Black Queen, Dark Knight II

by Avant, Amarie

Mikayla

  Thursday. . .

  “Were you able to gather any information about the woman?” I wait on bated breath for Kmota to respond.

  Her head lowers. “Sorry, My Queen. I followed her the first day—”

  “I am aware.” I close my eyes instantly, shoving a hand through my short kink of hair. “Just give me a moment please.”

  She leaves the room.

  “You don’t trust Kmota do you?” Denso’s voice pulls through the haze of quicksand that I’m drowning in.

  “She’s Okeke. I am trying my damndest, Denso She doesn’t make it easy.”

  He snorts. “Kmota is from the largest family, Queen Mikayla, but I assure you that your belief in keeping her as a servant so as not to churn the waters with the Okeke is unfounded. Not that the waters aren’t already choppy and black with storm, but you can trust her. She might not be the friendliest of the Okeke, more warrior than anything—”

  “But I can trust her?” I scoff, lacking conviction.

  “As surely as you trust me and my father, Chumi, you can put your faith in Kmota as well.”

  “Humph, you sent word out to our fellow Niveans, maybe I can’t trust you either.” I stand up, stalking around. This time an apology comes easier. “I am so, so sorry, Denso. In a few short months, you’re the brother I never had.”

  The hurt in his gaze passes away. “And I love you like a little sister, Mikayla. We will get out of this.”

  “Tomorrow night, Fari will propose to me again, amongst media outlets. His claims that we are engaged before will be solidified. Eadric has yet to get some alone time with King Damba to confirm if Damba has been fucked with—for lack of a better word.” I press my hand against my chest. “And I . . . I saw that young woman’s face, the one who hated me. I saw that same look on her face that Jagger had. This despondence in their gaze, when you love someone, and all of their actions lead to them not showing the same love. What Jagger is going through.” I pause, biting back my own sorrow. “She has endured it. I must find her!”

  “We will.”

  “This island is seventy miles in radius, Denso. Where I’m from that’s a trip from the beach to the valley. Why does this feel so impossible?”

  “Nothing is impossible. We have convictions and—”

  There’s a knock at the door.

  “Keep positive. Or you’ll need more tea before the days up, Mikayla,” he quickly mumbles before heading to open it.

  That’s true. I didn’t need to add more kindling to the fire. With doubt comes Anathi. The tea is not a means to an end. It’s only slapping a Band-Aid on a stab wound. And upping my intake of the essential herbs in the tea I was given could have the same dire effects it had the first time. With us on Prince Fari’s turf, he could easily spin it as—

  The door opens. Speak of the devil. His hard gaze goes to Denso then softens on me. “In Zihula our male guards are not allowed to be the only confidant around our royal women.”

  Kmota steps into the room, head lowered. “I found the earring you thought you dropped in the hall, My Queen.”

  She must’ve heard Fari’s distasteful statement. I mumble my thanks.

  Denso says nothing.

  “Next time send the guard to search for such trivial things,” Fari says. “Beautiful, if you drop any of the jewelry I gift you with, it won’t take so long to find it.”

  He comes to me, kissing me softly on the lips. I close my eyes, quickly gulping down the bile.

  “Everyone leave.”

  “Your Highness,” Kmota says. “As you just expressed, it is not proper for a female royal to—”

  “Leave!” he shouts.

  Denso’s eyelid twitches.

  Kmota stares at me, mirroring Denso’s tenacity.

  “My Queen.” Fari chuckles tersely. “This will soon be your land. You will not need of any security. You will also have a fleet of specially trained servants who are more than competent.”

  I bite my lip. Sometime during our very long ride, my crew and I guessed that the spirit inhabiting Fari is unaware that the foreign one inhabiting mine has been bound. At least we hope, since he’s still playing ‘nice.’ I have to play along.

  “Kmota is of the Okeke clan. Are you not aware of their imperative role in my family’s lives throughout times?” I hold my head high, gaze unwavering.

  “I was uninformed that she is Okeke, My Queen,” Fari kisses me again. “What of the boy?”

