“Say—it again,” he whispered.
“Ofori Kwaku Asym. Your name is Ofori. Our papa loved you,” she said. “I love you, nua barima.” She chanted the lines over and over, determined he would understand, remember, and believe he was her brother. She was determined he know he was loved, even when she had had to kill him.
His eyes filled with tears and sorrow, as well as a deep remorse that death brought. He looked so young, as if he were aging backward.
“And I forgive you,” she whispered, feeling his body release the guilt and self-loathing it had lived with for so long.
He nodded at that. They didn’t have to speak of its meaning.
“Elin . . . I did . . . did love her.”
The rock in her throat was so large. “I’ll tell her.”
His eyes swam. “Y-you smell. Like. Mama.” He shivered. His strength siphoning out of him as the guilt and self-loathing had.
He struggled to take a breath. “I want. To see. Them.”
She tightened her hold on him, fighting against the despair threatening to take over her. She would not turn from him, would stay with him to the end.
She nodded, saying, “You will.” She’d say whatever he needed her to say.
“Elin.” His voice wavered. And then, “Efie . . .” Home.
Ofori released Nena’s hand, then grasped the handle of the other knife. She didn’t stop him when he pulled it out of his neck, releasing the deluge of blood from the shorn artery.
She did not help him as his breath hitched and hitched, until there was no more breath in him.
Nena did not stop Ofori when he left her, the last of the Asyms.
78
AFTER
Georgia’s shout pierced the haze of Nena’s grief. She gave a final, longing look at Ofori. How she wished they had had more time to pick their way through Paul’s minefield of lies to be brother and sister again. It was all too late now. She summoned enough power to leave him and climb the stairs. Georgia was screaming, railing against Paul, who demanded she shut the hell up, fucking brat.
Nena followed their sound to the last room at the end of a dark hall, where a light shone beneath the door. She opened it.
Paul greeted her from the chair in which he sat. He was working through the realization that his Oliver was gone. Even with his gun trained on her, Nena thought she saw sadness, grief, even, in his expression. Propped up against his chair was a machete, one not dissimilar from her nightmares. Nena’s eyes could not move from it.
Georgia sat in a chair between them. When she saw Nena, she called out, attempting to get up.
“Stay where you are,” Paul commanded, moving his gun in Georgia’s direction.
“Let her go.” Nena started toward them, then stopped when Paul cocked the gun.
“You don’t make demands here.” He glared at her, eyes narrowed. “Is he dead?” When she didn’t answer, he said, unaffected, “Doesn’t matter. Oliver was weak and simpering.”
She looked at him with contemptuous silence, disgusted at his lack of loyalty toward a man he called his son.
“Not like you.” He cracked a wry smile, then cocked his head to the side. “You mourn him? He would have killed you.”
“Because of you.”
Annoyance sizzled through him. She could see the way it slid across his face. “He would have fucked you had I allowed it. Consider that as you mewl over him. Your brother would have raped you.”
“Also,” she said flatly, “because of you.”
He paused, looking thoughtful. “I wonder what you would do to save the skin of your new father and your—what is this girl to you anyway? Your wannabe daughter.”
He stood, using his free hand to straighten his suit, making his way around his desk to Georgia’s seat. She sat ramrod straight, hands in her lap, her eyes never leaving Nena’s face.
“Get up,” he said.
Georgia listened, standing in the spot where Paul wanted her, as his shield.
Nena assessed the threat, scanning the room to see what she could use. She was too far away to disarm him without Georgia getting hurt in the process. It was why he kept her close to him, because he knew Georgia was his lifeline.
Paul caught her surveillance, a slow smile creeping across his face, and moved closer to Georgia, keeping his gun at her back, smug because he held all the cards.
“You are a resourceful woman,” he said. “Kneel.”
Nena balked, images of Papa on his knees flashing in her mind. “What?”
Paul raised the butt of his gun as if to hit the back of Georgia’s head.