Eshe.
Bound to a chair.
Face bruised.
Blood pooling on the floor.
Her screams echoing in the room.
A half circle of people, faces hooded, surrounding her. One kneeling in the blood, a stained knife raised in front of them.
Bile blazes an acidic path from my stomach to my throat, and I swallow convulsively, battling back the vomit.
It’s her worst nightmare. Abena has thrown Eshe back into the torture she suffered as a child.
Rage and smothering fear and an incomprehensible grief dogpile on top of me, and I slap my hand onto the car, steadying myself.
No. No. Fuckingno.
Whimpers punctuate the air, and dimly I realize it’s me. Those wounded animal sounds originate from me.
“H.” Jamari’s voice penetrates the spiral I’m tumbling down, and fuck, I forgot he was on the phone. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” I rasp, sounding anything butokay. “Is this real, Jamari? Not photoshopped or computer generated?”
“No.” A beat of silence. “From what I can tell, it’s authentic. It’s her. There’s more.”
“Another video?”
“Yes, but not of Eshe. It’s from Abena Diallo. It came in a separate email.”
I quickly back out of the current message and find the one Jamari mentioned. The fury swirling inside me is fucking biblical.And as I tap on the email and then the video, I delicately inhale and quiet the roar in my head so I can hear the audio.
Abena’s smiling face appears on the cell’s screen, and my fingers squeeze the phone so tight, the casing gives a warningcrack. Dragging in another breath, I carefully loosen my grip and press Play.
“Hello again, Huntsman. It’s rare I can greet someone who resurrects from the dead, but here we are.” She smirks into the camera, but her brown eyes glitter with malice.
Bruising mottles her left cheekbone, and stitches hold her skin together. Eshe really fucked her up.
Good.
“By now, you’ve seen the video of your little…” She huffs out a humorless chuckle. “I don’t know exactly what she is to you. Partner in crime? Friendly pussy? Although I think we can both agree there’s nothing friendly about my niece.” This time her laughter is more genuine and a hell of a lot crueler. “Whatever she is to you, Eshe is fucked. When she dared to come for me in my own house, she signed her death warrant. No one, and I mean no one, does that and gets to walk away. Including you, Huntsman.”
That eerie smile on her face fades, and she blankly stares into the camera. Which is somehow more unsettling than the smile.
“You should’ve stayed dead. You had an out, and you should’ve taken it. But since you want to play Captain Save a Ho, Huntsman, here’s your chance to do it again. Eshe forfeited her life when she tried to kill her queen. But the choice of how she dies is now in your hands. I can send her to you piece by piece. Not a problem since I’ve already started.” The corner of her mouth quirked. “Or you can show up at the address I’ve emailed you and trade yourself for her. And she can take her chances as osu and be shunned and hunted by the family she betrayed. Your decision, Huntsman. Ticktock. The clock is ticking, and I’m not a patient woman. You have until five to get here before I take thedecision from you. And just to remind you, my choice includes parts of your girlfriend being mailed out in gift boxes.”
The video ends, and I stare at the thumbnail of Abena’s face for a long moment until Jamari breaks the silence.
“What’re you going to do, H?” he asks, that tremble still in his voice.
I tap the phone screen, glancing at the time—3:34P.M.That doesn’t leave me much time. The address in the email is the compound.
“Jamari, call the burner I have ending in thirty-five forty-three.”
“Bet. Hold on.”
The seconds I wait pass like hours before he returns on the line. I’m damn near climbing the walls of the fucking garage by then.
