Souraya didn’t want to pick up the phone when she saw it was Ahmed calling. He’d dropped her off at her hotel just hours before, still apologetic but without an explanation, and still with those iced off eyes.
It didn’t matter. She had ordered room service and the hotel staff had set it up at the foot of her king-size bed, metal domes covering the plates and cutlery wrapped in linen. After they left, she opened the domes, putting them aside in a rough stack. The plates were filled with fried yam and plantain, pepper stew, snails and gizzards, skewers of suya, two bowls of crème brûlée. Souraya turned on the television and watched a reality show while picking at the plates, the blue silk of her dress crumpled around her in the bed. When Ahmed called, she stared at her phone until it stopped ringing. He called again, and after a few moments, Souraya answered.
“What do you want?” she snapped.
“Tell me your room number,” he said. “I’m here.”
“What?”
“I’m at the elevators. Tell me where you are.”
Souraya told him her room number out of shock more than anything.
“See you in a bit,” he said, then he hung up. Souraya looked down at her phone, her brain moving slowly in confusion. Why had he come back? Why did she let him come up? Was she going to let him in or would she just yell at him in the corridor and send him away?
She reached for a spoon and cracked the bubbled sugar in her bowl of crème brûlée, sinking the metal curve into the soft pale yellow below. It melted on her tongue, a smooth ephemeral, crystals of sharp sweetness breaking between her teeth. On the TV screen, an enthusiastic girl was jerking her shoulders around as she gave a horrible audition, the judges staring aghast. She was moving like someone who didn’t worry about the faces around her. Souraya thought she had a point.
There was a knock on her door, and she paused the reality show, putting down the bowl before sliding off the bed and padding barefoot across the room. She peered through the spyhole and Ahmed’s jawline fell into view, his head turning as he looked down the corridor. He knocked again, calling her name softly this time. Souraya leaned her forehead against the wood, sighing as she unlocked the door, the latch clicking under her fingers. She pulled the door open, and Ahmed looked at her. His eyes were alive again, if a little shattered. They stared at each other without speaking for a few moments.
“May I come in?” he finally asked.
Souraya stepped aside so he could pass, then closed the door and folded her arms across her chest. Ahmed looked at the plates of food heaped on the tray.
“I’m sorry about lunch,” he said, trailing his fingers against the edge of her bed.
“It’s fine,” Souraya said, finally hunting down her voice. “You didn’t eat either. Help yourself.”
Ahmed inclined his head in gratitude but didn’t touch the food. He stalked through her suite, his eyes cataloging everything. It felt a little proprietary and it annoyed her, even as she noted the tightness of his shoulders and the way his hands intermittently shook.
“Why did you come back?”
He looked surprised at her question. “Why wouldn’t I?”
Souraya growled softly. “If you leave, maybe you should stay gone.”
Ahmed stopped pacing and narrowed his eyes, sliding his hands into his pockets.
“Are you going to ask another promise of me?”
This time, she was the one surprised. Was she going to shove him away again? It would be the smart thing to do. Ola would scream at her to do it.
“I don’t like inconsistency,” she replied.
Sorrow crossed his face, so naked and clear that it shocked Souraya to her core.
“Ahmed?” She took a step toward him, but he stepped away.
“What can I even offer you?” he asked, almost to himself. His shoulders bowed forward.
Warning crept over the back of her neck. “What happened, Ahmed?”
He shook his head and when he looked at her, his eyes vacillated between wild and cold. “First things first,” he said. “I’ll always come back for you, Souraya. Unless bound by a promise that stops me.”
She waved a hand dismissively. “Something happened after you dropped me off. Tell me, Ahmed.”
A raw laugh spilled from his mouth, and he leaned against her bathroom door. “You know, after Joburg, I thought about this city when I thought about us.”
Souraya frowned. “Why?”
“Because you hate this place. Because I am this place. You did the right thing forcing me away.” He pushed off the door and came toward her. “Otherwise I would have tracked you down, darling. I know I’ll corrupt you and still, here I am.”
