Page 72 of Good As Hell

The piece is a masterwork that symbolized my reign as the Empress. Tonight is the night, I finally say publicly what has largely been speculation from the moment I wedded Hassan — I’m retiring from singing.

I’ll miss performing. Full stop, there is nothing like the love and adoration of my fans. But I one thing realized as I visited the people who suffered the tragedy of the earthquake is serving others is just as fulfilling. It’s different for sure and I don’t ever think I will ever be a traditional wife. A queen for her people, yes. We all have our special gifts and mine is making people loved by my presence. I realize my spirit for service is just as great as the one I have preforming.

“Shukran,” I say to the guards who’ve protected me on this little journey to my dressing room.

Walking in to the spacious dressing room, which is actually three times the size of any I have had while on tour. I notice the elaborate headdress Fi designed. “It looks heavy.” She assuredme when I said I was scared I’d break my neck trying to wear it. “It’s light but pointy.” She had the nerve to snicker as Fariq and I look on marveling at her creation.

“You are amazing,” He said, looking at her with adoration shining in his eyes.

In that moment, I realized that despite the circumstances that brought us here, we both found what our hearts long for — partners who see us. Love us as we. I feel like we won.

Taking in the sheer size of the room, I take in the lengths Khadijah went to make me feel pampered and appreciated. “Deacon and I have a surprise for you.” There are lounges placed in inviting groups in case I wanted to have my entourage with me. I decided to keep it small. Who it seems, is a little late. There is a massage table and a chair overlooking the city. Walking deeper into the room, I see a bathtub ready if I want to freshen up after my performance. Though, I appreciate the sentiment. I’m leaving when I’m done. Bouquets of flowers from the bride and groom, their families and the fans cover every surface. Some stand as tall as my five-foot-three. There are also enough gifts here to rival those of the bride. Though her daddy may not be a happy camper, the rest of the family surely has no problem showing their appreciation. “Y’all take this hospitality stuff seriously.” I whisper, looking at the triple tier pink diamond necklace gifted by her oldest brother, Jhadari.

It wasn’t lost on me after our impromptu meeting that her fiancé reached out to Hassan to make the arrangements for the wedding and not her father.

“I’d hope that the Ben Saladins would come to the table since it was so well known that Jhori dotes on his daughter.” I told Hassan a few days later as we bathed together.

“Not that prideful motherfucker.” Hassan muttered, as he made long swathes, caressing my back with the loofa. “It’s fine. I’ll never beg a bitch to do anything for me. Just as he made hisbillions doing work for the kingdom, so can another. Now, come let me put you to bed. You look exhausted.” Hugging me to him, he rose out of the bath, then took his time drying me off. Which proved to kick me right out of the tiredness plaguing me and straight onto his dick.

The thing about Hassan is how intentional he’s being in showing me his love. He didn’t like me doing this for Khadijah, but he’ supported me just the same.

My security has quadrupled. I can talk to my sisters now that I have my phone back.

“Did you put a tracker on my damn phone?” I pressed Hassan on a hunch.

“You bet your little ass I did, wife.” He quipped back. “Would you prefer it in your body?”

Baby steps, I reminded myself, taking the phone back and updating my social media. Anaïs immediately reached out, wanting to negotiate the terms of the merger with her brand. I’d have to remain a silent partner, which is fine with me. I want as much anonymity as possible in the next phase of my life.

Knowing I can’t wait for the hairstylist of the wardrobe assistant any longer, I step over to the clothing wrack. At first I’m confused by what I’m seeing. Feet are propped up and sticking out beneath the dresses, like the Wicked Witch of the West. Confusion has me frowning down at what I’m seeing for longer than it should.

“Their deaths are your fault, whore.” The wrathful words have me spinning around, into the hate filled face of Jhori Bin Saladin. That’s when I see the second woman — the hair and make-up artist hired for the event slumped behind him against the wall with her head hanging at an odd angle.

Before the words register, he’s grabbing me by the throat, trying to break my neck. He doesn’t count on the fact that Didi’s cousin, Xander-Rafe LeRoi, taught me how to defend myselfback when I first went on the road along with his sisters and cousins back when he first joined the BPB. I kept those lessons up and when I got my money up and wanted to hire him as my personal security, he declined, because serving the people of Birmingham means so much to him. He still flew out every year to coach me for a few weeks.

So that’s how Jhori Bin Saladin fucked around and found out I was the wrong one to try to kill. Instead of grabbing his wrists, I stick my arms between his arms and break his hold on my throat with an upthrust and outward motion.

Immediately, I punch him in the throat. His height makes it impossible to get a straight shot. My knuckles glance off to the side.

He stumbles back but manages to backhand me, causing me to crash into the headdress place on a settee. Stars dance in front of my vision. Blood fills my mouth and I immediately feel my cheek swelling.

“You’re nothing. My daughter will be queen.” Heaving, he smiles at my quizzical expression. “Accidents happened all the time. And Deacon Shipmoore will have a rather tragic one. Then, after an appropriate time of grieving, Khadijah and Hassan will find each other again. She will give him the legitimate the heirs the Al Rasheed line deserves. No Black American mongrels.” The malice in his gaze lets me know this motherfucker has absolutely no qualms about killing my baby.

“If you think Hassan can be manipulated like that and he will just marry Khadijah, you are fucking delusional. Bitch, I’m irreplaceable.” I say with pride. “I love your daughter, but she could never be me. Why do you think she took her L the with so much grace? She loves Deacon, sure, but even she knows there’s no comparison with the Empress.” The way he swells up like the Hulk is almost laughable.

He charges, ready to tear me to shreds. I don’t let that cause fear. “Always stay calm. Conquer your fear, Empress. That’s how you survive.” I can hear Xander-Rafe LeRoi’s words in my ear as I let him barrel down on me full speed.

Just as he throws his body forward, I grab the headdress, pulling it tight against my body. Fi’s famous pointy end thrust outward. Too late, he realizes his mistake as he impales himself on the gilded crown headdress. Like Fi said, it’s light but pointy. The sharp end spears him in the chest.

Shock and hate fill the stare above me. A stream of blood spills from the corner of his mouth. His body is rigid as he fights death for the few miserable seconds it takes the devil to drag his ass to hell.

Finally he slumps. His body is heavy as hell. Pushing my cramping hands outward as I shift my body to one side, I manage to shove his heavy ass off me.

He lands with a muffle thump. Thick, dark blood rapidly fills his pristine white shirt. Soon it pools beneath him. I stumble back against the chaise in my haste to get away, not wanting it to touch me more than the copious amounts that have already dripped on me when he skewered himself.

Saying I have the heebie-jeebies is an understatement. I feel gross with his blood marring the beautiful creation Summer made me for the event. On shaky legs, I make my way over the short distance to the settee furthest away from the bodies. I press my watch to summon my villain prince.

“Lyric.”

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