Vain (The Seven Deadly, #1)(39)

The world held still as the bullet rushed from the barrel toward the awaiting stump. The seconds to follow will forever brand themselves in my mind. The bullet struck home, shredding small parts of the stump outward in a halo of splinters, falling and settling onto the bed of dead undergrowth below. The bullet leaving the gun thrust my body against Dingane’s, but he seemed prepared for it, holding me still against him.

When it was all done, the world rushed back to reality around me, the sights and sounds loud against my eyes and ears. I began to breathe deeply and Dingane slowly turned me toward him. I pointed the gun at the earth and faced him, staring directly in his eyes.

“You did well, Soph,” he began softly. He’d never called me Soph before. “Feel all right?”

I nodded, unable to speak.

He kept eye contact but removed the gun from my hand, holstering it and returning that hand to my shoulder. He watched me intently and a deluge of emotions washed over his face. His eyebrows pinched together as if he was trying to fight something. Finally, his face relaxed then both his palms rounded my back and up my shoulders, fisting both my braids.

“They’re falling out,” I finally spoke.

“They always do at the end of the day,” he added, never breaking his stare, inches from my face.

My eyes closed when he pulled the bands holding both braids and they slipped off into his hands. His fingers deftly freed both plaits painfully slowly all the way to the top of my head. Finally, I felt his fingers sift through the length to the ends.

“It’s the favorite part of my day.”

My eyes opened lazily. “What do you mean?” I whispered.

“When you undo them and run your hands throughout the waves. That’s my favorite part of the day.”

I inhaled slowly through my nose to keep from falling over at that revelation.

“I thought you hated me,” I confessed.

He opened his mouth to answer, but we were startled from our proximity when the hand radio in the truck starting blaring incessantly.

“Dingane! Dingane!” we heard over and over.

“Shit,” he said, squeezing his eyes closed. “I forgot to tell them we’d be shooting off the gun.”



He ran toward the truck, leaving me there astounded by what just transpired between us.



The ride back to Masego was unbearably quiet, both content, it seemed, to revel in our own thoughts. My own were inundated with sifting through what had just happened. My eyes kept flitting between us and I found myself wishing we could finish what had barely gotten started.

“Karina’s pissed,” he said, startling me.

“Why?” I asked.

“I should have told her we’d be shooting off the gun. We scared her half to death.”

Guilt overwhelmed me. “I’ll have to apologize to her.”

“Why should you apologize?”

“Because I shot off the gun.”

“No, I’ll do all the apologizing. It was my fault.”

“I don’t think...” I began but was cut short by the sight of Karina standing just outside the fence, two fists settled stiffly against her hips. “Uh-oh.”

Dingane sighed loudly.

“I know, I know,” he said, exiting the truck and slamming the door. I followed suit.

“You two!” she said, storming over. I almost laughed out loud but stopped myself when I saw the expression on her face. Fear and sadness bathed it completely, sobering me. She grasped at her chest before reaching him and embraced Dingane with the fiercest hug imaginable. She waved me over and wrapped her arm around my neck. Both Dingane and I laid our hands on her back and stared at one another. We both felt so guilty.

“I’m sorry,” we said in unison then broke into laughter.

“We’re so sorry,” I told Karina.

She distanced herself a little and wiped at her eyes.

“I was preparing myself for the worst.” She audibly sighed. “I think Charles lost five years off his life. The whole family’s in an uproar.”

Guilt washed over us again. There was nothing to say.

“Come on,” she said, wrapping an arm around each of us. “Let’s go reassure everyone.”

When we opened the gate we were engulfed by children, all worried.

“How do you say ‘I’m sorry’ in Bantu?” I screamed over their chatter.

“Most understand English, Soph.” Dingane laughed and started touching their heads. After a few minutes of reassuring them, tiny heads bounced off to play before the sun set all except for one. Mandisa. I picked her up and rested her bony little behind on my hip. I didn’t say anything, just hugged her and walked with Dingane toward the baobab tree. We three stood there watching the boys play soccer and the girls congregating or singing or jumping rope.

When the sun disappeared over the horizon, leaving the sky pink and orange, Kate, Ruth and Karina called them in for baths and to brush their teeth. It all felt so normal, so gloriously wonderful. It was too bad their lives were tainted with bouts of inexplicable violence. It made me that much more aware of why I was grateful Dingane taught me how to shoot.

I set Mandisa down to join the other children. She kissed my cheek and I almost cried.

I stood. “Thank you,” I told Dingane, staring at the colorful sky.