut tells me in Ruben’s book, three is company but four is a crowd.
Chapter 15
Cas
In the afternoon, Ian gets news that Banga is stable but will be kept in the ICU for a week to ensure no infection sets in. He needed skin grafts to repair the damage left by the baboon’s teeth. They gave him tetanus and rabies shots, and he’ll be kept on morphine and an IV for a couple of days.
I’m in the room, removing the bandages from my hands for the blisters to dry, when Ian arrives with a large box and five pairs of gardening gloves in different colors.
“For you,” he says, depositing the box on the chest.
I catch the pair of chunky, pink gloves he throws at me. “What is it?”
A smile flirts with his lips. “So you won’t get blisters when you dig up cabbage.”
“Not the gloves, although that’s very thoughtful, thanks. The box.”
“Your new clothes.”
I leave the gloves on the sofa. “Clothes?”
“The catalog I left.”
Walking over, I regard the box with surprise. “I didn’t order anything.”
“I told Shona to collect the catalog and Banga to order the stuff you checked.”
“Oh. I wasn’t planning on actually getting something. I was just killing time.”
He cups my hips and pulls me closer. “You deserve all the pretty clothes women like. This should fill about a quarter of your side of the closet. You still have three quarters to go.”
That makes me smile. For the first time since I left our farm, a sense of belonging takes root in my heart. I haven’t felt this way about any other place. It has more to do with Ian than the actual place, but I’m nevertheless giddy with happiness.
He draws circles over my hips with his thumbs. “I hope you have something formal in there, otherwise I can take you to the boutique at Elephant Hills to shop for a dress.”
“What’s the occasion?”
His eyes tighten, and his body tenses. “Oliver is throwing a party to celebrate his birthday. I would’ve declined, but it’ll send the wrong message.”
Even though I’ve been the one who pushed Ian to make me his rightful partner, fearful anticipation fills me at the prospect. “When is the event?”
“Tomorrow night.”
“I think I may have a dress to wear.”
“It’ll be a fancy occasion. Oliver likes to show off.”
“I’ll make an effort.”
He tightens his fingers on my hips. “Not that you need to. You’d be gorgeous dressed in a hessian bag.” He takes my hand and pulls me toward the door. “Come.”
I hang back. “I appreciate the clothes, but you shouldn’t pay my way. I like to be independent.”
He stops to look at me. “You are. You’re working hard enough.” He frowns. “Too hard.”
“I don’t want to look like a gold-digger.”
A grin stretches across his face. “I stole you, remember? If it bothers you that much, I’ll get Banga to pay you a salary.”
“For what?” I exclaim.
“Crop manager. Farming advisor. Ranger. Whatever the hell you like.”
I stumble a step when he gives my hand a tug.
“Now come. We have someplace to be.”
“Where?”
He smiles when he says, “You’ll see,” but I don’t miss the tension sharpening his features.
Leon and Ruben are waiting with rifles outside the door. Leon offers me a friendly nod while Ruben’s smile is condescending.
We walk a short distance in the opposite direction of the main lodge and stop in a clearing on the riverbank. Paper targets face the water. A guard stands next to a foldable metal table on which every imaginable rifle and pistol is laid out.
“What’s this?” I ask.
“Choose your weapon,” Ian says.
I look into his eyes. A glint of humor flickers in those depths, catching the amber flecks that light up the brown, but the set of his mouth is firm. He’s serious.
“Why?” I ask.
“Training,” he says.
Inwardly, I smile. I can take a detachable rifle apart and put it back together blindfolded. I can load and aim in a second.
“Go on,” he says, waving a hand at the weapons buffet.
I’m steadier with a rifle, so I go for the Beretta.
Ian eyes me with a raised brow. “You sure? That gun is almost as big as you.” When I don’t bother to reply, he carefully takes it from my hands. “Always aim the barrel down.”
I roll my eyes. That’s the first rule of handling a gun, and I’ve known it since I was three years old. My dad always respected and explained the rules.
&n
bsp; “You open it like this.” He pulls back the bolt. “Check if there’s already a bullet inside before you load it.”
I take it from his hands, grab a bullet from the ammunition box on the table and slip it into the breech.
Ian takes a pair of earmuffs, but I shake my head. I didn’t grow up with earmuffs. Never needed them when my dad taught me target practice.