Ahmed stopped right in front of her and raised his hands to cup her face in his palms. Souraya sighed at the contact, the sound slipping out of her mouth unbidden. He bent his head to brush his mouth against hers and she swayed into him, her hands finding his biceps.
“Ahmed,” she whispered. “Stop trying to distract me.”
He kissed her deeper and backed her up against the wall, his hips pressing against hers. “I did something terrible,” he said against her lips. “That’s what happened after I left.”
“You’ve done many terrible things.”
“And you don’t care?”
“I didn’t say that.” She kissed down the column of his throat and her body thrilled as he slid a hand up her thigh, under her dress. It had been so long since she’d felt his touch and Souraya was surprised at how badly she craved it, how much she wanted to hear the sounds of wonder and gratitude that he made each time he was inside her. “Ahmed.”
His hand dipped between her legs and her back arched, a hungry cry crawling out of her mouth.
“Yes,” he crooned. “I missed you, darling.”
Souraya fought to gather her mind as he stroked her. “Tell me what you did.”
Ahmed’s hand stilled and his breath passed over her hair.
“Why do you always try to see me?” he murmured. “Why won’t you look away?”
“I’m not afraid of you. I’ll never be afraid of you.” He leaned back slightly to look at her properly, his fingers sliding again beneath her panties. Souraya could feel how slick and ready she was, how her hips were writhing against him. “Tell me,” she insisted, gasping.
His jaw tightened and he placed his mouth next to her ear, thrusting two fingers into her as he spoke. “I killed someone today, darling.”
Souraya cried out as he slammed his fingers in and out, exactly as rough as she liked it. Pleasure stretched taut over her body even as her mind fought to understand what he’d said. Ahmed was still talking.
“He was trying to blackmail me. I fucked him in my living room and I choked him till he stopped breathing. Is that what you wanted to hear, Sou? Are you happy now?” Ahmed was holding her up as he finger fucked her; Souraya’s legs had gone weak as his wrist worked. She moaned as the images Ahmed laid out for her came to life in her head.
“You choked him…while fucking him?” Her voice was ragged, her mouth scraping against his neck.
Ahmed swore violently and pulled her tighter to him. “How are you so goddamn wet, darling? Didn’t you hear what I just said?”
She’d heard him perfectly well. Souraya dropped a hand to the front of his trousers and pulled down his zipper. He was, as she expected, hard as iron in her hand. Ahmed hissed out a desperate breath.
“Sou, for fuck’s sake. Make me stop. Tell me to stop.”
She let out a small laugh. “Don’t put that on me. Stop if you want.”
He stared at her like she’d lost her mind. “I killed a man, Sou.”
“It wasn’t the first time.”
Ahmed shook his head, his face solemn. “It’s the first time I’ve done it with my bare hands.”
“Hmm.” She stroked his erection, and he made a tangled sound. “Does that make a difference? Dead is dead.”
“Sou.”
“Or is it because you were fucking him while you did it?” His erection jumped in her hand and Souraya gave him a sharp grin. Ahmed slid his fingers out of her and lifted them to her mouth, watching with hooded eyes as she licked them clean.
“How can you ask me that?” He leaned his forehead against hers.
Souraya reached into his pocket with her free hand, finding the condom he always kept there. Ahmed’s mouth softened as she tore off the wrapper, and he dragged in rough breaths when she rolled the latex over him.
“What are you doing?”
She ignored his questions. “How did it feel?” He was pushing her dress up past her hips, skimming past her sheathed blade like it was nothing, shoving her legs open with his knee. Something close to anger pulled at his face. Souraya kept pushing because it felt good. “You liked it, didn’t you, baby? It made you feel like a god? To hurt him like that?”
Ahmed grabbed her hair and entered her in one hard stroke, cutting her question short as she screamed. He slid out and pushed in again and Souraya let her head fall back, her body supported by his greedy hands, her mouth cracked open in a laugh.
“Just like that,” she gasped out. “Fuck me like you fucked him, baby.”
“Fuck you,” he bit out. “Fuck you, Sou.”
