Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 101427 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 507(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 338(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101427 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 507(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 338(@300wpm)
My world cracked open a little.
I wasn’t sure if it was awe or alarm bleeding into my chest.
My gaze landed on this perfume that I was sure I’d only sampled once in a boutique in Manhattan, a scent I’d never even posted about.
Just sniffed.
Closed my eyes.
And smiled.
It hadn’t even made it onto a wish list.
And yet…here it was. Tucked between bottles of expensive perfume.
Poison Berry? What the fuck?
My throat tightened.
This wasn’t just surveillance. This was obsessive attention. This was someone listening for what I didn’t say. And yeah, it was a little twisted.
But so was I.
Yeah. . .something is wrong with me. I lowkey like it even though I’m freaked out at the same time.
My pulse stuttered.
Sako led me back through the bedroom, then opened another door. “And here is the bathroom.”
I stepped inside and nearly moaned.
It was a temple of sensuality.
The bathtub—if one could call it that—was a deep, square mini-pool in the center of the room. Sunken into black stone, steam rose from its surface, and flower petals floated along the top.
My. My.
To the right was a glass shower built for two. Rainfall spouts. Jets on every wall. A bench.
To the left was a vanity area with gold-rimmed mirrors, drawers filled with fresh products, brushes, skincare items.
There were robes.
Fluffy and heavy.
Towels folded in perfect thirds.
A dish of chocolates rested beside a carafe of cold water and a glass.
This is. . .different. Like. . .pure luxury. The very definition of a soft life.
Everything had been prepared for my stay on the island.
Everything had been thought through.
Pleasure.
Power.
Beauty.
I turned slowly, heat blooming in my belly and behind my ribs.
“And that is the end of the tour.” Sako gave me a final bow. “Please let me know if you will need anything else. I am always close by.”
“Thank you.”
“Oh. I almost forgot. Your friend, Mr. Patterson said that you would need a hair braiding specialist flown to the island. Are there any particular ones you already work with?”
“Uh. . .” I tried not to laugh. “Zo said I needed someone to braid my hair?”
“Yes. He mentioned the beach and ocean, saying you wouldn’t get in the water unless you had your hair braided.”
I shook my head. “Yeah. But. . .it’s not like we’re going to be on the island for a long time.”
Sako’s expression turned grim. “We may. . .”
Oh. . .fuck. He’s right. We might be here for a long time. . .
I swallowed. “Okay. Better safe than sorry. Yes. I have a specialist I work with, but she’s in New York.”
“We can fly her in.”
“Oh no, that’s not necessary.”
“That is fine. We will get her.”
I blinked. “You want to fly out my stylist from Brooklyn?”
Sako nodded, dead serious. “Yes. We will go to her and ensure she is in full comfort on the way here. First-class flight. Luxury villa. Masseuse. Personal chef.”
I snorted. “Oh my God. Deja will lose her damned mind.”
Just saying her name made me smile.
Deja was this hilarious, no-filter woman in her early fifties who did hair out of her brownstone in Bed-Stuy. She kept a little folding chair set up by the window. The TV was always on low blasting Young & the Restless or General Hospital, and she had something to say about everybody.
One didn’t book appointments with Deja so much as earn them. Women had to call, then follow up with a text, then wait to be summoned by her cousin, Nika who had a whole conversation which felt more like being on trial.
But when Deja braided?
Flawless.
Clean parts.
Edges laid.
Scalp oiled just right.
Deja could do everything—lemonade braids, feed-ins, goddess locs, boho knotless, Senegalese twists that made me feel like a queen.
Corporate girls went to her.
Video vixens.
Girls from the block. Everybody knew: if you wanted your crown tight and pretty, you went to Deja.
If she came out here. . .to this island and got flown in first-class as well as put up in a luxury villa with a masseuse. . .this would be the trip of a lifetime for her. She’d be talking about it until 2075. Hell, she might never leave.
I shook my head, laughing to myself.
Sako, of course, didn’t smile. “Would you like us to make contact?”
I sighed, still grinning. “Yes. Go ahead. And thanks.”
“No problem.”
Good looking out, Zo. I guess you’re like. . .“Bitch we’re going to be swimming and lounging on the beach during this war.”
Once Sako left, I took a quick shower and put on silky pajamas.
Kenji still hadn’t come up. Surely, he had a lot on his mind, and even more to execute before dawn. I just wished I could be there for him, standing by his side. However, I didn’t want to get in his way either. I wasn’t about this gangster life. I didn’t know shit about where and what to bomb.
Fuck. I cannot be useless while he is doing this. I’ll have to figure out a way I can help him.