Black Queen, Dark Knight II

by Avant, Amarie

  “Don’t close those ugly eyes just yet, you fucking shit. Because I’m gonna kill ya, and then I’m gonna revive you and do it all over again.” I remove the vial from my back pocket. “Friend of mine gave me this shit.”

  I pat his chest. “Your heart stops, I bring you back to life, bitch!”

  One last time, my fist slams into his stomach. This time, I let him go, and Yakiv’s body lulls, all his weight straining on his wrists. His chin slams into his chest. I head back up to my truck for my goodie bag.

  The chill bites through my jeans and thermal, but vengeance is enough fuel to leave my internal temperature scorching. On the way there, my cell phone beeps.

  TRICK: Catch the bitch yet?

  ME: Yup.

  TRICK: Relish in the torture, mate.

  Shaking my head, I open the passenger door, grab the duffle bag and close it. When I don’t respond, he adds, “Proud of you, my son, diversifying your pallet.”

  That bastard. I want to bash my fist into his face for calling me his son. He has way too much fun with torture.

  The phone pings again, with a Pinterest link. What the fuck is Pinterest? Clicking on it, a website with a board titled “Trick’s Fav Torture Devices” pops up. On said board, there are photos of various forms of torture from ancient to current times.

  TRICK: Inspiration.

  TRICK: Just in case, chump.

  JAGGER: I’ll see how many I can do.

  Stalking back down the stairs and into the bunker, I glare at my enemy. His heavy eyelids flap up in shock and agitation. Awareness dawns on him, and his body heaves in more cries.

  “Cry all you need to.” I’m ready to tear his body limb from limb for unknowingly keeping me away from the love of my life.

  30

  Mikayla

  Nivean, South Africa

  Tears burn my eyes as I contemplate the kiss I shared with Prince Fari after Anathi metaphorically cremated me. The pain I endured while attempting to voice my oppression to MamNonstikelelo made me faint. I woke up with Fari at my side, and Anathi playing another game that caused us to kiss. The sheer act meant nothing to me but meant the world to that demon witch.

  Knowing I can barely survive her attacks has me fixated on the pros and cons of confiding in Jagger. Why not let him help? If she’s going to mentally scar me by burning my body to death, cognitively speaking, and I survive, why not?

  He came in my life like a whirlwind and conquered me. But my people see him as barbaric. It’s time for them to see him in a new light . . . through my eyes.

  I’m on the balcony of my bedroom, unable to speak. The cool night is pleasant enough against my skin. Phone up in my hand, I prepare to call him when our faces light up on the screen. He beat me to the punch. The image of us that pops up was when I’d pushed his long blond hair over my face one morning while he was playing sleep. I can never awaken before him. Then I took the supposed candid. I smile at the view. It’s pretty much just our smiling mouths showing.

  “Hey, Jag.”

  “Damn, I’m going to ask you a third, final time. Do you need me?”

  A muffled sob takes over me. I have to time it right. I have to ask for his help when he’s near, so that Anathi cannot hypnotize me into believing my body is being incinerated, which would cause Jagger to react like a madman just to get to me. I murmur, “Depends, you still in the Ukraine?” I really need you here, Jag.

  The phone clicks. Astonishment clogs my throat. It would be just my luck if Anathi made me metaphysically hang up on him. That first time it hurt so bad for me to press the button.

  “If I say no,” Jagger’s voice is right behind me, and my shoulders jar in shock. “If I say I’ve done very bad, bad things.” He pauses, as I turn slowly. Then he orders. “Don’t turn around.”

  I hesitate, hoping this is not Anathi’s doing. That this momentary bliss wasn’t another mental screw. I cling to faith that Jagger is here in the flesh. “Okay, what very bad, bad things?” I giggle. “Danced with a bunch of other folks . . . from afar, I mean?”

  “I don’t consider murder bad, Mikayla. It’s just taking power into one’s own hands by having the knowledge of another person’s impending expiration. Dying is a part of life.” He clears his throat. “We both know I couldn’t keep your promise. Not from afar.”

  “Oh, so no sharp shooting, like we agreed upon?” My voice shakes. We’re joking . . . but perhaps this isn’t time for jesting. God, please let him be here.