She laughed again and felt him lose control, something he’d never done with her before. He thrust into her so roughly that her head slammed against the wall, over and over again, his fingers bruising her skin, his teeth scoring her shoulder. A warped victory filled her chest. Ahmed wasn’t fucking the broken girl he’d found in a penthouse. He was fucking the woman who’d looked at him, who hadn’t looked away, and finally, it felt real. When he circled her throat with his long fingers, Souraya shuddered and came, her voice winging through the room. Ahmed called on the name of God as his orgasm hit, and they both collapsed to the floor.
There was nothing but the sound of both of them panting for a few moments, then Ahmed slid out of her and gathered her in his arms, dropping kisses on her head. Souraya could feel him trembling.
“Who are you?” he murmured. “Who the fuck are you?”
She let herself be held, inhaling the scent of his sweat, and she didn’t answer. Neither of them brought up what he’d confessed to.
Finally, Souraya lifted her face to look at him. “What about your friend?”
“I’m not sure yet. My calls aren’t going through.” He reached down to his pocket and pulled out his phone to check it. Souraya trailed a finger across his chest, her mind scattered in a few directions, only returning to him when he swore softly.
“What is it?”
“Messages from Kalu and Okinosho.” Tight lines pulled at his lips. “Kalu’s somewhere in the lowland, apparently.”
“And Okinosho?”
“Hasn’t been able to find Kalu so he wants me to deliver him myself. Tonight.”
Souraya grimaced. “Will you?”
Ahmed sighed. “I have to. Okinosho’s now claiming Kalu won’t be harmed. I have to keep him safe.”
“Can you trust the pastor?”
“Not sure there’s a choice here.” He smiled sadly at her. “Maybe your friend came through.”
Souraya sat up on an elbow. “That would explain it. That’s good, right?”
Ahmed nodded, his eyes eating in her face. “Come with me,” he said. “To pick up Kalu.”
“I don’t know, Ahmed.” It was a bad idea. Souraya had no business flirting with this world, no business with a man as dangerous as Ahmed Soyoye, not if she wanted to keep the life she’d built for herself. But she’d already fucked him against the wall and said unthinkable things in his ear and none of it had felt unfamiliar. God help her, but maybe she was more of this city than she wanted to admit. She should run. She should get on a plane and get out while she still could, before this man wrapped more of his shadowed tendrils around her with such terrible tenderness.
“Darling. Please.”
Souraya closed her eyes as her resolve crumbled.
“Fine,” she said. “I’ll go with you.”
The drive down to the lowland had been quiet, just the two of them in another of Ahmed’s cars, listening to Aṣa sing over the speakers. Halfway down, Ahmed reached out his hand across the space between them, and Souraya took it in hers. They held hands as the city draped past their windows, Ahmed’s palm wrapped warmly around hers.
When they pulled up to the address Kalu had emailed them, Ahmed raised Souraya’s hand to his mouth, kissing the tendons that ran along the back of it into her fingers.
“Stay inside the car,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”
He stepped out before she could say anything, and the door slammed shut. Souraya watched through the windshield as Ahmed walked up to the gate and spoke to the gateman, a short and aggressive figure with curled shoulders and gesticulating arms. They both took out their phones, and Ahmed typed on his for a while, tilting the screen toward the gateman, who peered through the iron bars, pointing and shaking his head. Ahmed nodded and typed some more, then showed it to the man again, who nodded this time, then waited and checked his own phone after a few moments. He nodded tersely and Ahmed slid a small bundle of cash through the gate. The man on the other side finally broke into a kola-nut-stained smile and started to open the gate. Ahmed saluted, smiling back, and returned to the car, climbing in beside Souraya.
“What was that?” she asked.
“It’s a private club,” Ahmed said, shaking his head. “The cost of the address is a five-million-naira membership. I had to transfer the money to their account immediately.”
“Really? Just to pick up Kalu? You shouldn’t have paid.”
“Oh, they make sure you do once you’re here. There’s a squad of soldiers over there on the side.” Ahmed gestured with his head as they drove into the compound and Souraya looked. There were about ten soldiers lounging on benches against the wall, their machine guns leaning against their legs, bottles of beer at their feet.
