Page 60 of Good As Hell

“Go with her.” I urge him. The team has me separated. Indigo and Aliah are ushered in one direction and I in another. We split off as protocol dictates. I step into a black hoodie set they provide, making sure to tuck the wig in neatly.

The entire thing takes seconds. Invisible among the troop of warriors handpicked by my husband, I head out of the stadium.

We have a rendezvous spot where we will change cars five miles from the venue. I suspect that’s where Hassan and Ayaan will be waiting. I know he’s going crazy.

As we reach the cars, the cadre of men surrounding me all freeze then collapses to the ground.

Three black security vans pull up and a tall man fully swathed in black steps from the side door. I can only see his eyes. Eyes I know. Mercury silver eyes of a beautiful little boy I didn’t think lived anymore.

So when the voice whispers. “Hassan did this. Come with me or die.” I don’t question it. I take the hand offered.

Chapter Twenty-One

THE SEVEN

LYRIC ~WESTERN CAPE SOUTH AFRICA

Ihear the men arguing again.

“Ummy?” Looking down at the sorrowful eyes of my son. I don’t know what to say. His worried voice is the same litany asking for his father since the day we arrived. His tantrums have been legend from the moment he realized that his daddy wasn’t coming with us.

Now, I know I know what Hassan would have faced if he kept me from our son. You are immediately the villain. The reasoning doesn’t matter. You’ve taken the person they love most in the world from them, and they resent you for it.

I know already know what he’s going to ask.

“Daddy?” Like clockwork. He’s reverted to mostly English, having stopped asking for Hassan in Arabic weeks ago.

“He’s not here, sweetie.” I say for what feels like the millionth time.

“Daddy?” His face scrunching up. His little lip poking out. The betrayal is clear. The men surrounding us. Supposedly protecting us. Are not his daddy. No matter how kind they are. Well, at least some of them. Ozymandias, DiDi’s cousin, is notat all the kind of man you allow around children. He is a stone-cold killer for what I’ve gleaned from the days I’ve been here. Not that his brother. The smoother yet just as deadly, Nikko with his molten, sliver eyes isn’t just as deadly if not more so.

“This is fucked up by all measure.” Oz hisses. “I got other shit on my agenda. I don’t have time to be babysitting for your ass, bro.”

“Man, fuck you and your little revenge. Trust. You got plenty of time to make El Patrón de la Muerta pay for fucking up your spot. We pay our debts. Always.” Comes the cold reply from the man I haven’t seen in two decades who now runs one of the most powerful criminal syndicates in the world, Nikko Savalle. He swooped in like a super hero the night of the attack at the concert, rescuing me and Ayaan, taking us to safety.

The reports following has us presumed dead. The intel given to Nikko was this was Hassan’s plan the entire time.

“Ummy?” Looking at my son’s outreached hand, I force a smile, taking the block he holds out to me expectantly.

Taking the wooden cube, then another and another, I build the tower he insists on us making and has since we’ve been in Western Cape. I realized soon after getting here that it’s the same replica of the place that he and his father built while I was convalescing after the poisoning.

The thought tore through me as I wondered why didn’t he just let me pass away then? Why nurse me back only to kill me in such a spectacular fashion? Was it so that no questions would be asked if the attack occurred in public rather than in the palace, where the suspicion would fall closer to him and his family?

The days that have passed have not made the treachery easier to bear. Were it not for my son. I’d wouldn’t be able to get out of bed. My heart is broken, yet for him I rise every day to face this new normal. My husband tried to kill me.

The news coverage saying we both perished is all over the global news. And there have been updates every day. Rob didn’t miss one beat in playing the distraught dad and giving interviews. Hassan looks distraught from the few videos I’ve seen. Looking at him, you’d think that he’s had his heart ripped out root and stem. But after having the evidence laid out before me by Nikko and Oz in such a matter of fact dispassionate way has allowed me to see his betrayal for what it is.

“There is a certain expertise my brothers and I have,” Nikko coldly informed me the day after I arrived and demanded answers from him.

Nodding, I digested the information that the little boy my sister, Song, used to feed through a cut out in a window screen grew up to be a ruthless billionaire assassin.“I was contacted through a network we don’t use anymore but for the most extreme cases. The mark was you and the baby, the amount offered astronomical even for us — one hundred fifty million per soul. We had three hours to agree or it would move to another organization that is known for our same efficiency — The Tatsumoto Yakuza and they, like us, never miss. When I saw it was you. I took it, knowing it was the only way to keep my promise.”

“That was the promise of a baby.” I told him in a shaky voice.

“It was a promise, nonetheless.” He contended me with a shrug.

“I attempted to go through channels to discover who made the request. Originally, I wanted to reach out to your husband, but something told me to hold back because previous experience has taught us that these requests come from those closest to home. We were not surprised when we discovered the wire transfer originated from one of Hassan Al Rasheed accounts.”

Thinking about it now doesn’t make it easier. My chest feels like it’s been hacked apart with a rusty hammer. Blow after malicious blow to the dream I had for my little family.

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