Chapter 8

Ashanta looked around the parking lot as a quiet voice told her to be careful. In her hands, she held a package that had all the documents she had saved. She reached for the locket around her neck and hastily put it inside a padded envelope. Following her instincts, she addressed it to Camille’s home address. Sealing the package, Ashanta held it to her chest as if her life depended on it.

While gathering the documents at IJDC she moved in shock still finding it hard to believe Harold was dead. They had made love the night before, now she wished she’d stayed the night with him. She had an eerie feeling that someone had murdered him and if so, she would have to be very careful because his death could mean she was next.

She looked over her shoulder and did not notice anything out of the ordinary. The parking lot was clear except for a few random people walking along the sidewalk, enjoying an every evening stroll. Ashanta reached for her purse behind the passenger seat. She dug around, feeling for her cell phone. She found it and called Camille. The phone rang once before she heard the voice mail prompting.

“Cami, it’s me. I’m sorry I haven’t returned your calls. So much has happened.” She exited the car still leaving a message for Camille. “I need to talk with you as soon as you get this message. Okay…”

Ashanta paused in front of the drop box on the first floor of her complex. She kissed the package and dropped it in. “…I’ll be at home for the rest of the evening waiting for your…what are you doing here?”

“Hello to you, too.”

He stepped closer smiling as if he was happy to see her, but looks could be deceiving. Ashanta always wondered how a physically beautiful man could be the source of never-ending pain and suffering.

Her initial shock subsided into trepidation upon realizing he was in Houston. She could not form a coherent sentence even if her life depended on it – and she knew it did.

“How about we move this conversation upstairs?” he more than suggested.

She nodded remembering that she was leaving Camille a message. She disconnected the line and threw her phone into her purse.

“After you,” he said gesturing toward the stairs.

She paused. She thought to run, but she had to know if her mother was dead or alive and running would only be a temporary fix. She knew he would find her. He always did.

“What’s the matter? You’re usually so talkative.”

They both knew he was referencing their last conversation. Ashanta looked towards the stairs. She could hear someone coming down the stairwell as he slithered to her side, wrapping her arm in a firm grip. He tightened his hold, moving them forward.

They began to climb the stairs. As they approached the landing for her floor, she saw a neighbor.

“Hey, girl.” Beatrice was another young professional in the building. They clubbed with from time to time.

“Hey.”

The tightening of his hold stopped her from extending the conversation. Ashanta cringed at the look Beatrice was giving him. If only she knew.

 “Girl, you always have a fine man at your side.” Beatrice whispered behind her hand as if she and Ashanta were sharing a delectable secret. Her eyes never left the tall dark handsome stranger before them. She licked her lips and batted her eyes taking a step closer, oblivious to the tension hanging in the air.

He stood with a manly look of appreciation as he surveyed her low-cut shirt with snug jeans. He eyed Beatrice from head to toe. “Why don’t you introduce me to your friend?”

Ashanta looked at him as if he had lost his mind.

“Beatrice this is Talib Kamwi. Talib, Beatrice,” she muttered.

“Nice to meet you,” Beatrice said extending her hand.

Ashanta could not believe this heifer was blushing and carrying on. Talib grabbed her hand and placed a soft kiss on her knuckles.

Unbelievable, she thought.

“Same here,” he said still cradling her hand. The fine creases that outlined his anger-filled eyes minutes before had receded. He held her hand, leaving Beatrice in a babbling stupor.

Beatrice giggled and wistfully said, “You have a wonderful accent. Where are you from?”

“I'm a traveling businessman, but I tend to settle in Libya often,” he flashed a smile, one known for making women disrobe without question.

Ashanta cleared her throat to break up their happy conversation.

“I’m sorry, girl. I’ll leave you alone. Nice meeting you, Talib.” Beatrice walked backwards, retracing her steps, still holding his gaze. She gave him a fingered wave before heading back down the staircase.

