The Life, Love, and Death of Adara Marshall Read online

  QUEENS OF BEASTS:

  The Life, Love, and Death of Adara Mashall

  Phoenix Williams

  DEDICATION

  To Kenneth Darryl Stokes Jr.

  Rest in power, cousin.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  This book would not have been possible without the following people who have inspired, encouraged, and believed in me.

  Anthony Williamson III, I love you, daddy. Pamela Sullivan, the best mom in the world and one of my best friends in the universe. Vonteice Davis, my favorite aunt in the entire world…I love you so much. Caiden White, everything I do is for you. Valencia “Nicky” Sullivan, thank you for listening to my ideas for the last year. Anthony Williamson IV, we have a bond that can never be broken.

  Norma Vargas, I literally couldn’t function without you. Jasheem Wilson, thank you for pushing me to do complete this project. Tamika “Leanne” Newhouse, you are the older sister I always wished I had and I’m blessed to have you in my life. Marina Chestnut, you know I love you, boo.

  The Phenomenal Women’s Book Club, you have become part of my family. I appreciate you all so very much.

  Gale Terrell, I finally put you in a book! Thank you so much for all of your support over the years.

  PROLOGUE

  “I am the bone of my sword. Steel is my body and fire is my blood.”

  Archer

  “Fate/Stay Night: Unlimited Blade Works”

  ADARA

  I was dying.

  That was a fact.

  There was no way that anyone could survive what was happening to me.

  Flames licked my heels while ice ran through my veins. Air came in heavy gasps as blood dripped from lips. My fingers gripped the damp ground desperately, soil caking beneath my fingernails.

  I was dying.

  Fuck!

  It wasn’t like I didn’t think I would die young. In fact, at twenty-five years old I was four years past my self-determined expiration date. You didn’t live the way I did without making many powerful enemies. Eventually, everything you did, every blade you drew, every life you took--and I had taken a lot of them--came back to haunt you. Everyone, no matter how powerful, wealthy, or deadly, always answered to Karma.

  I was no different.

  My only regret was dying in this one horse, backwater town.

  I had trekked through the deserts of Afghanistan, hiked the mountains of Japan, and ran through the jungles of Borneo. I had smiled in the faces of devils that made grown men shit themselves. I had lived more in my twenty-five years than most did in a lifetime.

  And, now, I was dying.

  Pain ricocheted through my body, causing it to pitch forward. Screams of agony left my blood-stained lips as I felt the last bit of life, the last bit of humanity begin to leave my body.

  I felt my heart breaking along with my body. I couldn’t blame anyone but myself for my death.

  I came to this sleepy ass town to bury my grandmother and shit went crazy.

  I should’ve left once I read her letter.

  I should’ve left once I realized things in this town were out of control.

  I should’ve left before I met him.

  My blood was on my own hands.

  “Let go,” he gritted through clenched teeth, eyes blazing.

  I smiled despite the pain. At least I had this moment. At least I would be able to die in his arms.

  The man I loved.

  The man I let kill me.

  PART I

  “You’ll never understand...your swords will never be as heavy as mine!”

  Roranoa Zoro

  “One Piece”

  CHAPTER 1

  ADARA

  Several months earlier

  Dust and gravel swirled in the air as the eighteen-wheeler skid to a stop. I hopped out of the cool cabin and into the warm March air. I breathed in deeply, glad to be leaving the smell of beef jerky, sweat, and cigarettes behind.

  Not bothering to look back, I dragged my large suitcase down the shoulder of the highway. With each step, the case over my shoulder and the one on my hip slapped against my frame.

  Hell Fire Valley---Fifteen Miles.

  I damn near cried while reading the sign as a bittersweet wave of emotion rolled through me. I still had at least fifteen miles to go before I made it to my destination. I could already feel my muscles begging for relief.

  “Hey, baby! Where you going?”