“We’ll go for the left target first and—” Ian starts.
Before he’s finished his sentence, I’ve pulled the trigger. Bullseye. I reload and shoot. Bullseye. Reload and shoot. I carry on until there’s a big hole in the middle of each target.
“You were saying?” I ask when I hand him the gun, taking care not to touch the smoking-hot barrel and ignoring the discomfort of the blisters on my palms.
Ian stares at me with a slack jaw.
Leon laughs. “Holy smokes, brother. I’d say you’ve met your match.”
“Match made in heaven,” Ruben drawls.
I go for the Glock 9 mm next. Pressing the button on the side of the hand grip, I eject the magazine and load the bullets.
“Wait.” Ian lays a hand on my arm. “Go for the outside circle.”
“Nine or three o’clock?” I ask.
“Both.”
I aim for nine o’clock, taking my arm pullup into consideration. My hand is steady when I pull the trigger. The outer line on nine o’clock explodes. Taking less than a second, I aim and hit the line on three o’clock.
“Fuck,” Leon says. “Who taught you to shoot like that?”
“My dad,” I say, lowering the weapon. “Which one do you want me to try next?”
Ian scratches his jaw. “I think we’re done here.” He addresses the guard. “You can pack it up.” To Ruben, “Help him carry it back to the vault.”
Ruben’s reply is neutral. “Whatever you say.”
That evening, we have a big barbecue at the main lodge. The whole village is attending. There’s drumming, dancing, and a lot of beer going around. They’re celebrating that the evil spirit has been sent back to the underworld and Banga has been saved.
Ian and I are having our own private celebration, a coming out of the closet of sorts. I’ve decided to stay out of my own free will, and he’s decided to give me freedom. Well, freedom to an extent. He’s not going to let me go around unaccompanied until he’s certain I won’t try to run away. I’m still to prove myself to him.
Leon has warmed up to me. He takes a chair next to me and entertains me with funny tales of Ian’s childhood while Ian grills stuffed peppers for me and beef sausages for everyone else. Ruben keeps his distance, but he’s less openly hostile.
After dinner, I manage to drag Ian to the circle of dancers and get him to do a few rounds with me while Leon takes up drumming and Ruben smokes a joint.
We retire early because Ian says he wants me to rest, but he has me stripped naked before we’re on the deck. He takes me right there, against the door, and again inside the shower. It’s a long time later when he finally lets me sleep.
I wake up to the call of a hadeda, discovering to my dismay it’s past ten o’clock. After wolfing down the breakfast and pills Ian has left for me, I call the lodge and ask Wataida to fetch me, but it’s Ian who arrives with the Jeep. He drives me to the village and drops me off at the outcrop from where I make my way to the fields while he goes to check on supplies at the clinic.
The cabbages continue to grow without splitting. The heads are bright-green and fat, and the leaves are sweet and meaty. They should fetch a good price at the market. The women have pickled the ones that have split prematurely so as not to let them go to waste.
Even if the blisters are drained and not bothering me any longer, I don’t do manual labor today. My heart is battling more than usual, leaving me tired enough to know I should give it a rest. Instead, I chat with Keeya about the crops they’re planning for autumn, and by noon, Ian comes to fetch me to have lunch at the lodge.
A delivery van is parked at the entrance. Men in overalls are carrying a new sofa inside.
“I didn’t want Banga to see this,” Ian says when we enter, motioning at the blood-stained sofa standing in the hall, ready to be taken away. “I wanted it done before his return.”
“That’s considerate. I’m sure Banga has enough trauma from the event to deal with. He doesn’t need a reminder.” He definitely doesn’t need the bloody sofa staring him in the face when he comes back to work after his recovery.
“What about you?” Ian asks, cupping my cheek. “How’s my girl dealing with all that trauma?”
My heart warms at being called his girl. I can’t help but smile. “I’m good.”
“You always are, aren’t you?” he says softly, kissing my nose.
We eat with Leon, Ruben, and some of the staff on the deck. Afterward, I help the women to tidy the kitchen. Shona is due back tomorrow. We want her to find everything in the sparkling clean state she always leaves it.
They ask for input on the menu for the rest of the week. We go through the stock in the pantry and make a list of what to order at the same time as writing menus on the blackboard on the wall. On the farm, I’d been more involved with my dad’s duties outside than helping my mom out at home. The kitchen responsibilities are new to me. I’m enjoying them nonetheless, and there’s much for me to get involved in.
