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.”
eighteen
Saturday, 8:43 PM
Ola had just come out of the shower in her hotel room when Souraya called her.
“Hey, babe, where are you?” she asked, cradling the phone between her ear and shoulder. Static bled through the line, then a hiccup and a choked sob. Ola dropped the towel she was holding, her heart speeding up. “Souraya? What’s wrong? Where are you?”
She pulled on a wrap dress as she spoke, slipping her feet into pony-hair slides and tying the dress closed against her damp body, then grabbing her purse. “I’ll come and get you, just tell me where you are.”
“Downstairs,” Souraya said. Ola could barely hear her. “In Ahmed’s car.”
Ola took her hotel key and whirled out of the door. “What did he do to you? I’ll fucking kill him.”
“Not him…he didn’t do anything…bring water. It’s all over my hands.”
Ola frowned in the elevator as it dropped her to the lobby floor. She had no idea what her friend was talking about, but she took a liter bottle of water from the reception desk and walked outside. “I’m outside, love. Where are you?”
A black Benz was parked haphazardly in one of the spots in front of the hotel, and a dark-skinned man in a white tunic was waving at her. Ola walked over quickly, and he stepped forward to meet her.
“I’m Ahmed,” he said. “She’s in the back.” There was blood smeared on his clothes and his hands. Ola said nothing to him, bending instead to look inside the car. Her chest loosened the grip it’d had on her when she saw Souraya inside, her face streaked with tears, her hands covered in patchy blood. Ola put her phone away and reached her arms out.
“I’m here, habibti. I’m here.”
Souraya recoiled. “I don’t want to get it all over you.”
“That’s okay. Look, I brought the water. We can wash it off.”
Ahmed was hovering, concern clouding off him. Ola couldn’t look at him; she didn’t trust her temper. One day. It had been only one day back here, and this man had taken Souraya somewhere, and this had happened. She held Souraya’s hands gently over the edge of the car and helped her wash them clean. There were small bloodstains on her dress, but those were minor; they could get upstairs without drawing attention. Ola took Souraya’s wet hands in hers.
