Her Name Is Knight(Nena Knight #1)(30)

“My name is Essence,” she says. “I was here when you arrived.”

I chew my bottom lip, considering whether to converse or continue my stony silence. There is nothing I have to say, but my mind is a cacophony of questions. There are things I need to know.

She leans in, her voice conspiring. “They tell me I’ll go to America. Maybe that is not so bad. America is full of rich people, o? Land of the free.”

Of which she will not be. Does she jest or truly believe what she says?

She waits for my response, and when it does not come, she continues. “You need to get well or get dead or find something to contribute that they can use.”

“I think—he said there is a Frenchman for me.”

Essence’s eyes widen as she claps softly. “That’s good, o! France is the country of lovers. I’ll have a rich man, and you will have a loving one. You won’t be so bad off, eh? Anything is better than here.”

“We are being sold,” I hiss, my anger untethered. “Like animals.” That she would try to find a positive aspect in this black hellhole of ours is confounding. “Or maybe you have already sold yourself out.”

Her eyes flatten as she peers at me. She leans back, unimpressed with my accusations. “I do what I have to do to survive. You would do well to follow the same plan.” She turns in a huff, leaving me to eat the rest of my soup and contemplate my future.

I am content to spend the rest of my recovery in solitude and silence, but Essence is not built for silence. She inches near, sending me furtive looks.

“Is it true?” she hedges.

“Is what?” I gaze forlornly at the empty bowl, wishing I could grab it and lick it clean.

“About the guard. Is it true that you bit his ear off? For true bit his ear off? Like this?” She mimics what she thinks I did, gnashing her teeth against an imaginary ear. I nearly laugh at the look of her. She has her answer.

She whistles, dropping back into the chair. She is impressed with me now, but I still see the warning in her eyes. “You should be careful.”

“Why?” Being careful in this place is an oxymoron.

“That guard—Paul had him killed as punishment for you ending up in here. Because of you, one of theirs is dead.”

Her words tumble around in my mind. Because of me, one of theirs is dead. There is no guilt at this discovery like there is for my family.

“They will seek retribution.”

I am okay with being the reason their numbers are minus one. I would subtract the whole lot of them if I could.

The thought becomes my fantasy, making me giddy. Visions of killing each one of these bastards, especially Paul, bring me immense joy, though I know I will not be given the chance. I will either die here or die at the hands of whatever trash Paul sells me to. Essence leaves the medical building, but I am too far into my fairy-tale world to notice.

I would save Paul for last. I would make him watch as I dismantled his life and everything he holds most dear—money, power, respect. He is nothing but a covetous man who takes from others to make himself feel big. He will try and try and never achieve what he wants more than his own humanity.

These thoughts help me mend. These are the fantasies that wile away the endless time at the Compound. These are the wishes that help me bide my time as I await the inevitable.

The arrival of market day.





23


AFTER


Two days after Nena took Attah Walrus out and practically gave her family a heart attack, she was pulling onto the private school’s grounds, trailing behind another car that led her to where the students congregated to meet their rides home. She surveilled the property as she pulled to a stop in the curved driveway, wondering for the hundredth time why she’d come. She stepped out of her luminescent white Audi, shutting the door behind her. Her eyes jumped from point to point, mapping the location with the precision of a cartographer.

There wasn’t security past the gate she’d entered. Teachers dotted the grounds, but they were more involved in their own conversations than in what the students were doing. The adults in the car line were too busy using their phones or speaking with each other. Students milled around, some playing sports, some talking. The place reminded her of the preparatory school she and Elin had attended. The school didn’t seem like Cortland’s or Georgia’s cup of tea, but what did she know?

She spied Georgia sitting on a bench on the plush lawn, glancing at her watch. The girl looked up and noticed Nena. Georgia’s first reaction was shock, not fear, Nena noticed, pleased. Georgia jumped off the bench and nearly ran to where she stood.

As she neared, a student passing by asked, “Who’s the Audi?”

Nena’s brows crinkled as she looked at her car. It wasn’t any different than the expensive imports lining the pickup line.

“Don’t worry about it,” Georgia said, reading Nena’s expression. She stopped short of her, breathless and flushed. “That’s how kids here at Prep refer to the cars they’re riding in. I guess you’re an upgrade from my dad’s Chevelle, so they noticed.”

Nena nodded. These kids had life easy if car types were all they noticed.

“How’d you know where to—” Georgia stopped when she recognized the school lanyard Nena dropped in front of her. The ID twisted in the breeze, sunlight glinting off the plastic.