Black Queen, Dark Knight II

by Avant, Amarie

  “I have made allies with the Wakithas and the Ythalas.” I mention the two tinier tribes that surround our nation’s northwest and southeast boarders respectively, firmly planting myself in the conversation. The elders made it seem like once I have King Damba’s approval, I’m golden. I do not want Prince Fari! Ignoring the lash of a retort in my psyche, I speak again. “Those two nations are in close proximity and . . . maybe . . .” Now, the location of each nation was the extent of my argument.

  Damn you, Anathi! Get out of my head.

  As my brain dissolves of all thought, all the elders turn toward the eldest. Chumi stares at me for a moment, and my mouth sets. Denso and I brought him up to speed regarding Anathi’s desires. The others assume that gathering King Damba’s blessing—sound of mind or not—is the appropriate course to counteracting Anathi’s plan.

  Guess what? Who cares if a crazy witch has taken over Nivean as long as Zihula is are most trusted associate? Figures.

  Chumi pats my hand, saying precisely what I had assumed. It’s time for me to visit our closest most eastern allies on the island of Zihula.

  We are now playing into Anathi’s hands, forcing me into the lap of Prince Fari. Checkmate.

  25

  Jagger

  Swoosh Swoosh. Swoosh. The truck spins out in a three-hundred-sixty-degree reckless turn. Those assholes think they’ve gotten the best of me. The entire scene plays out in less than a minute. My body continues to shift left while I begin to let off rounds into the window before me. The tires skid round and round. The automated system knows just how long to let this farce go on.

  The truck stops on a dime. My view is of five men, standing outside of their cars. Automatic shotguns are ready to pick me off. They’d exited their cars while my ride spun out of control and are ready for a close kill. It’s as if I’m at a drive-in theater, and instead of some senseless film, my entertainment’s eyes are on me in shock. With both Magnum’s in hand, I take shots. One. Two. Three. Four. The fifth lets out a buckshot that sprays the radiator of my truck just as my kill shot slams between his eyes.

  “Restore tire pressure. Replace damaged window frame,” I order, driving forward. Another glass-like substance descends from the roof of the car. My head almost hits the ceiling as the tires roll over a few stiffs.

  I grit my teeth and dial Mikayla.

  “Mmmm, hello,” she murmurs.

  Cock instantly hard, I groan. “Damn, your lovely sleep voice sounds almost like the one you use after drinking my cum, uthando.”

  “Hmmm, lovely and drinking cum in the same sentence?” She chuckles softly, ending on a muffled yawn. “Jag, it’s the middle of the night. Or is it night where you are?”

  “Definitely night.”

  “Hmmm, so where are you?”

  While I drive through the frosty night, I search the streets for Yakiv one last time. “Cold. Baby, I told you I’m somewhere freezing my balls off, missing you.”

  She scoffs. “Could be here with me, though, I’ll consent to this booty call over my current condition. How many people did you . . .dance with tonight?”

  I’m quiet for a moment. Dance is her term for kill. She’s too paranoid to say murder over the phone when I’ve told her endless times that our calls cannot be tapped. Current condition? What is my woman enduring all alone? I make a mental note to call my connect in the palace next.

  “Hello, is it like that, Jag? I was sort of hoping that you loved me more than your two best friends now,” she says of my magnums.

  “More? There’s only one obsession, love, and care I have in this world, Mikayla.” I lick my lips. The anticipation that I had of returning to her sooner rather than later roars anxiously through me. “You. The answer will forever be you, My Queen.”

  I expected an “I love you, too.” When she doesn’t respond, I ask, “What’s wrong?”

  “Oh, I,” she stutters. “I love you, Jagger. When you said, ‘My Queen,’ that token term is the epitome of pressure to succeed, fear of—”

  “Fear? Did you just say the forbidden word? That shit is not allowed in our relationship. You know what I have to do.” Zipping by isolated roads, cracked pavement, and families living in the shadows, I head toward my hotel.

  “Heh, you aren’t around to torture me, Jag. And I don’t think my body will survive another head game of me waiting for you to cum, no matter how much it pleases me to please you. I can hear your driving. So, where are you?”