  Rolling my eyes, I continued walking. I was physically, emotionally, and mentally exhausted. The last thing I wanted was to be harassed by Steve, the overweight, greasy, smelly truck driver that gave me a lift from Salina, Kansas to the outskirts of Hell Fire Valley, Missouri.

  “Come on, sweetie. I gave you a ride and went out of my way to drop you off in this backwoods town!”

  Pressure built behind my eyes. As much as I hated to admit it, Steve did have a point. If it weren’t for him, I’d still be walking.

  Glancing over my shoulder, I gave him a forced smile and used something that I hadn’t had to use in the last decade...manners.

  “Thank you, Steve.” The words felt foreign on my tongue, and I was sure the smile I tried to give looked more like a grimace. “I appreciate it.”

  Turning back around, I continued to walk. If I kept a steady pace, I would make it to my destination right before sunset.

  I had taken no more than five steps when Steve wrapped his sweaty hand around my forearm. I didn’t even flinch.

  Here we go.

  “No, no, no, honey. I want a real thank you.”

  “Let go of me.”

  Exasperation lined each syllable. I wasn’t used to this treatment. Back home, people gave me a wide berth.

  Maybe it was because I was the only tall woman of Black and Japanese descent in the mountain village.

  Maybe it was because I was the only American in that rural village, dropped off there one foggy afternoon when I was twelve years old.

  Or, maybe it was because I had an aura that said I was un-fuck-withable.

  Whatever it was, I was used to being treated with equal amounts of fear and respect.

  Staring at the sun high in the sky, I swallowed deeply as reality came slamming down on my already tense shoulders. I wasn’t in Japan anymore. I was in America.

  Releasing my luggage, I cringed at the feel of Steve’s skin against mine. His breath feathered against the back of my neck, his erection rubbed against my ass, and his gut pressed against my lower back.

  “I’ll give you five seconds to let go of me.”

  “Now look here, you ungrateful little bitch.”

  One.

  “I didn’t go outta my way for nothin’.”

  Two.

  “You’ve been teasing me this entire time.”

  Three.

  “Wearin’ those tight shorts and little t-shirt.”

  Four.

  “You gon’ repay my kindness.”

  Five.

  “Now be a good little bit--.”

  Maneuvering with ease and in less than two seconds, my katana was in my tight grip, and Steve’s hand was severed from his arm, laying on the hot, dusty road.

  “My hand! My fucking hand!”

  With a flick of my wrist, Steve’s blood flew from my blade and decorated the gravel in bright red drops. A wicked smile graced my lips as his screams of pain caressed my ears.

  “Next time a lady tells you no, listen.”

  Sheathing my blade into the case on my hip, I yanked my suitcase down the road as Steve’s tortured screams echoed down the empty highway.

  CHAPTER 2

  ADARA

  The chirping of cricket
s and the scurrying of woodland creatures sounded loud in the stillness of the night. Darkness surrounded me as I came to a stop in front of a large wooden arch with Mashall carved in scrawling letters.

  My heart pounded in my chest.

  My nails bit into my palms as I clenched my fists tightly.

  My muscles twitched with the urge to do something I hadn’t done in years...run.

  A feeling of anxiety and trepidation trickled down my spine. Something in my soul stirred, warning me that if I crossed over into Mashall land, my life would never be the same.

  Heaving in a deep breath, I snatched my large suitcase off the ground and took the first step onto the main dirt road.

  The wind stopped rustling the leaves, the woodland creatures froze, and even the crickets ceased chirping. It was as if everything was waiting.

  I followed the winding road until a sizable two-story cabin came into view. A sense of righteousness flowed through me, and I felt my eyes well up with tears.

  “Grandma’s house.”

  The whispered words cut through the silence of the night.

  That house, built by my paternal granddaddy’s own two hands, had been my safe haven when I was a child. Since then I had lived in many places, but this house was the only place in the world that ever felt like home.