“Ah,” she said.
“Exactly.” He parked the car next to a small motorcycle and killed the engine. “So now we go get Kalu. The gateman said to go downstairs from the ground floor.”
Souraya frowned. “A basement?”
“Looks like someone took the meaning of underground quite literally.” They disembarked from the car and Ahmed took her hand in his again. “Thank you for coming with me.”
She smiled up at him. “It’s no problem.”
A private club was nothing, certainly not the level of dangerous she’d expected. They walked in past the mirror, down the stairs, into the bleeding light, and past the crystal curtain. Souraya laughed when the music hit them and she realized where they were.
“Oh, it’s that kind of club.”
Ahmed sighed. “Only Kalu would be hiding out in a secret strip club. Unbelievable.”
They wound through the place together, Ahmed searching faces through the shifting lights and smoke. A few minutes in, he squeezed her hand.
“Found him!” he shouted above the music. He pointed to a broad man sitting with his legs spread open. A dancer was on the ground between the man’s knees, sliding up his body as he stared down at her, his face round and his eyes hooded.
Souraya leaned closer to Ahmed. “That’s Kalu?”
“That’s the fucker.”
Ahmed left her side, striding over to snap his fingers in front of Kalu’s face. Kalu looked up, startled, then his face dissolved into such delighted relief and joy that something in Souraya’s chest twinged to witness it. He leapt up, gently pushing the dancer aside, and embraced Ahmed with such force that the two of them staggered backward, both laughing. Ahmed grabbed Kalu’s head in his hands and shouted something at him, something Souraya couldn’t hear, but she could see the fire in Kalu’s eyes, and the feeling in her chest resolved into clarity.
He loved Ahmed.
She felt her body still as she looked at them. Her heartbeat slowed and steadied, everything oozing with sticky time. The way Kalu’s eyes searched Ahmed’s, his hand coming up to grip the back of Ahmed’s head, the way his eyes closed as they embraced again, the twisting of his face when Ahmed couldn’t see it when it was pressed against Ahmed’s shoulder and neck.
He was in love with Ahmed.
Ahmed hadn’t said anything to her about this, not even when she asked. Maybe he didn’t know. Maybe they had been together the whole time and Ahmed hadn’t mentioned it because it was none of her business.
Someone tapped on her shoulder. Souraya turned, frowning, and a thin man with amber skin and a hooked nose smiled at her, crow’s feet crowding at his eyes. His eyes were narrow almonds, black, cutting through her. An alarm rang very faintly in the back of her head.
“What is it?” she snapped, her spikes up. His smile grew wider when he heard her voice.
“I thought it couldn’t be you,” he said, and for some reason, bile churned in her belly at the rolling melody of his voice. “After so many years.”
“Do I know you?” She made the words as sharp and condescending as she could, pumping impossibility into the question.
The stranger tsked and made a sad face. “Ah,” he said. “You don’t remember?” He gave a sudden sharp smile. “Zainab, Zainab. You disappoint me.”
Souraya lost all the air in her lungs. How could he—how did he know her name, the old name, the lost name? His words echoed in her head, their volume ballooning, and the club warped and collapsed around her, Souraya was spinning backward, backward, to a bedroom too long ago, blood on the back of her hand where she’d wiped her mouth, whimpers in her air, her twelve-year-old voice unfamiliar from dust and age, and in front of her, this man, this man whose name her brain had mercifully scrubbed clean; he had been one out of so many, but she had been choking, desperate for air, her nose smashed against his pubic hair while she flailed and struggled with his hand on the back of her head, and when he finally let her go, he’d hit her across the face and her mouth had bled and he’d said the same thing then, to little her. Zainab, Zainab. You disappoint me.
Souraya stumbled back in the strip club, vomit in the back of her mouth as he visibly shuddered with pleasure at her recognition. She reached out and grabbed Ahmed’s arm. He turned, glancing from her to the man, already suspicious.