  “Driving through snow, and it doesn’t compare to you.” I crack a smile now.

  “Sheesh. I get it. You tell me, you’d have to kill me.”

  “I could never. I’d take another kill-head any day by showing where my true loyalty lies, Mikayla. But for now, I think I need the gig.”

  She chuckles. “Need? No.”

  “The fuck I don’t.” I groan. It’s a long drive back to the touristy hotel in Kiev, so I welcome the debate. I mindlessly add, “I’m not allowed at the palace, so I need the gig.”

  “Jag,” she murmurs. “I never said you weren’t allowed at my home, baby.”

  “Damn, I wasn’t trying to guilt trip you, uthando lwami. I’ve got a lengthy drive, and I just—”

  “Told me the truth. Listen, tomorrow I’m visiting Zihula. The moment I return, I’m speaking with the chef about preparing us-us.”

  “Mikayla?” I call her name. “Mikayla?”

  The phone goes dead. I glance at the bars—all systems go. I dial her back. The call goes straight to voicemail, and before my mind can run rampant with worry for Mikayla, her phone number pops up on my screen.

  “Sorry about that,” she says. “Anyway, where was I?”

  “Feeding me.”

  “Yes. I’ll have the chef prepare a nice dinner for us.”

  “Will we be having this dinner in your room?”

  “Hmmm, Jag, there are a few things going on here. The people need to see some positivity. So, I have to appear available at the moment.”

  “Available?” I grit. “I’m gone for all of three weeks and—”

  “That sounds awful. But I’m new to the game, baby. We both know where my heart lies. Next time I see you, Jagger, I’ll explain it all. For now, Nivean people would like—”

  Relentless, wild, dangerous thoughts filter uninhibited through my brain. Images of Mikayla exhibiting that innocently beautiful smile of hers to another man flash before me. My hands tighten around the steering wheel. “Mikayla—”

  Her conviction is stronger when she says, “I’d never cheat on you.”

  “And I’ll never let you go, Kayla.” A voice that sounds reckless like mine, but with more venom than I’ve ever had attempts to break through. I pause for a moment. Though I’m not a man who blabbers adulations at every turn, I tell her, “Kayla, you are the first connection I’ve had since my mother found out I was a hitman-for-hire.”

  “Jagger, I love you.”

  “Let me finish. She never got around to forgiving or becoming acclimated to this lifestyle before she died. So you, you, I won’t let go.” My voice hardens. “Not in a million years, even if you ask. You are mine.” The threat feels good to my bones. It’s the reassurance that I need in my heart.

  “Okay . . . Jag, your sentiment went from Hallmark Movie Channel to stalker Lifetime to 20/20 in less than a half a second. I’m yours, Jagger. And ‘I love you too’ would’ve sufficed. But listen,” she speaks articulately, uttering every word, “once I handle my obligations, I’ll reconcile any bad, dangerous things you just thought, Jag, I know you well. Stop thinking—”

  “I’m the one that tells you to stop thinking.”

  “Exactly, stop rationalizing the way only bully hitmen know how, and understand that I’m in this for the long haul.”

  * * *

  I didn’t force Mikayla to fuck herself before we got off the call. Truly, I was too wrapped up in my own jealousy the second she said she had to appear “available.” Jag, don’t be a bully. I warn myself with the same words M
ikayla uses. She’s venturing into the unknown.

  This is me granting Mikayla enough space to build up Nivean and solidify connections with other royals, no matter how much I want to ram my Magnum up any equally “available” prince’s ass. This is me being a boyfriend for the first time in my shitty life.

  I made my life unshitty, leaving that churchy lifestyle behind for a lavish life. And out of all the lavish assets I own, Mikayla is my greatest possession.

  My truck has been restored. There are no gaping bullet holes in it by the time I drive past the Maidan, the central square in Kiev. It has to be the dumbest thing I’ve ever done, booking a stay at a premier palace hotel. I stand a head taller than most of the doughy-eyed tourists meandering through the lobby. I head up to my bedroom, strip down, and get into the shower.

