Jagger
The next morning, I’ve spent hours holding Mikayla Bryant closely and contemplating Ava Sinclair’s death.
“You must be thinking pretty hard,” Mikayla mumbles in a groggy tone.
I glance down at her, and subconsciously find myself kissing her forehead. “Why’s that?”
“Your eyebrows are kneaded. You haven’t even blinked once and I’ve watched you for over a minute.” She burrows her face onto my shoulder. “Now, I’m starting to suspect you really are a vampire.”
I shake my head. “No, I just have a few things on my mind.”
“Like how we introduce you to my parents, without fully explaining our first encounter?” She raises an eyebrow.
I bite my lip for a moment. How do we fix that? I instantly consider the X Member Organization. The litigation team can bury anything but for Mikayla’s family a level of justice would need to be served. The idea hits me, if Mikayla’s in agreement, the deaths can be pinned on a potential mark. “I have an idea.”
“Don’t tell me, yet, Jagger. I still have to call them, and Cree, and Brit, but can we have a day or two that doesn’t involve too much thinking or murder?” she begins to chew her bottom lip. “Well, I’m aware you like murder, but a day without it, while spent with you would be nice, before…we return to reality.”
She’s staring deep into my eyes. Though I’ve lacked much social stimulation in the past, Mikayla is inferring that ‘we’ will have some sort of future together. Back in Nevada, I thought the same. It didn’t include her past though. It was to be a future of the two of us as assassins. Man, have I grown in a little over a week, but if last night’s altercation between Mikayla’s people and I did not penetrate, then this does.
She can’t bring me around her family or friends. I rub her crinkly hair and kiss her forehead again. “What do you want to do today?”
“Doesn’t matter as long as we’re together.”
***
We dress her in a pair of my cargo pants with strings and a shirt and I’m in a pair of army fatigues and an undershirt. I teach her to be mindful of where she steps while heading downstairs.
“You have killer fish?” Mikayla asks, as she follows me to the garage. At my nod she shakes her head and mumbles, “What happened to the token Rottweiler or pit bull.”
“I’m not home enough for a dog.” I open the garage door.
Her bottom lip drops as we step into the display area, where all of my trucks and cars are. Mikayla stops at the Ferrari. “Oh, let’s drive this one. The wind flowing in our hair…”
I stop at a concept jeep with no doors or roof. “Your hair will flow just the same in this one.”
“Pft, Jag, you really know how to bring a girl down. I want to ride clean… not–”
“This one was built by yours truly. Who will you trust the Ferrari, or me, the man who keeps you safe?”
“In that case, I trust the Ferrari Manufacturer, it’s been around a lot longer than you have, Jagger, no offense.”
“There’s no engine under the hood, so you can sit around looking pretty all you’d like, Kayla.”
She gets into the car and dips her head down as if searching through the contraptions. I come to the car, reach down and press the button to open the hood. Then I hold out a hand for her. “Come see for yourself.”
“You get on my last nerve,” Mikayla grumbles as she takes my palm.
I help her out with a smile. “Sweetheart, if it's any consolation the engine is right here.” I pat the ride I initially offered her.
Twenty minutes later, we’re on the dirt road in the concept jeep that Mikayla calls a go-cart. At every bump in the road, Mikayla holds her hand against the steel bar in front of her. I took the unpaved road, so maybe I should I slow down.
“Let me guess,” she says, “There had to have been an easier way down the hill, right?”
“Can I keep you on your toes?”
“You have no problem with bullying me onto my toes, demanding that I face my fears, so … how should I answer this one?” she giggles.
“I’m going to take you to eat, then we’ll grab groceries and clothing for you.”
She beams. “The fundamentals are important, and I appreciate that. What else do you have in mind, Jagger? You’re not a simple kind of guy.”
“We’ll finish off the afternoon with a little sightseeing.”
***
My ride looks like a heap of junk in between import, luxury vehicles on the street. But when pull into the lot for Nkechi Café, it’s clear that most of the tourists stay away from this joint. I take Mikayla’s hand and help her from the contraption. “You’ll get used to it.”
“I know,” she grins, then the outline of her beautiful breasts rise for a deep breath. “This place smells divine.”
Inside, not one chair matches another. The place is filled with locals, laughing and chatting at their tables.
Ms. Ghanda, the chubby owner, with silver dreadlocks and apron on, greets me at the door in Xhosa, “Molo wenza njani namhlanje, Jagger–How are you doing today, Jagger? Ixesha elide ndingakuboni–Long time no see.” She eyes Mikayla with approval while asking me who she is.
“My friend, Mikayla Bryant,” I respond in English.
“Well, you are a beautiful lady, Ms. Mik–Princess! Princess Mikayla!” She pulls Mikayla into a hug, and then lets her go and begins to bow.
“Please don’t,” Mikayla stutters. “I’m not… I’m… just Mikayla.”
“I was a servant for your mother,” Ghanda’s voice breaks with each word. “When she died, I left the palace, I could not stay there.”
“I’m sorry, we’re just very hungry,” Mikayla says.
I grit my teeth but agree. “Ghanda, please, a table.”
A while later, we’re seated. Ghanda hasn’t taken offense to Mikayla’s brushing off her attempt to talk about the past and Mikayla is polite enough to engage in other conversation with her.
In fact, half the menu is before us as we eat. Mikayla begins to speak of clothing, although I know she’s not ready to brooch the subject of her parents.
