Her Name Is Knight(Nena Knight #1)(98)
“Our father would have let you go if you wanted it so bad. He went off to university abroad. You could have done the same.”
“He came back to be a chieftain of a dying tribe. He would have wanted the same for all of his sons.” Ofori flexed his neck, looking coolly at her. “Paul didn’t ask me to be his son.”
She licked her bloody lips, fearful of what his response would be, although she believed she knew. “What did you do?”
“I asked Paul. I begged him to make me into his mold,” Ofori answered so simply, so proudly, that it was worse than any punch he could deliver. “And he made it so.”
76
AFTER
They rolled onto their hands and knees, each trying to gather their bearings. Nena grabbed the edge of a cherrybark oak side table to help her get shakily to her feet, her side dripping blood. On the opposite end of the foyer, Ofori did the same, using a bench. He grunted through his pain. In her mind ran a mantra: Yes, Ofori had betrayed their legacy, but Ofori was not the cause. Ofori was merely the puppet.
“It’s okay,” she wheezed, a reassurance more to herself than to him. “Tell me where Georgia is, and you can live your life as you want.”
He growled, “I’m going to send the little bitch off as I did you.”
He started laughing at her, and it was a trigger, reminding her of when Paul laughed, when Attah laughed, when Robach laughed.
She didn’t recognize the bloodcurdling scream coming from her. She forgot all her close-combat training. She no longer fought him for self-preservation. His disassociation from his actions, his hatred for their father, his threats against Georgia—there would be no salvation for Ofori because he did not want it. Ofori was gone, and in his place was this monster, Oliver.
He met her in a clash, grabbed her around her middle in a tackle. She used her elbow again, bringing it down hard and repeatedly at the back of his neck as he drove her into a table. She fought through the pain. He pushed her off, throwing a side kick to her hip. She stumbled, falling to her side, her wind gone and her strength right after it.
“Aninyeh, we are the last of our family. Is this what you want just when we’ve finally found one another?”
A trick. It was a trick, and he was taunting her. He didn’t want to be a family any more than she wanted them to be enemies.
She wanted her brother. But he was the past.
She had a new life. Had the Knights, who’d taken her in and put her back together again. And she had Georgia and Cort, new and unexplored. They were her future.
“You know what, little sister? Do you want to know what I purchased with some of Father’s profits from your sale to Robach? Sweets and a movie. It was glorious. You fetched quite a good price.” Oliver stood, wiping the blood from his eyes.
He grabbed her hair, yanking it back to expose her throat, readying to punch her. She parried his hit, then kneed him in the groin. Bitch move for bitch move, his going after her hair.
“When you drove away from the village, I played football with Papa’s head.”
She swallowed a scream, trying not to fall for his bait. Instead, she delivered a roundhouse kick and jab of her own. He grunted, staggering back, shaking his head as if dizzied. She ran at him, using the fact he was dizzy, catching him in the midsection. They landed with a hard smack on the wood floors, rolling one over the other, crashing against a cabinet. It wobbled precariously but stayed upright.
He was on top of her again, wrapping his massive hands around her throat. She beat at his head with one hand while the other searched for anything to get him off. In his eyes, she only saw death and contempt, nothing but a bottomless pit.
“Say my name,” he commanded, his hands once again wrapping around her throat.
She gagged.
“Say it.”
“O—O—” she sputtered, her windpipe closing.
“Say my name!” he bellowed, blood dripping down his face. His lips curled into an ugly snarl, his thumb finding her Adam’s apple. Her fingers stopped their searching.
If he pushed, he would end her right there, and that was his plan.
“Say it.” He lifted his thumb, allowing her the briefest respite. “Say it.”
77
AFTER
He was still yelling at Nena to say his name as she searched the floor, weakened and desperate, for any weapon that would make him stop. She couldn’t think about anything except the fact that her brother was going to kill her.
He was growling above her. “Say it.” Venom dripped from his voice.
Her fingers found purchase, clawed at it—the handle of Ofori’s knife.
“What. Is. My. Name?”
“OFORI KWAKU ASYM OF N’NKAKUWE!” She swung her arm upward, sinking his knife deeply into his neck. His hands loosened from around her, and she used that slack to release her own dagger from its sheath in her belt and then ram it into his side below the rib cage.
His eyes went wide, his mouth opening as blood spilled out. His hands felt along his neck to the knife protruding from it and then slid down his side to where her dagger was embedded in him. He looked down at her in astonishment.
His eyebrows puckered. He wheezed a phlegmy sound and began to list to the side, sliding off her. He fell on the floor, choking from his blood, wondering what had happened.