Page 7 of Bastard
“Hell no. He scares the hell out of me.”
“He doesn’t even interact much with the villagers,” I murmur. Yet he always seems to be lurking nearby ... watching me.
Which is ridiculous. The days of being watched over ended the moment I was forced into a helicopter and sent away from Loreto. The man’s behavior makes it impossible to dismiss him. And there is good reason to be wary of him.
Days after I signed a two year contract with United World Corps, a militant group with extremist ties attacked and killed three Westerners in Kotsomo, a village located a hundred miles south of Nmimpi. New recruits had been reassured that it was an isolated attack. Since my arrival in Nmimpi, there’ve been a few militant sightings. A month ago, word reached us about a group who’d barreled through several quiet, tranquil villages along the Zambia and Malawi border, spouting their anti-government agenda and anger toward Westerners.
My gaze lingers on Tight-Lipped.Are they the reason you’re here?
Growing up as I did, I learned the hard way to be cautious, to pay attention to your sixth sense when things seem off. Alarm bells accompanied by waving red flags are going off about this man.
I make a mental note to ask the village matriarch, Mustafa, a sweet little old woman with a vibrant yet nosy personality, more about him.
Donovan claps his hands, drawing my attention. “Trivia question?” he asks with a grin. It’s one of the games I started to pass the time. Better this, than him pestering me with personal questions.
“Okay. Your turn.”
He scratches his head and pretends to contemplate a difficult question. “How many square miles is Malawi?”
“Too easy, 45,745 square miles. And Malawi is the one hundredth largest country in the world. It’s a lot of area to cover if you are on a mission to terrorize people.”
Donovan pauses to search my expression. “Is that why you seem out of sorts tonight? Are you worried about the militants?”
“I’m a little worried—it’d be foolish not to be.” I break the seal on an unopened box. With luck and if word has spread about tonight’s presentation, Nmimpi will be bustling with men within the hour.
“UWC thinks we’re safe.” Donovan frowns, and I wonder if this is the first time he’s considered the danger. “What do you think?” he asks.
I sigh. “Nowhere is safe.” Which is exactly the argument I would have given my brother, Diego, if he’d tried to prevent me from working here.
There’s another statistic I don’t share with Donavon; there’s a one-hundred percent chance Diego would freak out if he knew militants were attacking Westerners. Work, along with his new fiancée, Aubrey, are keeping him busy so I’m hoping he hasn’t heard about the attacks. During our conversations prior to my departure, I was careful not to mention them.
But ... I narrow my eyes on the man by the baobab tree ... does Diego know the truth? Did he hire this brick of a man to watch over me? I glance around. I wouldn’t put it past my brother to come stepping out of the African tundra, scowling and cursing and ready for battle. My older brother puts theoverin overprotective.
I feel Donovan’s eyes on me. “We’re just as safe here as we are anywhere. But just in case, you know what to do if they show up, right?”
“Meet you near the shrub behind Mustafa’s hut,” Donovan murmurs.
“With all your possessions. Don’t leave anything in plain sight that might suggest a Westerner is living in Nmimpi.”
He nods and offers me a thoughtful look. “I’d never have thought to do that. Establishing a meeting place in case of emergency, perhaps. But have an extended plan for the worst-case situation, covering up our being here by hiding our belongings? Did you read that in a book somewhere? It’s the last thing that’d cross my mind. I mean how do you even know to think of that?”
I don’t answer him. What can I tell him? How violence is a regular part of my existence? That I come from a place where cartels paint the streets red and where, sometimes, even the most inexperienced of women finds themselves with a pistol pressed to some letch’s head.
You wouldn’t be looking at me with moonstruck eyes if you knew the truth, Donovan.No hay inocencia en este mundo brutal.
“You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”
“There’s always risk to foreigners abroad. But crossing a city street in the US is a risk. Finding yourself outside during a lightning storm is a risk. Do you press the crosswalk button and wait for the green signal to cross, or sprint out into traffic? Do you stand in a field and wave your fist at the darkening sky, or do you open an umbrella and hurry for better cover? Life is full of risks. How you navigate them is what counts.”
Hetaught me that. Always be prepared. Always have a plan.
I shake off the thought and open the box in front of me. “GTKY question.” It’s another game we play to pass the time, though I seldom initiate it.
Donovan sighs. “As if the answer will help me get to know you better.”
“My favorite color.”
He pauses and considers me. “Pink.”
