“Bon. Bon. Champagne?” He proffers the bottle, though he sees me sipping my drink.
“I’m good.” Holding up my little shot glass of whisky, I’ve barely drunk.
“What do you need, beautiful Saban?” He asks knowing full well.
“Hash.” Taking the drink, I watch as he assesses me — how badly I want it and what I’d be willing to do to get it.
“You know my network is vast.” My eyes widen at the change of subject before I have a chance to school my features.
His eyes spark at my reaction.
“OOOKAY.” I stress and shrug like,what of it.
“Being one who has his ear to the ground, I hear things. So many things that are not of interest. However, when I hear there is a bounty of fifty million US dollars on an American Haitian woman with a body full of tattoos, locs, curvy, beautiful. Well…” He trails off like he hasn’t just dropped the biggest bomb into my life.
“Um,” a heavy hand stops me when I nearly bolt from the seat.
“We take care of our own around here, ma belle.” He says, dropping all pretense. “And no matter what brought you here, you are one of us now.”
Still, fifty million dollars is a lot of money. That’s dead or alive money.
Snake really doesn’t care what happens to me if he placed that kind of money on my head. He wants me dead.
“I need to go.” I say unable to hide my fear or the frantic need to get out here and as far away from this man as possible.
“Saban.” The seriousness of his tone stops me.
“No one here will give away your location. I’ve already made sure of that. It will give you time to get your affairs in order. The message was for no harm to come to you. However, wherever you end up, perhaps get rid of the hair and cover the tattoos.” Cupping my hand he transfers the hashish into my sweaty palm.
Curling the bag into my fist like it’s a treasure, I can only nod.
“We could have had so much fun.” He quietly laments with a sad little smile, like he’s committing a dead woman to memory.
Loading the hookah,I sit on the floor beside my bed in a routine that’s become far too familiar. My tummy is tight. Checking the room again to reassure myself for the fifty-eleventh time, I’m safe. I light it, watching it bubble. Excitement fills me watching the smoke fill the glass. I made sure to use just enough. I’m not sharing, so it doesn’t take much just for little old me.
Taking the hose, I draw the smoke deep into my lungs. Euphoria fills all the cracks in my mind where worry resides. The slow slide of bliss encompasses me. The fear that ate every step to my small little loft has evaporated. Gone is the need to check every corner of the room for any uneven shapes that may manifest into my horror. By the third drag, I feel myself drifting.
The coals are already cooling by the time I pull myself out of bed, smothering the ash just to be safe.
The coolness of the fan slides over my skin. Thankful once again that I live closer to the coast rather than the city center, which can be humid even in the night air, I turn into the soft down of my pillow, ignoring the shape.
“It’s nothing.” I mumble to myself. “It’s not him.” Drifting off, I reassure myself, ignoring the looming shadows dancing on the wall.
My eyes shoot open when a heavy hand presses against my mouth, so hard I taste blood.
“Shh.” I look up into the cold dead eyes of the man I once wanted to share my life with.
Swallowing against the cold press of the knife, I whimper when it breaks my skin.
“Quiet. I don’t want to have to kill the boy watching over you downstairs.”
In one swift moment, he pulls a burlap sack over my head. Panic seizes me, darkness surrounds me as I hyperventilate. I can’t catch my breath.
Pinpricks dance before my eyes seconds before a sharp sting spark in my back and I pass out.
chapter nine
LOCKED IN
