Page 29 of The Prodigy 2: Rise of a Queen

12

Malika

IwaiteduntilIwas all cried out before I let myself think straight. That was a mistake, though, because thinking straight only made me more depressed. What I wanted—what Ineeded—was to get drunk or high and black out until the pain went away, but that was neither healthy nor possible with Jakari worrying and checking on me like a nurse on night shift.

So I just laid around for three days, trying to wait it out. But grief has all the time in the world, and she’s a greedy, stealthy bitch. Just when you think you’re feeling a little better, she sits right back down on top of your chest, suffocating and beating you into submission.

The first night was rough. I blamed Jakari, his raggedy mama, his trifling ass daddy, and the whole Windermere family for ruining my life. It made sense in my grieving brain.

The second night was a little better. I was only mad at Jakari and his parents.

The third night was when I used my good sense and realized Jakari wasn’t at fault at all. He thought he was being a good son when he did what he did, and it was obvious he was still struggling with it. I’d seen for myself how that night haunted him through his dreams.

Even Gab…I mean, it was fuck her to infinity and beyond, but she didn’t know who my mother was when she did it. All she saw was the woman who had broken up her happy home. Look how I reacted when I found out Jakari was talking to that pink bitch. If I’d had a gun…shit. Who knows what I would have done?

But none of these realizations made it any less painful to know my mother was dead. Before, I had hope that she was still out there, and that one day, I’d get a knock on the door, and she’d be there, older, gray, a little wrinkly, maybe, but ready to pick up right where we left off. Now, it was over. The dream was dead. And even worse than that, she was laying out there in the woods. Alone. Under mud and leaves and brush.

She deserved better.

Kenya Catherine Andrews wasn’t the best mother, but she definitely deserved a better ending, and a better resting place, than the one she got.

It was almost three in the afternoon when I dragged myself out of the bed. After I brushed my teeth, I got in the shower and stayed there until my tears ran dry and the water ran cool.

In my towel in the steamy bathroom, I stared at what I could see of my reflection after I wiped a clear path on the clouded mirror. I looked tired. Beat down. Sunken in. Wrung out. I was grateful when the lingering steam reclaimed the mirror and erased my face.

I didn’t have a clue how to deal with any of this information. It was like an avalanche. In one week alone, I found out my husband’s uncle was trying to have him killed, and my mother-in-law killed my mother, who had been sleeping with my husband’s father—who was also killed by my mother-in-law, only very, very slowly.

It was a hot fucking mess.

Sad, too. All these lives ruined. All this pain and suffering. And for what? What was it all for?

I leaned against the bathroom counter to steady myself and support my weak body. My appetite was returning slowly, but I hadn’t eaten nearly enough since Jakari told me the truth. A truth I’d begged for, but now wished I hadn’t.

Nothing would ever be the same.

A shame, too, because I thought me and him were gonna be happy together.

I should have known better.

Him kidnapping me really should have been my first clue.

I exited the bathroom, closing my eyes as the cool air hit me. After a long sigh, I dropped down onto the bed and thought some more about drowning my sorrows in something. There was liquor here, I knew. Probably weed, too. And, of course, Jakari. Who had waited three days just to hear me speak. I knew he had shit to do, but he lingered to make sure I was okay. It was the least he could do, yes, but he did it, and it was nice knowing he was right out there in the living room if I needed him.

I picked up my phone and sent him a quick text.

Come here.

A few seconds later, his heavy footsteps came echoing down the hall before he appeared in the door looking unsure, an expression I’d never seen him wear before.

Big, strong, gangster Jakari was at my mercy.

“You need something?”

I nodded. “Do you have any weed?”

He frowned. “You wanna smoke?”

“Yes or no?”

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