  The water courses down my taut muscles, and I do the next best thing than ramming my cock into my woman.

  Beat out my demons the good ol’ fashion way. I’ll have to do this shit for hours to reset my mind. It’s off kilter.

  Breathing ragged against the rainfall shower, I work my massive erection. The hot water torrents down, steam rises from my muscles, and I continue to fist myself. I pause just long enough to grab more creamy body wash. My fist glides along the smooth, slick hardness, up and down. My muscles coil, tension increasing, but this shit is not enough to get me off, not in the least.

  I’m gonna torture Yakiv before he takes his last breath.

  Suddenly, I remove my hand, no more getting myself off. Thinking about murder, I’m pitching a fucking tent, but I’ll live through it. Tonight, blue balls are in the cards.

  Jag, serves you right. Get the fucking job done!

  26

  Mikayla

  One week later

  The plane touches down on a landing strip parallel to turquoise waters. I glance through the tiny window, and about twenty yards off, a massive line of vibrant palm trees dominates the area. Seashells are scattered across the sand. Either the dark magic witch has found other delights, or she’s satisfied with the current progression of things. Anathi hasn’t made a peep inside my head since Chumi declared that I was to travel to Zihula—to Prince Fari.

  “Guess we’ll see how long she pretends to be placated,” I mumble to myself, rising from the seat.

  “Pardon me, My Queen?” Kmota blinks a few times. Since Chinwa is no longer my daytime servant and her replacement is so new, I offered Kmota the chance at this rather luxurious vacation. I’m still determining the level of threat she plays in my life. The old adage about enemies and closeness keeps ringing true.

  Clearing my throat, I consider an appropriate response aside from requesting the exorcism I apparently need. “Oh, just mumbling self-affirmations. It plays a more powerful role when heard out loud.”

  Kmota regards me in confusion.

  “Self-affirmations. I love my . . . life,” I murmur, a sweet-and-sour grin plastered on my lips. It’s been three weeks since I last saw Jagger. He’d promised to return by now, but still hasn’t returned from a far off, cold place. And now, due to Prince Fari’s busy schedule, I’m finally able to visit him. Jagger and I have been transformed into star-crossed lovers of sorts.

  A calming breeze floats over my skin as I get out of the jet. A Rolls Royce, boasting the same Zihula red insignia as the jet, is parked a few yards away.

  A man donning a crimson dashiki and slacks steps forward, head bowed. His palms are up, and he’s holding a cherrywood box.

  “A token of the prince’s appreciation, Queen Mikayla,” he says.

  Sheesh! What can he appreciate? He comes to my turf, lavishing gifts on me. I come to him with no gifts and all transportation courtesy of him, and now . . .

  I pop open the box. Gold jewelry with pearls and turquoise gemstones put a vice grip on my heart. The turquoise rivals the color of Jagger’s gaze. These gems have further indebted me to another man.

  “Do not act in the same manner while in Prince Fari’s presence. One does not pout, melancholy about someone so beneath you, while in the presence of perfection!” Anathi’s venomous tone licks in my ear. “Be happy for your people, for you.”

  She’d forced me to hang up on Jagger when I was telling him I loved him the night we chatted during his long drive. My instincts warn me that the longer she’s inside my psyche, my body, the stronger she will grow. I hope this sordid intuition doesn’t ring true. One day, I’ll be the vessel, and she’ll be . . .

  Gulping down my internal contemplations, I murmur, “Thank you.”

  Kmota takes the box from his hands and transfers it to my luggage. I’ve learned it’s proper custom to accept a gift but not revel in it for an extended period of time.

  I’m seated in the back between Eadric and Kmota. Denso is up front with Fari’s servant as the Zihula chauffeur offers a few touristy comments while we pass by sugarcane fields. The travel to the Zihula palace lasts but a few moments while tropical animals flutter by and the beautiful sea ever at my side.

  The palace is dominatingly tall. Golden marble pillars run along a passage way Taj Mahal style. Between those gilded columns is about a mile-long lap pool. All this grandeur leads to the main structure which has slightly smaller buildings on the sides of it. The place is a friggen college campus dripped in jewels. The palace reminds me of what one would expect in Egypt, taking my breath away with it.

