Her Name Is Knight(Nena Knight #1)(78)

“I am your trainer and will be your team lead when you become part of Dispatch,” Witt explains, giving me a tour of the facilities. “Network is the eye in the sky who watches your back when you’re out there. I’m in Network, and that means I have your back. We must learn to trust each other more than anything else. You, me, and the rest of the team.” He frowns. “It’ll take them some time to get used to you, as you will be the youngest team member—if you make the team, that is. I’ll teach you everything I know. And shit I don’t.”

His voice is heavy with accent, but it won’t be until months later that I learn Witt is from Rwanda and experienced the genocide of the Hutu, and he wasn’t one of the good guys. I will not hold Witt’s past against him, because in this present, he is good to me, and he is my teacher. Plus, I learn he has atoned tenfold for what he did in Rwanda, and that speaks volumes.



For the remainder of my years in school and university, I do as I am told, joining the soccer team, where I learn stamina and increase my leg strength and endurance. I do not enjoy being on a team, but I do enjoy the thrill of winning games. And I learn how to be on a different kind of team.

“You are on the soccer team to develop passable social skills, Nena,” Witt tells me. “You can’t only talk to your dad, mum, sister, and me all the time.”

“But I don’t like anyone else,” I answer, doing my last round of burpees. “I barely like you as it is.”

“Now, that is a goddamn lie.” Witt smirks, handing me rope for me to jump. “Dear girl, you’ll pay for that comment.”





57


AFTER


It was hard to believe the woman staring back at Nena was her and that she was going out like a normal thirtysomething woman. It wasn’t like when she had to dress up for work. Those were uniforms, part of a mirage. Tonight was for her. And yes, Cort too.

A sudden surge of embarrassment hit her that she was giddy with her first boyfriend—if she could call Cort that at her age. And she felt some guilt, too, that she was excited about going out when she should be with her mum, ensuring her dad stayed on his slow but steady path to recovery after he’d regained consciousness. The doctors were still puzzled about what had made him ill, and the only person who knew was Paul, not that she’d ever ask.

She shouldn’t be feeling like a schoolgirl, worried if Cort would see her as woman enough. Did she want him to? Did she have what it took to be someone’s lover? Would she even like it? Up until this point, the only feelings Nena associated with sex were pain and shame. She looked down at her hands, at her perfectly polished nails. These hands had done things no other woman Cort knew would do. These hands had killed. Could these hands love?

She’d spent her adult life accepting the idea she would never love a man, not in that way. Never again have sex because she wanted it. The thought of intimacy had always repulsed her. But since Cort, the revulsion had grown less and less. The thought had become not so unimaginable.

She was curious about what that life was like, the one where she could give herself to someone and them to her. A life that was beyond the strict and regimented one in which she cocooned herself. The thought was both scary and exciting. Nena was still trying to decide which was stronger when Elin appeared behind her in the doorway of her guest room, which no one used because Elin was not into overnight guests.

“Absolutely not,” Nena growled.

“Just a quick chat. It’s the perfect pick-me-up for Mum with Dad out of commission and all.”

“No.” Nena’s eyes slid back to the mirror.

Elin produced her phone, pointing the camera at her sister despite her protests. Both knew if Nena had been serious, it wouldn’t be happening.

“How’d you get her in that?” Delphine asked in awe. They could see their mum in the hospital room beside their father as he slept.

“An act of God, Mum, truly.”

Nena turned her body this way and that, appreciating the way the dress, white with black splotches resembling a Rorschach test, fit her form and fell in soft folds at her calves. The plunging neckline emphasized her cleavage. Her silver gladiator sandals finished the look and matched the silver ropes woven into the front tiara braid of her head. The rest of her hair flowed magnificently past her shoulders.

“I know Nena wasn’t difficult,” Delphine said knowingly.

“Thank you, Mum,” Nena said, shooting her sister a death glare, which was returned with a sweet smile.

“I wish your dad was awake to see you, but they just gave him medication to sleep, and it will be too hard to wake him. I’ve taken a screenshot, though.”

“Shit,” Elin breathed. “Mum knows how to do screenshots.”

“Okay,” Nena called out, turning around. “I should go.” She snatched the oversize straw clutch her sister handed her. One with a secret compartment perfect for the small gun she’d carry. She headed toward the stairs.

“Nena!” Elin called behind her. “Do not take the bike.”

Nena gritted her teeth. She wasn’t entirely inept when it came to men.

“And remember to let him lead,” their mother’s disembodied voice added, propelling Nena out the door faster.

She arrived early to meet Cort at a Cuban restaurant owned by a well-known Cuban singer. Cort was already waiting for her at the valet, which she really liked.