“Open the door.” Satan’s spawn was back.

She searched for her keys. What was she going to do? It seemed to be the question of her life. She tried to steady her hands as she attempted to insert the key into the bolt lock. He snatched the keys and unlocked the door, shoving her inside.

Once inside Ashanta pivoted, faced him, and prepared to ask him about his unexpected visit. However, before she could open her mouth she felt the impact of his open-handed slap across her left cheek.

She gripped her face as she look intently into his eyes. What she saw caused her to take several steps backwards. He matched her step for step as if they were ballroom dancing.

Ashanta turned and tried to dart from his reach. He moved, blocking her flight. She threw her hands up, clawing at him, trying to stop the slap she saw coming.

Talib drew back and connected with her face again causing her to stumble to the floor. He knelt over her, their noses inches apart.

“Surprise,” he hissed.

Ashanta cupped her cheek. She could feel the blood rushing through her veins and the swelling causing her left eye to close. Her face was on fire. She scurried on the floor to put distance between them.

“What are you doing here?” she asked as she pulled her body closer to the couch.

“I am here to see you.”

He stood and walked in her direction. He reached for her chin. Ashanta flinched. He turned her face from left to right examining the damage he’d done to her face.

“I always thought you were a beautiful girl that bloomed into a beautiful woman. But you’re too smart for your own good. You refuse to follow simple directions.” His grip on her chin tightened, causing her to wince.

“Talib, I did not sign up for this. I want no part in whatever you’re involved in.”

“Too late, my dear, it’s too late.” He let her go.

She moved to the end of the couch as he lowered his body to sit next to her.

She faced him, calming herself and asked, “How is my mother?”

A lethal smile crossed his face. “She’s in a better place.”

Ashanta exploded. She leaped across the couch. She kicked and swung at him, landing several punches against his solid chest. They struggled until he shoved her. She bounced, inhaled and lunged at him again.

“You are the devil! I hope your sorry ass rots in hell for what you’ve done.”

Her piercing wail rang through the condo. He grew tired of her attack and lifted her nearly one hundred-and-forty pound body with little effort and threw her. She sailed across the room like an old Raggedy Ann doll.

He stalked across the room until he stood over her, “When you make a deal with me, you will pay up, one way or another.”

Pain pulsated through her body. She sat up with both hands on the floor hunched over as she coughed uncontrollably. She wiped her mouth and lifted her hand to see blood.

She watched him walk to her kitchen. Her left eye was swollen shut, but she tried to keep him in view. He reentered the living room with a towel and a glass of juice.

“Here, clean yourself up. We have some things to discuss.”

He reached down and helped her to her feet. He supported her by circling his arms around her body, guiding her to the couch.

Ashanta gently wiped her face with the towel. She looked at him with all the courage she could muster, given the pain and fear she was experiencing. She knew that if he killed her mother—and probably Harold too—he would not think twice about killing her.

Ashanta waited. He sat back on the loveseat that faced her with his elbows resting on either side of him, hands clasped, suspended in air almost level with his mouth.

“How are you?”

Ashanta tensed as if being slapped again. She refused to answer that question knowing that, if given the opportunity, she would kill him with her bare hands.

He smiled at her appalled reaction. “I guess that’s an obtuse question. Let’s get right to the point.”

Yes, lets.

* * *

Fear is more predictable than love. He’d had both and he reveled in the adrenaline produced by fear whereas with love, he’d loved and lost.

Her fear filled the air. Talib inhaled, filling his lungs and exhaled slowly. He hated having to result hitting her knowing that his mother would not approve. He allowed his gaze to fall to his lap as he waited for the memory of his mother to diminish.

He had a job to do and a livelihood to protect. As he watched Ashanta bring the glass to her lips, Talib knew he had to get her talking before she finished her drink.

Ashanta sat back on the couch.

“Sit up,” he barked. She tried to, but failed. He moved over to the couch and assisted her.

