Her Name Is Knight(Nena Knight #1)(53)

Her finger found a blade. He passed through the sliding glass doors held open by one of the servers. She watched him close the gap between them, wearing the same brilliant smile from so many years ago.

Her stomach constricted. All these years believing him gone, believing she had survived him, only for it all to come crashing around her ears in the space of an hour. He was a beautiful monster, aged like fine wine. He looked better than she remembered. Her family was dead, and there was Paul, living better than he had before.

“Beautiful out here, yes? I find the sea air and the lights of the city refreshing, don’t you? Spectacular. You don’t see sights quite like this in Lagos.” He stopped a foot away, his back to the party inside. He pulled out a lighter that was more a torch, pushed the tip of his cigar into the flame, and puffed until it caught.

Every molecule of her was electrified, yearning to toss out all her years of training and run him through with her blades.

When she wouldn’t answer, he squinted. Took in her features. Considered her for a long while. “I’m not sure what it is.” He held his index finger up, shaking it as if he were trying to shake out a memory. His vile cigar in his other hand. “But damned if you don’t seem familiar. Have we met in passing? Maybe you attended an event with Oliver and Elin? Accompanied your father on Tribe business?”

This was the moment. This was when she’d declare who she was and kill him when he attacked her. She could claim self-defense, and the Tribe would forgive it. She straightened her shoulders, pulling herself to her full height.

“Could be we met sixteen years ago, in a little town where you beheaded my father and then sold me to a homicidal psychopath.” Her words came out low, measured. She could fling the devil incarnate from the balcony railing and watch his body break and bleed on the grounds below.

She zeroed in on him, watching as his curiosity moved from surprise to a split second of fear; then finally he shuttered himself from her, regaining his composure. His relaxed, controlled smile slid across his face.

“For true? Aninyeh?” he asked, his amazement evident. “This is you? Still alive?”

“As are you.” She bared her teeth.

He barked a laugh, slapping his palms together as if he were with a long-lost family member. “I had heard the bastard Robach was dead years ago.” He paused, drawing back to look her over like some proud uncle. “I knew you had it in you, girl. A survivor. I knew it!”

Her eyes narrowed. As if he’d done her a favor.

“And beautiful.” He put his hand to his chin, cheerfully. He looked at her with appreciation. He clapped once. “You would fetch quite a price on the market now, Nena. Much more than before.” Another casual smile, sickening her.

He must have seen something in her eyes, because he waved his hand. “It’s a joke, Aninyeh, a joke. That time was eons ago, yes? Haven’t we grown, you and I? Matured? Look at you now. One of the Knights. A daughter. I gave you this life.” He bowed low, magnanimously. “You are welcome!”

Her blades nearly came out at his audacity. She couldn’t let her emotions cloud her judgment.

Witt’s training during hand-to-hand combat replayed in her mind. Never take things personally.

No. This was personal, very personal.

Paul’s laughter died, realization dawning on him. He looked at her deeper, reading her anger. “That explains Attah,” he mused softly.

She didn’t respond.

“He was valuable to me, you know. I even paid good money to get him off on those charges. I had members of the jury in my pocket to ensure no conviction.”

“Then why have the Council dispatch the prosecutor?”

“I like to hedge my bets. And I wanted to see just how much the Council wanted me. Always have a plan B, dear girl.”

Silence had always been her best quality. She needed it more than anything now. She kept reminding herself not to react. Don’t be foolhardy, Nena. She struggled to believe that Paul being here was not a mirage or a nightmare, that he was really here in flesh and blood, because up until this point—even after Attah Walrus—she’d never truly believed Paul could still be alive.

Her silence was unnerving, and Paul cast cautious looks at the caged tiger in front of him. He looked back at all the unknowing people inside. He stepped to the glass railing, looking down. She could push him, she thought. Right now. She gripped her hands behind her back.

“Your new family—these Knights—are good, generous, powerful people. You’ve received a second chance, a better chance. You’re not wallowing in the dirt, wed to some poor goat-herding chieftain. You sit atop the throne of modern-day African royalty.”

He waited a long beat. When he spoke next, he dropped all traces of earlier joviality. “You would do well to let bygones be bygones. You have made your point with Attah. Don’t you agree?”

This was the Paul she knew and loathed. Her mouth twitched. So many things she wanted to say. Attah’s death was not enough. Not by a long shot.

“Aninyeh, let this pass. Your sister loves my son and vice versa. My strongholds in Gabon and links with its government and other factions will further solidify the Tribe’s power. But if you tell anyone who I am and alter the scenario . . .” He sighed, looking at her solemnly. “It will all go to shit for the Tribe . . . for your family.” He gave her a long, pointed look that speared her all the way through. “You know what I can do, Aninyeh.”