  “No, uthando.”

  A soft wind tickles the nape of my neck, and I concentrate on a handsome face to go with those words. “So what are the bad things then, that you’ve done? You’re interested in a queen’s pardon?”

  “Yes.” I can feel the smile on his intoxicatingly pleasing, sexy lips. “Don’t turn around,” he says again. There are undertones of desire as he reads my mind. “You have to pardon me. Then I’ll tell you what I’ve done.”

  “I’d forgive any bad in you, Jagger Johansson. Tell me.”

  “Tranquilized a few of your guards in town, snuck onto your land, slipped into your bedroom just so I can do bad things to you—you’ll pardon me for that right? The bad shit I plan to do your body.”

  His body is pressed against mine. Knees weak, my body goes flush against his hard chest. Warmth creeps over my earlobe as he kisses it and says, “Fucking you in your royal bed. You’ll pardon that as well?”

  A burst of desire surges through my body. A gush stamps the center of my panties as his arms wrap around me.

  “Would it be very, very . . .” His hand grasps at my breast. I’m concentrating on his every word and movement as his palm travels titillating slow down my waist and to clamps over my gown, clasping at my molten mound. “Very bad if I fucked you in your bed, Mikayla?”

  I moan.

  “You haven’t answered me.” Jagger presses into me even harder. His steel cock grinds into the small of my back as he settles his chin on the top of my head.

  Finding my voice, I only have strength enough to utter one word. “Please . . .”

  My eyes brighten in shock. Jagger scoops me up and heads back into the bedroom. “Good. Because no was not an option.”

  Freedom from Anathi tingles across my skin as Jagger places me in the center of the bed. His stare is dark and passionate, through hooded eyes. Thick chest rising with pride, his lush baritone voice travels across my nipples as he plays his tongue around them while saying, “Damn, you look about ready to come already, and I haven’t even tasted you yet.”

  Heat sizzles between us as Jagger pulls a thermal over his head, tucks his hands underneath my ass, and brings my pussy to his face. What a beauty. I imagine a starving lion, dipping his tongue into a cool well of water in the middle of the Sahara in the summertime. Just as his mouth meets my achy sex, the desire brewing in my body crashes.

  Anathi snarls, “Consider this as me obliging you, Mikayla. You will of course need to return the favor.”

  No! My shout echoes, sweeping across my entire psyche. Then Jagger’s warm mouth descends over my dripping wet slit, sucking softly. I gasp. How? He must have removed my panties when Anathi spoke to me. With deliberate intent, he returns my senses to the here and now. Gripping at his long, tangled tresses, I moan until my voice goes raw. This may not save my life, but the momentary antidote to my sanity is exactly what I need. Breasts throbbing, I grip at them, tweaking the hardened nubs to ease this familiar, pleasant delirium.

  Jagger sits up. The view of his masculine frame is enough of a reprieve that I let my head fall back. I hear the sound of the zipper of his jeans. When his pants drop, I lean up again to see taut, tanned skin. His smooth, slick, gigantic cock is on full display, the head pointed at me. Again he moves his hands under my ass, gripping the meat of them, and works his big erection into me with one hard movement. Back arched, I’m drunk on his fantastic scent as he reaches down, kisses me, and grinds his thick dick deeper, not pulling out, not even a fraction, but miraculously going deeper.<
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  “Damn, you have the sweetest pussy I have ever known.” Jagger groans into my ear, still grinding the head of his cock deep into my body. The walls of my sex contract, attempting to milk him for all he’s worth when an erotic, leisurely orgasm spasms through me. Riveted by his turquoise gaze, I let my hands roam over the power of his biceps, stifling another moan.

  “Don’t know how I’m going to cum all over that innocent face and those tits when this cunt holds me so fucking tight.”

  Mouth parted, I search for any response in the human language. “Love.” Yeah, that’s all I got. I’m not sure if I wanted to say I love you, or I love your dick, but at least the term that exited my mouth is in the dictionary.

  “I love you too, Kayla.” His massive cock slides out, and a driving force slams back into me. My body hums, lust shamelessly pulsating through me.

