Page 75 of Taeja

“Yeah. No offense, but your taste sucks.”

“You can,” was all he said before he headed to the bedroom and had a cold shower. Thoughts of the upcoming meeting made his dick quickly grow limp. After he got done with his shower, he dressed in his riding gear, then grabbed the bag that was hidden at the back of his closet. Jogging downstairs, he found Taeja in the living room, giggling with someone on the phone.

When he got into her line of view, Taeja paused the call and licked her lips while admiring him. “A so man fi look and smell good.”

Zain smirked, her compliment giving him a confidence boost. He pulled his wallet out, then gave his card to her. “If you need to leave, my car key’s in the kitchen.”

Taeja grinned. “Have a good day.”

“You too, Taeja.” He went to the garage, then hopped on his bike. He secured the helmet on his head before blazing to Damon’s house. Zain preferred his bike to his sports car. If he ever needed to go anywhere, he usually opted to borrow one of Damon’s cars.

Neatly parking his bike in the driveway and resting the helmet on the handlebar, Zain headed inside the house. He went to his bedroom and changed his clothes. He clenched his jaw as he stared at his reflection in the mirror.

He was dressed in a service uniform. Badges and tabs were paired with a simplenametag — Stark.

Unclenching his fist, Zain caught his hair into a low ponytail before securing the beret on his head. Then, he headed to the garage.

“I should drive the other car to piss him off more,” Zain mumbled as he settled in the car’s seat. Zain chuckled at his devious thought. He wasn’t sure why his brother had such an unhealthy attachment to that old car, but Damon never allowed anyone to drive or clean it. Zain was sure there were cobwebs in there somewhere.

Pushing the thoughts of his brother aside, Zain drove out. Two hours later, he arrived at his destination. He parked and inhaled a shaky breath before exiting the car.

The first thing he noticed was the dark clouds looming above. The wind whistled through trees, carrying along the conversations of the soldiers roaming around the compound. Stones danced on the ground as vehicles and feet trampled them.

How Zain wished to be with Taeja. Or Damon. Anywhere except here.

He exhaled a breath and stood more upright, giving himself a silent pep talk before taking the first step toward the administration building. He was halfway there when a yell halted him.

“Stork!” came the voice again.

Coldness gripped him. There were only two people alive who knew of that name. It couldn’t be—

Zain turned around, his eyes widening when his suspicions were confirmed.

Owen Hudson.

Beside him, Nwabisa O’Donoghue.

They were in similar attire and taking long strides toward him. When they caught up to Zain, they flanked his sides and continued the journey.

Zain glanced at Owen. “Twenty,” he said before looking at Nwabisa. “Jollof.”

Nwabisa rolled her eyes. “I’ll never forgive you guys for giving me that name.”

Owen chuckled. “It isn’t as bad as Twenty.”

“Duh.You’re number twenty out of how many kids? I don’t even remember.”

“Twenty-five,” Zain answered, chuckling as Twenty-two glared at him.

“A time now unu lowe me. Ano my fault Jamaican Rasta men are a different breed,” Owen hissed.

“Speaking of…” Jollof trailed off, her eyes fixing on Zain’s hair. “You know Kennedy is gonna be on your ass, right?”

“Fuck Kennedy,” Zain spat.

Twenty pretended to open a beer, then made a toast. “Amen to that.”

Jollof laughed and did the same. She took a large chug from her imaginary beer, then tossed the bottle on the grassy terrain to her left. “Seriously though, Twenty. Your pet name is better than Jollof. I’m telling you, Nigerians know their way around a kitchen.” She paused to do a chef’s kiss. “Their jollof rice is perfect.”

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