When the planning is done, I get ready for the party, taking extra time with my appearance. I curl my hair with old-fashioned curlers Keeya had gotten for me and go for a smoky-eye and nude lipstick look.
The velvet dress is a simple fit with a low V-cut and thin straps. The hem falls just above my knees. It’s decent yet sensual, not showing off too much skin but still sexy in an understated way. The funky, black heels add a bit of dare to the otherwise plain style.
I’ve never been big on jewelry. I don’t own much other than the small diamond studs I never remove from my ears. My parents gave them to me for my eighteenth birthday, just before we lost everything. I dab some perfume behind my ears, and I’m ready.
Ian got ready in the bathroom, leaving me space in the bedroom, and when he walks through the doors dressed in a pinstripe suit with an open-neck collar shirt, he takes my breath away. His hair is tied back, exposing the shaved bottom half and making him look like a hot rogue. With the stubble darkening his jaw, he looks every bit the crime lord he is. He smells nice too, of Givenchy Play for men. I know because I sneaked a look on his side of the cabinet in the bathroom.
He stops inside the door, his gaze cutting a path over me from top to bottom. The fire in his eyes says he likes what he sees. The flare of his nostrils says he’s jealous of other men seeing what he sees. The bulge in his pants is proof that he wants me.
His voice is hoarse. “Cas.” He closes the distance and stops short of me. “You look…”
“Nice?” I ask with a smile.
He gives a terse shake of his head. “I can’t put words to it.”
“Thank you.”
“I’m going to feel like murdering a few men tonight because everyone will be staring.”
I go on tiptoes and wrap my arms around his neck. “It doesn’t matter, because I belong to one man only.”
Possession sparks in his eyes as he cups my ass. “Who?”
“You.”
“Ian,” he says.
“Ian.”
His voice is low, intense. “Ian Hart.”
“Ian Hart,” I agree.
“I hope you like the sound of that,” he says, lowering his head and pressing the words in a dark, soft tone against my ear, “because one day, I’m going to make you Cassandra Hart.”
My stomach flutters, and my heart answers with an echoing beat. This is happiness, whole and complete.
He brushes our cheeks together, his stubble grazing my skin as he meets my gaze to measure my reaction. Anticipation burns in his eyes. The non-negotiable light that sparks in their depths communicates a dangerous message, but the flash of uncertainty gives h
im a vulnerable edge. He’s still afraid I’ll reject him.
“I like the sound of that,” I whisper. “Very much.”
The tension melts from his shoulders. The tightness of his face relaxes, but his gaze doesn’t lose its feverish light. Dragging his hands from my ass to my hips, he says, “I’ve got something for you.”
“For me?”
He sets me aside to fetch a small, square box from the dresser drawer. I drag in a breath when I catch sight of the logo. He flips back the lid to reveal a classic ladies’ Rolex.
“Why?” I look from the expensive watch to his face. “It’s not my birthday.”
His gaze softens. “You’re always asking me for the time.”
“Oh. I’m used to checking the time on my phone, and when I didn’t have a phone…” I bite my lip, not wanting to bring up the kidnapping.
“You’re still welcome to ask me the time as much as you like, but at least now you also have your own time,” he says as he lifts the watch from the box. “Give me your wrist.”
I extend my arm, letting him slip the watch over my wrist. Holding my gaze, he takes my hand and turns it palm-up. He gives me a gorgeous, private smile before dropping his gaze back to my wrist and closing the clasp. The band fits perfectly. He must’ve ordered the watch with the band already adjusted for the circumference of my wrist.
“It looks good on you,” he says.
I reciprocate with, “Thank you,” but it’s not at the watch I’m looking. It’s at his handsome face.
He brings my wrist to his lips and plants a kiss on my pulse. “You’re welcome.”
“I have something for you too, but after this,” I turn the watch from side to side as I admire it, “it feels kind of silly.”
“You got me something? I’m touched.”
“It’s just something small.”
“Go on. Don’t make me wait.” He grins. “I’m a curious bastard.”
Going to the drawer, I remove the Nyaminyami necklaces and carry them back to him. “It reminded me of you,” I say, placing the ebony one in his hand.
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