  “Shit,” I groan harshly. With each thrust, I drown his heavy, rock-hard cock in more of my cum. He’s pumping that thick cock in and out of me until my hands fly over my mouth.

  Then he’s out.

  “Wh-what?” I screech.

  “You covered your mouth.”

  “I’m—”

  “Did I say you could cover your mouth, Mikayla?”

  A soft whimper caresses my ears. The sound is so familiar that I know it to be my own. Body quivering, I focus on human dialogue again to say, “I forgot. I am sorry.”

  “We don’t have time for apologies.” He shoves a hand into his hair, face still contorted in disappointment, and it’s a beautiful sight, snatching away my breath and coherence again. Instinctually, I get onto my hands and knees then lean down to lick my tongue across the sweets glossing on his cock. Jagger isn’t interested in apologies and actions speak louder than words. Gliding my tongue over my taste sends a moan deep into my throat. I glance up, and there’s a smug, pleased glimmer in his eyes. Breathing easy, I focus all my naughty inhibitions on his pleasure. Loud slurping sounds fill my ears, intensifying the eroticism of sucking his huge shaft. A craving consumes me, and my lips, tongue, entire mouth work for his release.

  Realizing his heavy limbs are tensed up, I suck faster. The prize is his cum sloshing all down my throat, and that’s something I intend to seize. He grips my hair and yanks me up to him. My swollen lips are inches away from his mouth as he grits out, “Climb on top. Fuck me and rub your clit.”

  My mind is completely clear of any thought aside from Jagger. I climb up his heavenly tree trunk, which is standing proud, throbbing beautifully. I plant the rain drenched walls of my pussy all the way down to the base. Tits bouncing, I furiously rub my clit, and finding my release comes so easy. Sweet agony parts my lips wider, and I scream, body shuddering with the wave of pleasure. Jagger grunts, pulling me down to his mouth, tasting my lips. “Fuck, I love the taste of your pussy on your lips, Kayla.”

  He begins to cum. His cussing matches my shouts. Clasping my hips with his heavy hands, he pumps me up and down on him until my arms flail out to catch myself. His balls pull up tight as Jagger succumbs to a shattering orgasm, cumming long, hard, ferociously, and filling me up.

  Unable to stay in an upright position, I fall face forward into his chest. His heart is beating like a drum. My mouth tips to the left. A confidence that I haven’t experienced in some time blankets over me.

  Jagger’s hand fists my hair. He pulls until I peek up at him.

  “It’s been an entire month, Kayla.”

  Dreamily, I respond. “I know.”

  We spend so much time away from each other; nevertheless, Jagger is not the type of man to take for granted our time apart. We will most definitely make up for the missed opportunities. The look in Jagger’s eyes tells me that I’m at his mercy tonight, or until he’s ready to let me go. There’s no other place I’d rather be.

  31

  Jagger

  Every instance when those long lashes fluttered across Mikayla’s beautiful brown skin, I woke her up with my mouth or my cock. She doesn’t have the right to sleep tonight, after all the moments I’ve spent away from her. The air from the open balcony begins to produce goosebumps across her skin. So far, we’ve fucked hard, keeping her warm.

  Another day is almost upon us, my cock is throbbing. I wrap her in my arms, and those tiny bumps disappear, leaving clear, brown skin.

  “Hmmm, you’ve decided to have mercy on me?” Her chubby, innocent cheeks curve as she smiles. Her tone is but a seductive, somnolent rasp.

  Rubbing a thumb over her shoulder, I tell her, “I know why you’ve needed me so badly these past few weeks.”

  Mikayla’s gaze drops, clouds dash before her brown pupils momentarily, then rise up to meet mine. “This is not your typical male-bring home the bacon relationship, Jag. Maybe I don’t need you, I just want you. I’m the queen after all.” Assuming the conversation is done, Mikayla fluffs the pillow, rolling around onto her opposite side, and then scoots back until I’m spooning her.

  I’m not ready to let our discussion end. “You need money?”

  Her face rears back somewhat in shock as she glances over her shoulder. “Huh?”

  I might be new to this relationship stuff, but damn if I can’t provide for my woman. I fork a hand through my hair. “That’s what you’ve been worried about, Mikayla. Why haven’t you told me that your nation needs funds?”