  He speaks down of Denso, though they appear to be of a similar age. I feel like slapping him across the face. How could I not see it sooner that he wasn’t the same sincere prince I met a few months ago? I thought his haughty air was due to being a prince, but this, this is deathly overbearing.

  “Denso is,” I mull over a worthy response, “the son of Elder Chumi. In Nivean, our elders are revered as much as royalty.” I see you haven’t treated Chumi with much regard but damn!

  “Then he should be with his father, don’t you think?”

  I start for the door, eyeing Denso.

  Every tendon in his muscular body is rigid with anger until he offers the faintest of nods.

  “I feel safe here, Fari.” I mumble over my shoulder. “Denso, you are relieved.”

  Now, it’s just me, the devil, and a woman that intuition tells me not to trust.

  47

  Jagger

  Thursday…

  AUSTRALIA

  She’s beginning to trust me. That was the last text correspondence that I had received from Kmota Okeke. Mikayla had enlisted her assistance to flush out a woman who they both perceived as a danger. Kmota’s response was enough for me to pick my sorry ass up off the floor, wash the alcohol off, and grab some sustenance before hitting the road.

  There was no way in hell that I was going to stay in South Africa with Mikayla by the side of another man. My hand itched to grab my Magnum on a few occasions while scoring a plane tickets. Now, I’m tossing up my fucking innards because of Dr. Harry Firth, infamously known as Trick.

  The hot air glues to my skin like an invisible layer of insulated snowboarding attire while trekking through 120-degree weather. It’s not that I’m some noob to hot air. It’s just that my internal temperature skyrocketed when I needed that drink of whiskey a few minutes ago.

  I slap a gnat on the back of my neck, gun down at my side, though my trigger is ready for action.

  “C’mon, mate, you don’t wanna shoot my pet, eh? This lass is a protected species.” Trick pats the side of his crocodile’s belly.

  “For you to be a fucking doctor, you’re the dumbest fuck I know.”

  “Why’s that?”

  I cock an eyebrow. The Trick I’ve known tosses lethal laced knifes when someone says the smallest thing about him. He’s like a kid.

  I also take it that the sight of watching his pet crocodile ravage the limbs of his newest mark may have him in good spirits.

  “Tosh! This is mother nature at work brother. My bonnie lass disposes of this here piece of shit.” He points to the mangled mess below. “My girl rids us of the bones. I have this sudsy pot of water.” He kicks at the steaming pot on the ground. “And bollocks! All clean. We’re done for the day. We go get some ladies. Wait, I go get some ladies. Right?”

  This little shit is testing me. “Right,” I mumble.

  “No getting down like the good ole days, mate.” He claps a hand over my shoulder. “I’ll get enough little sweet tarts to whet both our whistles.”

  “Should I get myself a room tonight?”

  “What sort of wanker would I be to kick out my—”

  “The kind you are.”

  With a shrug, Trick picks up the pot by its handles. He whistles down below, and the crocodile picks up a limb before scurrying down to the water. Splash. Blood and suds go trickling down over the side of the wooden planks, dribbling into the lake.

  * * *

  We end up at a restaurant if you could call it that. The distressed wood is barely nailed together. A b
and slams their feet down with each chord the guitarist sings and the floor quakes, ready to cave into the wetlands below it.

  “Bring us a few lagers, my mate.” Trick pulls out a cigarette. “Juggernaut, should we also keep the whiskey coming? Is it that kinda night, brother?”

  “Definitely,” I add.

  “That’s what I’m bloody fucking talking about.” Trick puffs out smoke. “So, when are you going to tell me what you did to My Kayla?”

  I slam a hand down on the table.

  With the cigarette at the tip of his lips, he says “Lemme show you something.”

  Trick pulls out his phone, plays with it for a second then slides it over.

  MIKAYLA: Can you check in on Jag sometime this week?

  Then two hours later she added double question marks, stating that she knew he’d read her message.

  TRICK: No thanks, love. Thought it was a joke.

  MIKAYLA: Please . . .

  TRICK: Queens don’t beg. (wink) OKAYYYYY

  MIKAYLA: Thanks for being a douche about it. Mate.

