Page 91 of Huntsman
“Yeah, Jamari. I remember. Why’re you calling? What’s wrong?” I ask, moving again and pushing through the building’s entrance. I jog down the front steps, aggravation flaring like a struck match at the sight of some asshole wearing a backpack leaning on the rear of the Camaro. “The fuck?” I murmur. “Hey, muthafucka—”
Jamari straightens and turns to face me, lowering his arm. I follow suit, briefly glancing down to end the call since I’m staring at the person on the line.
“Hi, Eshe…”
“Jamari.” I slide the burner into the back pocket of my pants and ease my gun out of its holster. “How did you find me?”
His eyes widen, and he pops up his hands even though I haven’t pulled my Glock completely free yet. “Hey, wait, wait. The Camaro. Before he left, Malachi told me he loaned you the Camaro. He wanted me to track it down and bring it back. But you’re not supposed to be with it.”
Unease skates down my spine, tingles at the base. Leaving my Glock at my back, I take a step toward him.
“What do you mean, ‘before he left’? And why wouldn’t I bewith the car? Where else would I be? Or better yet, where do you think I’m supposed to be?”
He slides his hands in the front pockets of the bomber jacket and glances around. Maybe he senses the same disquiet I do.
“Get in the car.” I unlock it with the key fob, and we both slide in. As soon as his door closes, I turn to him. “A’ight. Talk.”
“A few hours ago, H received a video of you.” His brown gaze roams over my face as if searching for… something. “You were being tortured. There was blood. So much blood. And your screams.” He swallows, and the look in his eyes… “Abena gave him an address and ultimatum: Show up and exchange himself for you, or she would cut you in pieces. I saw the video myself. But now, up close…”
“I’ve been here since I left Malachi’s loft earlier today. Abena hasn’t—” The fuck? Tortured? Screams? My pulse starts to race, and without my permission, I stroke the too-smooth skin flap where my pinkie once was. “Jamari, I need you to think carefully, okay? What was I wearing? Or what did you see in the room? Anything you can remember.”
“I don’t need to remember. I can just show you.”
He pulls out his phone, and in moments, I’m staring at footage of sixteen-year-old me strapped to an all-too-familiar chair, in a room that I still see in my nightmares. When that video ends, he plays the one of Abena with the instructions she left for Malachi.
“That fucking bitch,” I whisper.
“I don’t get it,” Jamari says as I pass him back the phone. “Why would she go through all that trouble to get him? He didn’t have anything to give her.”
“Heis what she wanted. If she has him, she has me.”
“Fuck,” Jamari breathes. “She’s using him as bait to trap you.”
“Yeah.” I chuckle, sightlessly staring at the apartment building through the windshield. “If it worked once, why not try it again?” I shake my head. “Only, it’s been hours since she’s had him. Why hasn’t she…?Shit.” Dread and fear twist my stomach, which cramps so hard, I almost double over. “Jamari,my phone was lost in the explosion at Elysian. Is there any way you can access the phone company’s records and get my texts or phone calls?”
“Hell yeah.” He zips open his backpack and pulls out a laptop. After I give him my info, he has my records pulled up in an alarmingly short amount of time.
“Holy shit.” I gape at him. “You’re like a Black Penelope Garcia.”
He smirks. “Nah, ma. Don’t get shit twisted. She a white Jamari Scott.”
Turning the laptop toward me, he taps on the most recent message at the top of the column. All amusement flees his face when he clicks on the attachment included in the text. His low, pained whimper mirrors the one I trap before it escapes me.
Other than that sound, silence fills the car as we watch the short, shadowed, but startlingly clear video of a bloody, injured Malachi. My attention zeroes in on one wound in particular. She cut off his finger. That evil muthafucka cut off his finger. The scream that surges up from the depths of my soul—from the soul of that tortured sixteen-year-old girl—gathers in my chest and explodes. Only years of discipline imprison the enraged, anguished howl, but it ricochets in my head, temporarily deafening me.
I failed. I failedhim.
The sole reason for me walking away from Malachi was to protect him, and yet… the very thing I sacrificed to avoid happening occurred. Abena got her hands on the one person who has the power to bring me to my knees.
“Eshe?” Jamari’s soft, hesitant touch on my shoulder snaps me from my plunge into madness and rage. “Eshe. Did you see the rest of Abena’s text?”
“No,” I say, my voice a hoarse rasp. “What does it say?”
“That you have until tomorrow night to come to the obodo, kneel before her, and confess to treason in front of the family. If not, she’ll kill H.”
I wrap a hand around the steering wheel, squeeze until the leather creaks a complaint. “Okay.” I nod, then glance at Jamari, my heart lodged at the base of my throat. I swallow, but cotton fills my mouth. “Thanks for your help.”
“Yeah, no problem. What now?” he asks, shutting his laptop down and returning it to his backpack as I start the car.