“I’m not sure how pretty or how easily recognizable I am with your undershirt and khakis, but when we leave here, can we check out Bamboo Convoy, down the way.”
“Bamboo Convoy?” I cock a brow.
“Yeah, it was a few miles back or so, closer to your house. Unless it’s too expensive, it’s probably too expensive. How about the shop that was in the same center, it didn’t look so couture-ish.”
“Mikayla, let’s talk about your parents now.”
“What was the other shop called, Jag?” She asks through tensed lips, while thinking, “The blue…
“You mean, The Blue Cove,” Ghanda asks, placing salted fish between us. She chuckles. “Jagger won’t step ner’ a foot in The Blue Cove, or any of those other shops down there.”
“Why not? Oh, all of your clothing are bulletpr–um…” Mikayla stops speaking, realizing she is mentioning something that she shouldn’t.
“Jagger’s family owned the entire town, Princess Mikayla, for ages. Now he has that big mansion and looks down on those folks.”
Ghanda shouts a greeting to a new customer as she heads toward the front.
“Your family doesn’t own this town anymore, Jagger?”
“No, and that’s not important, Kayla. What’s important is that you continue to disregard your people and your land.”
“Can we just eat?” she cocks her head to the side.
I rub a hand over my face. “You know what,” I sit back and look her in the eye. “You can be so fucking stubborn, Kayla.”
“Actually, I think we must resurrect the ‘you cannot call me by my nickname’ clause.”
I rub the back of my neck. “Okay, uthando lwami—”
Without watching, she shoves a spoon into the breadfruit porridge–most possibly the only thing she did not like on the entire table–and shoves it into her mouth, then almost gags before swallowing it all down.
“You’re wearing me down,” I warn. “You want to bring up old clauses? Go ahead, and I’ll just take you over my fucking knee, pull off my belt, and beat some sense into you. That was another rule of ours, too. Should we abide by it, as well?”
She chortles. “I wish you would.”
I glance around. If we weren’t in a room full of people she didn’t know, Mikayla would be eating those words as I spank her ass. I slam a hand down onto the table. The side conversations and laughter stop. In a discreet but harsh tone, I tell her, “Mikayla, after your parents death, your uncle sold off much of your family’s land, the south eastern portion for tourism. What the fuck does that tell you?”
“I’m ready to leave, Jagger. Get the check.” Mikayla stands up and starts toward the door.
I pull out my wallet as Ghanda returns to the table. She asks, “The princess is a little different, isn’t she?”
I nod.
“MamLalumi is very interested in Mikayla coming to visit with her. I have heard about Abayomi, and I know you are a good man,” she clasps her hand over her cross pendant. Yeah, Ghanda is one of the Navieans who was persuaded to convert, but even when my mother stopped talking to me, Ghanda would harp about Jesus being the only one who could judge and that my mother ‘needed time.’ “Jagger, Mikayla doesn’t have much time to seek out MamLalumi.”
“Why?”
“The spirits,” she huffs. “I believe in God, first and foremost, but the spirits have asked much of Mikayla when she was a child. I don’t know what Mikayla did to close herself from the spirits, but there is only so much praying and interception that MamLalumi can do for Mikayla. Trust me, the princess is not weak at all. This desire to keep the spirits away from her is no weakness.” She offers a shocked laugh. “One must be very strong… to deny our ancestors.”
I rub the back of my neck, unsure what Ghanda means. I notice my wallet is still in my hand and open it.
She places her hand over mine. “No, please.”
“But you fed us so much.”
“For my future queen? It was an honor. I am still from Nivean, Jagger. Get Mikayla to MamLalumi as soon as possible.”
***
Outside, Mikayla is seated inside the vehicle with the belt across her chest. We’re supposed to get groceries and clothing, yet I want to slap some sense into this woman.
Not sure how to proceed, I decide that we should go sightseeing now. A crazy drive will help me think of how to get through to Mikayla. Her feelings were hurt last night, but this is bigger than her. This is about revenge against Qaaim Mthembu.
Almost thirty minutes later, I’ve traded in the beach city for the wildlife reserve.
Mikayla watched in awe while we pass a group of warthogs in a fight. It doesn’t take long for her shoulders to ease from their tension, and she points. “What is that!”
I glance through the thicket to see wiry horns. “A kudu, species of antelope. He’s hiding from the hogs.”
Though Mikayla shows interest, I continue to navigate silently in search of what I really want her to see.
Out in the savanna, we see most of the big five game animals, elephant, rhinoceros, and cape buffalo. It takes a while to spot a pride of African lions.
“What are you doing?” Mikayla’s voice becomes high pitched.
Continuing to move closer, I tell her, “Just relax, that’s what I built this damn thing for. Close encounters.”
She reaches a hand out, and places it over mine. “N-no…They will kill us!”
As she yanks at my bicep I continue toward the animals. There are nine of them lounging around together. I head toward the king. A lioness is prancing around him, begging for attention, just as Mikayla is begging me to turn around.
“There’s no windows on this thing, Jag. They can get us.”
“Yeah, they could probably leap between the bars of this...go cart is what you called it…and have a good meal of us,” I smile, while cruising closer to the leader of the pack.
Close enough to see that the king of the jungle is tracking us with his eyes.
I can see his muscles begin to shift, and switch in reverse just as he lunges.
Mikayla screams at the top of her lungs, while I gun the Ferrari engine. Her thick curly hair whips into her face as we jet backward.