“We need to leave,” Souraya hissed, her voice tight. “We need to leave now.”
“Zainab,” the man said. “You don’t need to run away from me.”
He seized her arm, and time slowed. From the corner of her eye, Souraya saw Ahmed coil swiftly, a snake about to strike, but she was faster now; she wasn’t the same child they’d broken in. Her right hand slid up her thigh underneath the blue silk to the sheath buckled to her upper thigh. She drew the whisper-thin blade in the same breath as she stepped close to the man, sliding an arm around him. His breath smelled like rotting sin.
“Shaitan,” she hissed. “May your soul burn in Jahannam.”
She drove the blade into his side, into his kidney, she hoped. His eyes widened and his breath caught in his throat. Souraya twisted the blade, pushing it in to the hilt, then helped him into a seat, his shocked eyes following her, screams delayed in his throat. She turned to Ahmed.
“Walk out of here with me right now, don’t run.”
It would take a while for someone to notice the blood streaming down the leather underneath the man or the hilt of the knife that had been left in him. Ahmed’s eyes were pits filled with storms and he was radiating with rage, but he didn’t ask questions. He put his hand on Kalu’s shoulder. Kalu tossed wads of cash to the girl who had been dancing on him and to a young yellow-eyed boy in the seat next to him, then the three of them walked out of the club, got into Ahmed’s car, and drove out of the compound.
As soon as they reached a main road, Ahmed accelerated and the car hurtled along, leaping away from the club. It was only then that Souraya started sobbing, her hand cradled in her lap, the man’s blood staining her silk dress. Kalu leaned forward from the back seat, and Ahmed reached a hand across the gear shift, cradling her face.
“It’s okay, strange girl,” Kalu said. He was drunk but worried about her. “Whatever happened, it’s okay now.”
“I have you,” Ahmed said, taking his eyes off the road for her. “You’re safe, darling. I have you.”
“Take me to my hotel,” she gasped between sobs.
“I’m not leaving you alone,” Ahmed replied. “We have to take Kalu to the pastor’s house.”
Kalu jerked back. “Wait, what the fuck?”
“He’s not going to hurt you. I cut a deal.”
Souraya didn’t care anymore. There was a screaming twelve-year-old inside her head. She jerked away from Ahmed’s hand and screamed.
“Take me back to my hotel!”
Ahmed set his jaw. “I will not leave you alone.” His voice was calm and firm, as if she wasn’t a knife short of stabbing him as well if he didn’t take her back.
“I’ll call Ola. You save your friend.” Souraya felt like her skin was boiling on her. She tried a different tactic. “Please, Ahmed. I need to take a shower.”
Ahmed looked at her hands, noticing the blood for the first time. “Who was that man?”
Souraya turned flat eyes to him. “Someone who hurt me a long time ago.”
He glanced away from the road again so he could look at her, then took her hand in his, ignoring the blood.
“Okay,” he said. “You did the right thing, darling.”
Her face crumpled and she knifed over in her seat, sobs tearing out of her. Her inner thigh felt abandoned without her blade. Kalu glanced between the two of them, sober now after the mention of the pastor.
“Pull over, Ahmed,” he ordered. “I’ll drive. You hold her in the back.”
Souraya looked up at the suggestion. “I’m fine,” she lied. “I’m fine; it’s fine.”
Ahmed swerved and the car’s tires spun in the sand at the edge of the road. He unbuckled his seat belt and parked the car, he and Kalu opening their doors. Souraya couldn’t stop shaking no matter how hard she tried, no matter how hard she ordered her body to get its shit together. When Ahmed opened her door and pulled her out, she didn’t have the strength to fight him on it. He helped her into the back seat and closed the door behind them as Kalu buckled himself into the driver’s seat. Ahmed wrapped his arms around Souraya as the car pulled back onto the road, and she sobbed against his chest while he stroked her hair. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “I have you, darling. You did the right thing.”
“You don’t understand,” she said, the words bubbling out between tears. “I hope I killed him.”
Ahmed laughed and the sound was terrible and cold.
“I know,” he said. “You did the right thing.”