“Ashanta, I need to know what you did with my money.”

She laughed in a dreamy voice cupping his cheek. “I always thought you were so handsome.” Her eyes were heavily sliding closed.

Talib shook her, trying to keep her awake. “Open your eyes. I need you to sit up and tell me what you’ve done.” His voice was low and steady.

Ashanta’s eyes opened, her gaze was glossy. She began to mumble, but he couldn’t make out the words.

He put too much in her juice. Taking the glass from her hands, he used a cool towel and wiped it across her face. She opened her eyes.

“I thought you were my knight once. You saved me. I thought you cared for me.” Tears streamed down Ashanta’s face. He didn’t have time for this.

“Where is my money?!!”

The level of his voice startled them both. She’d hidden a half-million dollars and he wanted it. He knew she was responsible.

She began laugh softly and then she doubled over laughing. He stared at her in bewilderment. She pushed herself upright to a sitting position and continued to laugh for some unknown reason. He watched as her tears went from tears of pain and loss to tears of hilarity. She abruptly stopped and the room became still and quiet.

She looked him in the eyes and stated without a slur. “I will never tell you.”

She began to laugh again. Talib straddled her, gripping her throat and began to shake her violently.

“Tell me. Tell me or so help me I’ll kill you.”

“I’m already dead!” Ashanta screamed, fighting to untangle his hands from her throat.

He let her go and she tumbled to the floor gasping for air. He stood and paced the living room. She was right. She was dead, and in a couple of hours, she would draw her last breathe.

Talib reached in his pocket and pulled out his cell phone. “Hey, get over here now. She has about an hour before the drug fully integrates in her system. We need to get what we can and get lost.”

He closed his phone and began to search the room. He’d start with the small office set up in the corner.

Less than an hour later, he heard a knock on the door. Two men joined him. Ashanta was asleep on the floor where he left her. The men began pulling out drawers, turning over her bed. They left a trail of chaos behind their every step.

The condo was a wreck and they were still empty handed. The men went through the apartment one last time. Suddenly, the ringing of Ashanta’s house phone startled them.

Talib entered the kitchen and found the phone sitting on the bar. The answering machine beeped. He heard Ashanta’s carefree tone instructing the caller to leave a message.

He felt twinge of guilt surfaced, but it left as fast as it came. He stopped feeling guilt or remorse years ago. It served no purpose.

“Shani, it’s me. I got your message. Where are you? You have me worried, girl.” A soft chuckle followed. “I will see you at work in the morning. Love you.”

Talib checked the caller ID. Camille Carmichael. He reached for his cell phone. “Hey, I didn’t find what I’m looking for. I’ll be ready to report in the morning.” He disconnected the call.

He sat on the floor next to Ashanta. He lifted her head and rested it on his lap. He had bumped into her, literally, almost fifteen years ago. She was running from some hoodlums not knowing she would regret the day that he saved her because he’d saved her only to take her life.

He ran his hand along her hair. What had he done? He could hear his men moving throughout her apartment. They would find what he needed at all cost.

Talib would find his money and return home. Unfortunately, Ashanta would never see her home country again.

* * *

Ashanta felt out of sorts. Her head was hurting and she wanted to sleep away the pain. She would ask for an aspirin, but she’d sleep first. She thought of her mother and Harold. She then said a prayer for Camille.

She hoped the contents of her package would not lead Camille to the same fate. Putting her regrets, sadness and pain aside, she snuggled closer to the pillow, wiggling, trying to find the right position. She opened her eyes and looked into his. They were distant and cold. She chided herself for her poor sense of judgment, yet again.

“I got you,” he whispered, brushing his index finger across the bruise emerging under her eye. He lifted her into his arms, cradling her like an infant.

She allowed her head to rest on his firm chest. It rivaled the softness of the pillow. Ashanta wanted to ask where he was taking her, but the need to sleep prevailed.