  “That’s my friend, so . . .” He placed a stiff hand at his chest. “What the fuck did you do to her?”

  “None of your gotdamn business, Trick.”

  The drinks are placed before us. “I’ll ask you again later.”

  I take a long pull of my drink.

  Trick darts down in his seat. “You see the girl walking with a bow leg across the way, mate?”

  I chuckle. I should’ve known this wasn’t a life or death situation. I glance across the way at a platinum blond. Her skin is golden from days of sunbathing naked in the outback.

  “Damn, she’s got such a beautiful walk, huh?”

  “Whatever, Trick.” I mumble, as she walks our way.

  “I did that to her. Fucked her hip all the way up—”

  “I can hear you, asshole,” the girl says, hands on her hips. “Trick, sit up before I snatch you across that table.”

  He sits back into his seat then leans forward. “In what world does a woman like you talk to—”

  “Hey, that, I only allow that in bed,” she growls.

  I continue with my beer ready for action, to see the little golden beauty follow through with yanking him across the table.

  His laughter turns into a sneer. “I require obedience in and out of the bed.”

  “Ha.”

  “So, if you ever want me to fuck you again,” Trick says. “Then you change your fucking tune, sweetheart.”

  She beams brightly, sliding her number across the table. “Don’t lose it this time.”

  Trick is out from behind the table in seconds, standing over her. His hand goes to the back of her neck, and he pulls her against him. People are looking now. Girls are envious. Guys are unsure if she needs help, but her aqua eyes go wide with desire. Hissing quietly into her ear, he says something that I don’t quite give a damn to listen to. Her gaze lowers. Her eyes water.

  A guy from across the bar speaks up. “Hey, what are you—”

  Trick shoots him a look. The girl lifts her hand to signal she’s okay before scurrying out of the room.

  I huff. “Sweet tart came over here, all tart, all guns blazing. Then . . .”

  Tricks grabs her phone number and wedges it at the bottom of his bottle. “Heh, once was enough. Barely spanked that little sweet ass, she went from green to red real quick. Tart my ass, she has a low threshold for pain.”

  When the food comes, it’s all scarfing down meals and silence between us.

  * * *

  Later that night, I wake up from my position on the couch, rubbing at the tendons in my neck. I wish I had called for a ride to a hotel. Any run of the mill place would do. I can hear the sound of a whip, followed by a young woman’s whimper. A bedroom door opens. The woman who is being flogged is out of my line of vision, but there’s another woman moaning, tied up on her knees, watching the entire scene with a mixture of envy for the woman being beaten and primal desire. A third comes rushing out of the room, closing the door behind her. Her tight eyes widen when she eyes me. She’s got milk colored skin, an oval face, and a shock of black hair.

  “Entirely too sadistic for my blood,” the Japanese girl mumbles. “Were you at the club?”

  “What club?” I grumble coming into a seated position.

  “Tonight. This is our third time coming to Australia. The girls heard about Trick, and he’s—he’s becoming more a nightmare than all the dreams I’ve had of him.”

  I tune her out to search for my phone. It’s almost four a.m. As far as I know, we both came back wasted. My mind was on Mikayla until I knocked out.

  “Need a drink?” She opens her purse and pulls out a silver flask, dangling it.

  Contemplating on the woman I love tonight makes me nod my head. The woman presses the drink to my lips, and I take it from her.

  “Hmmm, I like it rough, not too rough.” She nudges her head toward the bedroom door.

  48

  Mikayla

  Kmota pressed my hair tonight, placing a golden head chain with filigree jewelry at the top. The shimmery gold sheath dress hugs my curves before falling down past my feet in a long train.

  She sighs. “This could be your wedding dress, Queen Mikayla, not that I am agreeable to Prince Fari’s ways.”

  “Chinwa, is she still being held prisoner?” I ask, not yet ready to look at myself. When nervous, my brain runs a mile-a-minute, to include long forgotten topics like my crazy ex-maid.

  “Um . . . I believe so.”

  “We need to have her freed, and exiled from Nivea.”

  “Will do,” Kmota stares at me, waiting for me to respond to the inevitable.

