Page 78 of Bastard
Mustafa, with hands clapping and tears falling, is dancing around. Men are laughing as young children look on with bewilderment.
I fiddle with the plastic PVC, marveling at how it folds into a neat disk, making it easy to transport, manage, and assemble. “Is there enough of it?” I croak, my throat tight with emotion.
“Enough for us to begin. My men are working to bring more in.”
“The expense—”
“It’s nothing.”
I stare at him. “You’re about to change the quality of life for this village. But why the sudden urge to do this?” Here ... in Nmimpi ... in the village I love so dearly?
He shrugs.
“And you saidus. It’s enough for us to start while your men bring in more material. You’re staying?”
“Yes.”
Ave María. He’s staying. Here, in Nmimpi. With me.
“What about Ogdenhayer? The mine?”
“For now, my men will handle things. I’ve a team working through the list of buyers. And Barrington is being tracked. With this new influx of orders, he’ll lead us to the mine soon enough.”
“And you’ll run everything from here?”
“For the next two weeks.” His expression softens, and my heart clenches tightly.
“Why?”
“It’s time.”
I bite my lip. Dare I ask? “Time for what, exactly?”
We stare at each other, and I’m immediately eighteen again. Filled with hope, and an obsessive desire to wrap myself around his big body and never let go.
Except, in this moment, I’m not the only person who wants a piece of him. Mustafa wedges herself between us until I’m staring at her back.
Mustafa tugs Hayden into a tight hug. “You found yourself a good man, girl,” she sings. “Smart. Easy on the eyes. A man, not some whimpering boy who will let you lead him around by the nose ring.”
Two weeks, I want to tell her.Then he’ll move on.
Hayden extracts himself, yet he’s grinning.
I roll my eyes. Managing one of them is a struggle. How will I survive both?
Several men wave him over. I watch as he shows them how to assemble the PVC pipes together in a long chain. A lock of hair falls in his face, and with graceful movements, he works it behind his ear. He reminds me so much of the man I first met, the one who tended to a cut on my knee while his men saved my brother’s life.
He’s bigger and more threatening now. The most dangerous of men.
And for the next two weeks, he’smine.
He glances at me before shifting his attention back to the task at hand.
Mustafa clucks. “So, that is how it is.”
I turn, just as she snatches hold of my hand to stare at my ring.
“He is your husband. The one that let you go.”
