“No,” he says. “I mean, yeah.” Then a pause. “I—I love you.”
And the call ends.
Staring out my windshield at the garage wall, I slowly lower the phone. His low, hurried declaration reverberates in my head over and over, and part of me wants to dig it out at the roots and salt it. But another part—the part that grieves not just dying but dying alone—embraces those words from the boy who stubbornly became my friend. Embraces and holds on to those words so I won’t pass onto whatever exists beyond this world by myself.
I glance down at the phone, note the time.
And with the image from the video of Eshe flickering across my mind, I start the car and pull out of the garage, steering my car toward Needham.
Toward death.
Toward Eshe.
Thirty-five minutes later, I turn onto an access road and pull up to a structure that looks like a large shed. If not for the armed guards who had to open the gate and allow me in about a half mile back, I’d mistake the small building for being abandoned.
As soon as I shift the gear into park and step out of the car, the entrance to the building opens, and four men and three women, heavily armed, file out. I keep walking toward them until someone yells, “Stop, dammit. Don’t move.”
Thethinginside me snaps and roars at the order, at the need to rip that gun from his hands and beat him with it until he can’t speak or move. That hunger surges so strong, my body tenses, and I stare at his throat, visualizing my first blow.
But then the image of Eshe inside that shed flickers in my head. A phantom echo of her scream assaults my ears.
I stop.
“Search him.” Abena emerges from the shed, and despite the early-evening shadows, huge dark shades cover her eyes.
They’re not large enough to conceal the bruises on her skin or all the stitching along her cheek. Nice try though. Two of her soldiers approach me and pat me down. I don’t miss the slight tremble of their hands and their apparent aversion to touching me. When they finish and step back, I lift my pant leg, and ignoring the yells and shouts to “stop” and “hold,” I remove the trench knife and hold it out to the guy who searched that leg.
“Here. You missed this.”
Rage and real fear gleams in his dark eyes as he takes the knife, and yeah, he should be afraid. Abena will most likely slit his throat with that weapon for the oversight. And usually, I’m above the petty shit, but that muthafucka is assisting in holding Eshe hostage, so it’s fuck him for the short amount of time he has left on this earth.
Which isn’t that long.
As the female soldier slaps zip ties on my wrists, the other five crowd around me, herding me toward the shed. Behind me, the suppressed, sharp sound of a gunshot disrupts the evening air. On my left, a tall, slender woman with dark red hair stiffens, and I catch her low, shaky inhale. The man Abena killed—he was more than a Mwuaji soldier to her. That was obvious. He meant something. Something personal.
Did Abena miss that? Or does she just not give a fuck?
What would Eshe have done in that same situation? Would she have been a more merciful leader? Deserving or not, the Mwuaji should have the chance to discover the answer to that for themselves. If not for Abena’s jealousy- and greed-fueled actions, they would know.
They lead me into the interior of the building, and quickly, my eyes acclimate to the dim lighting. It’s spartan. A table set off to the side, a bench pushed against the back wall, and a chair set in the middle of the room.
A chair.
No Eshe.
“Where is she?” I growl, fury and panic rolling through me, nearly fucking swamping me. I pack it down and focus on Abena, who strolls in front of the chair and sinks down onto it, crossing her legs. “Where the fuck is Eshe?”
“Oh wow, Huntsman.” She smiles and props her elbow on her thigh, leaning forward. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you had feelings for my niece. Please don’t tell me the infamous Huntsman has fallen for Eshe Diallo? Makes sense though. Why else would you be here, ready to trade your life for hers?” Her smile widens. “Oh God, I hope so. That would make what’s coming even more delicious.”
She stands, the smile dropping from her lips and leaving a cold, blank mask.
“Put him down.”
A side door opens, and two more soldiers roll in a gurney. My muscles tense, but I still don’t see Eshe, don’t know where Abena is stashing her. And until I lay eyes on her, I can’t afford to fight. So I allow them to strap me to the gurney, and as the cuffs tighten across my chest and arms, I can’t help but compare this to the last time I was chained to a bed. Can’t help but compare the woman who gave me the darkest, sweetest pleasure with the edge of her knife to the bitch who stands over me now, wielding a dagger and staring down at me with lust shining in her dark eyes.
Can’t help but think how that time catapulted us here to this moment.
We’re full circle.