  A few gruesome seconds later, I glance at myself in the mirror, and the sight takes my breath away. My fingernails chew into my palms, the only sign that my heart hurts. Trick never responded to my texts about connecting with Jagger after he promised to. Whether Jagger is a thousand or a million miles away, I can’t force myself to apologize just yet. The next time I hear his voice, I want to be running into his arms. Talking to him now, it might unravel me enough to choose him like I did the very first time.

  On my way to the front of the palace, I feel the threat of someone watching me and turn to see the woman.

  “Mikayla.” Kmota hitches a breath, so astonished that she doesn’t address me properly.

  “We have to speak with her now,” I murmur.

  “Fari is right out there.” She grabs my forearm, pacing hastily. My stilettos resound off the marble floor.

  The dark-skinned woman rushes into a room, closing the door behind her. Kmota grabs the door, opens it, and I slip inside.

  “I’ll hold him off, tell him you’re still upstairs stressing over the dress.” She closes the door with me inside.

  The woman pulls the vail from over her short-cropped hair, bringing the eye straight to her high cheekbones and God sculpted face. Black orbs of hatred eye me.

  Was this a set up? Kmota leaves me in here with this woman. Okay, Mikayla, you can handle yourself. Long Beach wasn’t always sunshine and roses. But Brit could throw down for the both of us!

  “Prince Fari loves you.” The words tumble from my mouth.

  Her shoulders begin to shake. She heaves a cry that melts my heart. It’s the same as when I was on that invasive table with Jagger leering at me. Me loving someone else was unfathomable for him.

  “Hayi—No!” She trembles. “Adndithandi, andithandi . . .” She murmurs in Xhosa over and over again that Fari does not love her anymore.

  “There is something wrong with him.” I kneel before her, touching her shoulder.

  When she shouts, I don’t move. The force of her words go straight to my face. “There is something wrong with you. You! It’s in you too. Not Fari.”

  “It was in me. It-it still is, but I promise you that I will fix this.” I counter, my tone just as strong as hers, filled with the same conviction that Denso’s had just this morning.

  �
��Prove it. Tell me you do not love Prince Fari—loved him at first sight.” She spits in disgust. “For I have loved that man since we were children. King Damba, he detested our friendship, but I had Fari’s love.”

  A stillness shocks me as an image of Abayomi and I playing during our younger years crosses my mind. Unlike the two of us, I can only imagine that their kingdom did not bless nor cultivate their love due to the king’s response. I lean down, considering just how sordid this situation is for her.

  “I am in love with another man.”

  Her mouth tightens, eyes keen, staring me up and down.

  “It is no lie. The man I love.” I rub at my forearm, feeling vulnerable. “He’s . . . when I was forced to tell Jag I was going to marry Fari—while Anathi controlled me—it broke him, and I see that in you.”

  “Cikizwa,” she mumbles her name, which means pretty.

  “I see why Prince Fari is in love with you,” I respond kindly. Before she can give a rebuttal, I add, “He is still in there. He is still in love with you, Cikizwa.”

  I take her hands. This time when her tears fall, a burden is lifted from her.

  “Pah—pahlezzz, how did you fix this, Queen Mikayla. I have spoken with our divine healer, and . . . and she is nothing but a vessel right now.”

  “Wha-what?” My lips tremble. All this time, I thought Anathi was who set my soul aflame when I met MamNontsikelelo on the Zihula shore.

  “I assumed you did something to her when you came, and up until this moment, I refused to see that MamNontsikelelo became unreliable months ago.”

  “MamLalumi is missing, and your healer isn’t of any help.” I constrict, pain clawing at my chest. “I’ll need to drink my tea soon.”

  “So it is the tea?” Cikizwa purses her lip. She pulls a dried root from her hand. “You can bite this, a small, small bite, Mikayla. Same effect, stronger.”

  I pick it up, smell it, and it has the same bitter notes. I lick it, and the confusion beginning to cloud my brain, planting seeds of doubt and despair, vanish. “The root only contains Anathi for a while, Cikizwa. I appreciate this. I was going to have to ask for hot water at dinner.”