  A few beats of silence pass between us. “I, well, I don’t feel appropriate asking you for money, Jag. Nivean is my responsibility not yours.”

  Chewing on my bottom lip, I determine that letting the subject fall flat is the best course of action.

  Her ass fits perfectly against my cock. I nuzzle my nose in her hair. “I should be going now.”

  “Sounds rhetorical. No. More like a question.”

  I lick my lips. “I’m in the bed of a queen. It’s easier to take advantage of you when most of your guards are away for the night. Should I sneak out before the sun comes up?”

  C’mon, Jag, you’ve never given a fuck about leaving a woman right after sex—but I love this one. Now, I feel like an idiot for conducting a monologue.

  “Hmmm, I get to give the orders.” Mikayla climbs on top of me. Neither one of us are ready to bring up the fact that her people hate me. “My calendar is full for two weeks, Jag. We barely survived this time away. But I can really make it up to you with an entire weekend. Your place. We both know tonight didn’t cut it, not for a man with an insatiable appetite.”

  I almost chuckle, but this is the end of the line for us, for now. “I don’t have an insatiable—”

  “No lying to yourself, Jagger Johansson.” She holds out her pinkie. I arch a brow. “Two weeks, Jag. You get me all weekend. After that . . . we chat about the elephant in the room.”

  “All weekend, to myself,” I engulf her pinkie with my entire hand, giving it a firm shake. “What? You don’t follow through then I’d have had to take your pinkie.”

  “Oh, hell no, Jag. You’re not a funny guy. But yes, home field advantage for seventy-two hours.” She grinds down, planting sugar kisses on my chest. “But you’re right, my maid will be knocking on that door in another hour. So, take the agreement or leave it.”

  I pull her face down to me. My hand massages my cock between us as she nestles right on top of it. No more sleep for us. I’ve got a few more minutes with her, and I won’t waste it.

  * * *

  Trick never took the case for Denise Everly. And from what I recall, when the benefactor gave him metaphoric “first rights of refusal,” the rules were to find the mark and send a message through X-Member prior to expiring the mark. Those types of situations can be risky. My brood of blood thirsty associates love going straight for the kill. You might say the same happened to me when Ava Sinclair forced me into taking Mikayla’s profile, and there were no details about the kill.

  We don’t like the simple assignments. It seems more like a babysitting gig. Or in some instances, the fuckoffs who pay for us to find and murder certain people either don’t wan
t us to do it physically, or they have certain contingencies. Trick made out like a bandit with his association to the sheik of Tavar. He has Trick find folks, which is usually an X-Member’s pet peev. We want instant gratification. We want blood. The Sheik is sadistic enough that the task of finding a person is canceled out. There’ve been a few occasions where the benefactor is using us as a secondary resource, sort of like a private investigator when their usual team is unable to find someone they want dead.

  Now, I have eleven days before I can see Mikayla again, and I need a gig.

  I noticed that the assignment for Everly disappeared about a month back, only to appear again. Since the assignment did not end in a request for expiration, there is no automatic kill-head on the hitman who couldn’t find her. The guy who took it has a fairly new name, probably saw the price tag, and banked on luck. I can’t get any further information without accepting it or, in Trick’s case, having those extra hacking skills.

  I dial a friend of mine.

  “Javier, whadaya know about the Everly case?”

  “Oh, the bonita bailarina nigra—pretty little black ballerina. I cannot kill the life of an innocent bella dama,” he says.

  “Cut the shit, Javier. You can sneak into files.”

  “I can. But I heard you’re chummy as fuck with that sneaky cabron. Why not ask him?”

  “Are we back in grade school?

  He hisses. “Chicago Dance society. Check that first, and don’t you ever compare me to some bad ass ninos, asking me to give you intel on an assignment you don’t wish to accept because it’s grounds for a kill-head for the both of us.”

  “Touché.”

  “One more thing. The pendejo who agreed to the assignment a few weeks ago, said he waited and waited every day, no girl. We aren’t cops on a fucking stakeout if you ask me. So no bonita bailarinas.”

  We hang up. I contemplate the chat I had with Mikayla in London. Though I’m not the type of man to only accept sharp shooter assignments, I promised to do something to right my karma.