  We walk along the lap pool. The extravagant stimuli leave my mouth agape with each step I take. Once the golden pillars end, there is a long line of people who are all dressed like kings and queens before Prince Fari’s home. He stands just in the center of the crowd and is easily discerned by how erect his spine is, and how his dark brown skin glows with confidence.

  “My Queen has arrived.” He claps his hands together, moving toward me with a grace that does what the palace did a few moments ago—leaves me breathless.

  “Thank you,” I begin, “for the plane ride, and the car, and the jewelry, and everything that you’ve done these past few months. I can’t fathom the extent of Nivean’s accomplishments had you not shown such generosity.” Have I kissed enough ass and placated you, Anathi?

  I finally notice that his hands are behind his back. When he moves them before me, he’s holding a necklace. Pear-shaped diamonds are perched at the end of golden crests. Each diamond has to be at least five carats, all the way around the necklace, and at the end is a yellow diamond.

  “Oh, I don’t think I can—”

  Debonair in his movements, Fari is already draping it around my neck. The diamond nestles between my breast like a heavy rock.

  “So modest.” His mouth is inches from mine.

  “If you move away from Prince Fari, you will see just how much power I wield for our nation, My Queen. And it’s not kissing ass, you are equally yoked.”

  The bastard takes the liberty to adjust the yellow diamond. The faint touch of his fingertips plays over my breast for a moment then he takes a respectable step back., pearly white teeth on display. “I knew it would match the twinkle in your eyes.”

  “Thank you, Prince Fari. I hope this is the last of your gifts, or I will be so embarrassed.” I strut a few paces past him to begin greeting his royal court.

  Down the line I go, I’m gifted with words of encouragement and flirtations. I stop before one woman whose jaw is set, and her high cheekbones are sharper than Trick’s knives. Some exotic runway is missing her presence.

  “Long live, Queen Mikayla,” the black beauty murmurs. The ice of her tone chills me.

  “She is clearly no friend of ours, Mikayla. I can kill her with just a touch. Consider taking her hand, or a hug will also suffice.” Anathi offers the advice as a best friend would when your presented with a rival.

  I had actually been receiving hugs or shaking hands—it’s the westerner in me—but my hand twitches at my side. This woman hates me for a reason. The intuitive part of me needs to know why. Moving right along, I address the man beside her. The dark beauty’s hard
glare imbeds itself in my memory.

  She may be a Qaaim sympathizer, but she’s a Zihula, and I rationalize that most Zihula’s have welcomed me with open arms due to my connection with Prince Fari.

  “Come, My Queen,” Fari says. “As you are aware, my father took ill a few months back. He will disinherit me if I do not bring you to him. And then I have plans for us.”

  “Yes, I would love to meet King Damba. Sounds like you have my next couple of days all blocked off.” I almost gasp as the perfect plan comes to mind. After meeting the king, I’ll want to show my respects to Zihula’s amagqirha, who should be able to reenact the ritual that MamLalumi performed when I returned from London.

  “Yes. I apologize for not being available when you called me last week. While I wasn’t accessible in person, I delighted in the preparations for your arrival.”

  “Do you mind adding a visit to your divine healer during our stay?”

  He smiles, head tilted ever so slightly. “Of course, MamNontsikelelo would love to see you.”

  Anathi hisses in my mind, sounding much like a serpent ready to strike. “Mmmm, Nontsikelelo, it means blessed, Mikayla. I do believe our nation’s perception of me would’ve been more aligned with our mutual goals, had my parents offered a less taboo name. Anathi is constant reminder of the dead one.” she says, referring to her twin. “Now, why would we want to meet with MamNontsikelelo?”

  Stay on your toes, Anathi. I might be book smart in a Western world sense, but my street smarts will catch up to our culture’s ways very soon.

  27

  Mikayla

  Prince Fari escorts me to a room deep within the confines of the palace. The place is so large, so magical that it has alcoves and what I’d call porticos with outdoor gardens woven throughout, which is where we find King Damba.