Her Name Is Knight(Nena Knight #1)(18)

When the shower was hot, nearly scalding, the way she liked it, she stepped in. The tension seeped from her body and down the drain, intermingling with the soap and water. The events in the alleyway of Jake’s Burger Joint weighed heavily on her. Now that Nena had time to think, she concluded she might have screwed up twofold, not only by jeopardizing Keigel’s delicate gang turf but by going off script with Cortland Baxter as well.

Ever since dropping the girl back with her father, Nena couldn’t stop thinking about them. And she couldn’t stop questioning the dispatch she’d been assigned to complete, the hesitation she’d felt ever since her father had brought it up to her and Elin. It was those questions that scared her, because Nena never questioned a job. Yet since meeting the Baxters, she had done nothing but.

She turned off the water, stuck an arm out to grab a fluffy dark-blue towel, and wrapped it around her body. She took a smaller towel and tied it in a turban around her head. She ignored the next phase of her cleansing routine, moisturizing herself before her damp skin dried, and found her cell to call Elin. As she did, a glint on the bureau caught her eye. Georgia’s school ID badge, which she’d found wedged in between the seat and the armrest in the Audi.

When had Nena ever cared about a mark?

Tonight. The words sneaked up on her before she realized. Tonight is when I cared.

A sudden weariness weighed heavily on her. Her finger hovered over the phone icon to call her sister. And say what? Ask to be let off the job and risk being retired from Dispatch? Or having a team sent for her? Would they do that? Her father would have to follow the rules he’d created, the rules of the Tribe he lived by.

Nena fingered the smooth plastic of the ID. The Knights had given her life. She couldn’t betray them because she was smitten by a cheeky little girl and her dashing dad.

She thought about asking Elin what these swirls of emotions meant, because they were alien to her. They scared her, too, made her feel unlike herself after she had fought so hard to feel a semblance of self again. Elin had always been her biggest support, would give her own life for Nena, defy their father and the Tribe’s wishes for her. Nena would never ask her to do that because she would never again allow a sibling to give their life for hers.

She set her phone back down on the bureau and walked away.





14


BEFORE


Ofori rises, trembling violently, while Paul looks on expectantly, waiting for him to choose—will he defy Paul’s orders and share the same fate as Wisdom and Josiah?

I take a gulp of air. “Ofori,” I croak. He is my blood, my brother. I want him to live more than anything, but not if it means doing this unthinkable thing to me. Ofori takes a halting step toward me.

Paul cocks his head to the side, watching curiously, a smile playing on his lips.

“No, no, no, Ofori, no.” Papa is beside himself. “Be strong. Not this.”

Death is better than what Paul commands Ofori do. Papa would rather the last of his sons die than commit this unconscionable act.

“See how your father wishes you dead?” Paul bends low so he speaks directly in Ofori’s ear like the devil he is. His voice like an oil slick. “He did not say that to your brothers.”

Ofori looks to our father, who compels him not to do this thing, then to Paul, who encourages, then to me, who cannot bring myself to say anything.

He takes another, more certain step toward me. The debate rages on his face. He does not want to do this, but he does not want to die. He is a cauldron of emotions I cannot discern.

In the end, self-preservation wins out. My last remaining brother, the one who thinks himself out of place because he is neither a firstborn nor a twin nor the only girl, drops down next to me. He tries to be as gentle as possible as he prepares to do the devil’s bidding.

I feel him fumbling with himself. My body tenses, muscles taut, preparing to reject any touch from the brother only nineteen months older than me. “Ofori, no.”

This cannot be real. This morning I woke to the sun shining on my face, excited about the trip to Accra we were going to take this weekend. My body is so rigid it begins to cramp from its fortification against this immoral violation.

If Ofori does this thing, we are marked forever. We will be Adam and Eve after they ate of the fruit, no longer able to look upon each other in innocence. We will be forever damned.

“Sorry,” he whispers dully. His fingers are clumsy as he fumbles with his pants.

“Ofori Kwaku Asym.” Papa’s voice rings out, tremulous but angry. “Do this, and you’ll be damned, me ba barima.” My son. “Please—” Papa’s voice cracks.

“Shut up!” someone snarls.

A tear slides down Ofori’s cheek.

Papa is cut off amid a flurry of grunts as the men assault him again, silencing Papa’s protests.

I wish to shut my eyes, but I cannot turn from Ofori. I stare into his frightened eyes, at the tear that trails down his face. His shame is evident, but so is his resolve to save himself.

Ofori frees himself. His eyes shut as if he doesn’t want to look. But I do. I must see my brother as he does this thing to me. Even if by force, he had a choice. And Ofori chose wrong.

My brother, the weak. His choice was to survive no matter what, no matter who. He positions himself awkwardly, preparing himself. I suck in air, a feeble attempt to move away from him, even if only a millimeter.