Her Name Is Knight(Nena Knight #1)(37)

“To come after you?”

“No.” She shook her head. “They haven’t thought about me since they sold me. But what if they went underground and have been biding their time to infiltrate us and take over, with the help of members who seek to betray the Tribe?”

“Nena, I went to Ghana myself. The Compound was in ruins. The soldiers Paul used had turned on him, killed him for nonpayment, and then we dispatched all of them. We cleaned house.”

“What if they lied?”

Witt pursed his lips.

“Paul is like a—a—” She searched her mind for the proper word. “A crocodile. He can wait right beneath the smooth, tranquil surface for the right time to jump out and snatch you into the waters. You’re dead before you realize it.”

“And your father? How can we keep this from him when he is High Council? He has to know what you suspect about members of the Tribe.”

“To tell Dad now without concrete evidence would destroy him and put my family at risk. Dad’s put his soul into establishing the Tribe. He is the Tribe, and I’m not ready to blow up his world just yet.

“Please.” She hoped he could see logic in her reasoning, that he could find the seed of doubt to make him help her. “Could you gather intel on Dennis Smith? See when he suddenly appeared? Because if Attah Walrus lived, it means Paul lives, too, and is waiting just beneath the water. And Paul couldn’t have hidden all this time without help. I need the proof first, and then I’ll tell Dad.”

He was still dubious. “And the attorney? What of him?”

She held his critical stare. “I’m working on it.”

The sky was darkening by the end of their call, with Witt finally agreeing to make inquiries. Nena knew what the things she was saying could mean for the Tribe. They meant dissension in the ranks. They meant a housecleaning of those who were not truly for the cause. But if she was right, so be it.

And if she was right, she’d make sure for herself that Kwabena and Paul were gone for good . . . by her hand. And most importantly she’d protect her family at all costs from any threats, outside or in. Even if it meant going against the Tribe’s wishes.

Even if it meant her death.





28


BEFORE


In the bedroom at the party, watching the movie with the other girls is a welcome respite, a vacation into normalcy, which is very needed in our new reality. There is no more pretending away what we are now, or what will become of me or Mamie.

“Maybe I should kill myself,” Mamie whispers, her head bowed toward me.

I cannot look at her, to see the wild and worried expression I know to be there, because if I do, I will break, and I cannot, not right now. I say nothing at first, considering her words. Dying by her own hand is infinitely better than dying at their hands.

“Maybe he doesn’t mean what he says. You are worth more alive than not.”

Mamie takes in a breath, which relieves me. I pray I have provided her a bit of reprieve, a little hope, if only for a short while. What goes unsaid is that Paul is a man of his word. Mamie will not return to the Compound alive if she does not fetch a price. Gently, I pat her hand. It rests on her lap, trembling slightly. I sneak a quick look at her, catching the small tears pooling at the corners of her eyes. My own are stinging; seeing Mamie suffer is more than I think I can endure.

The door opens, and my guard enters. Mamie and I tense. His eyes sweep the room, landing on Mamie, on Spider-Man swinging in to save the trolley car full of children, and finally on me.

“Come,” he says gruffly. “Time to go.”

I hesitate. Mamie and I share a look.

“I said it’s time to go. Now!”

I ignore him. Instead, leaning close to Mamie, I whisper, “Do what you must to survive.” My words come out so low I cannot hear them above the noise of the TV and the barking guard. But I hope she can.

Angered by my disobedience, the guard snatches my arm and twists it, forgetting I am someone’s goods and he is not supposed to touch me. He raises a hand to strike, but I spin on him, ignoring the pain in my arm.

I snarl, reveling in renewed rage, and threaten to scream that he is manhandling me, an offense Paul or my new White benefactor would not take lightly. I stare into the guard’s eyes, daring him to touch what Paul considers merchandise. The hatred I have for him, for all of them, ignites a vigor I thought had abandoned me for good.

My words must snap him to his senses, because he releases me. “We must go,” he says, his voice coiling with anger that parallels mine. We stand like boxing opponents.

The adrenaline seeps out as quickly as it came upon me. I look once more at Mamie as the guard leads me out. She offers a slight wave, a forlorn smile. Then she turns back to the movie and watches it as the door closes on the last vestiges of my old life.

A dark car idles in front of the house, waiting for me. Paul is nowhere. In the back seat, a raven-haired woman awaits me. She smiles when the door opens, motioning that I should join her.

I hesitate. Who is she? Monsieur Robach’s wife? Daughter? I have not seen her all evening, and with no choice, plus the guard’s not-so-polite prompting, I climb inside the car.

Before the door closes, I give him a withering look that I hope shrivels up his balls into raisins. I wish him an eternity in hell. He extends his middle finger at me in farewell.