  With aching muscles and sweaty skin, I dragged my luggage up the stairs and onto the porch. Digging in my back pocket, I took out the letter that I had received from my grandmother’s lawyer and removed the key taped at the top.

  Swiping at the tears running down my cheeks, I placed the key in the lock and turned it. Hesitation kept me rooted on the porch as I breathed in the clean, crisp air of Mashall land for the first time in thirteen years.

  Thirteen years since I left Hell Fire Valley.

  Thirteen years since I last saw my grandmother.

  Thirteen years since I went to bed in Chicago only to wake up several days later in Japan.

  Thirteen years without answers.

  Now, everything was different. I was different.

  I placed my hand on the knob and swallowed down my fear and sorrow. This would be the first time I would enter this house without being greeted by the woman I had loved so much.

  Straightening my spine, I twisted the doorknob and pushed open the large wooden door. The creaking hinges broke the silence as memories of my last time in this house assaulted me, and left me on my knees. I could almost hear her voice ringing off the walls.

  “Adara Akame Mashall. You will be the most extraordinary thing this world has ever seen.”

  Screams tore from my throat, trying to drown out the volume of my memories as I crawled across the wooden floor caked with dust.

  “My beautiful Mashall baby. You will change the world.”

  My nails dug into wooden planks as memories I had kept buried bubbled to the surface.

  “I never worry about you, my sweet girl. You will be the greatest force for good in this dark world.”

  Sobs wracked my body as my grandmother’s voice looped in my head. Coming here was a mistake. I felt it the moment I stepped foot into Hell Fire Valley, and this only proved it.

  This place reminded me of who I was before. Back when I was still light and sweetness. Back when I had dreams and hopes. Back when I was normal.

  Now, I was a monster filled with darkness and fire and death. And the memories of a monster were better left undisturbed.

  CHAPTER 3

  ADARA

  Eyes swollen from crying, I dragged myself off the floor. I slowly made my way to the porch and brought in my suitcase. Turning on the lights, I allowed my eyes to adjust to the brightness as I took in my surroundings.

  White sheets covered all of the furniture, and everything was coated in dust. That wasn’t surprising since Grandma had passed three months ago. I was only here to take care of her estate before getting my ass back to Japan as soon as possible.

  However...I couldn’t spend the next few days living like this. I required very little in this world, spending the majority of my life in the mountains made sure of that, but a clean and tidy space to lay my head was mandatory.

  Walking my weary body into the kitchen, I opened up the pantry and found a box of cleaning products. Within an hour and a half, I had swept, mopped, and dusted every room on the lower level, including my old bedroom, until the scent of lavender filled the rooms and the wooden beams gleamed.

  With each layer of dirt and grime that was removed, I felt the stress leave my body until exhaustion settled on my shoulders like a ton of bricks.

  I had just hopped out of the shower when my phone rang. The unknown number with a +81 country code let me know that it could be only one person.

  With a sigh, I answered before it went to the voicemail I had refused to set up. Clicking the green button, I placed the call on speaker. “Moshi Moshi.”

  “When are you coming back?”

  That deep voice never ceased to cause chills to race down my spine. If I was a monster, then this man was a demon.

  “Nani?”

  “You in America, Adara. Speak English.”

  Rolling my eyes, I barely resisted cursing out my handler, Sora. “You’re in Japan. Why don’t we speak Japanese?” I asked, sitting on the bed.

  “Because your pronunciation is atrocious.”

  Like your English is any better.

  I removed the towel from my hair and shook out my damp waist length twists. “I don’t know,” I muttered, finally answering his question.

  “I need you back here. I have a job for you.”

  “Of course, that’s the only reason you call.”

  “I need you back within three weeks.”

  I paused in the oiling up of my legs and glared at the phone. “I just arrived today. My grandmother just passed--”

  “Three months ago,” he interrupted.

  “I only found out two weeks ago!”

  “And you been gone ever since!” his voice blared through the speaker. The silence stretched between us until he cleared his throat. “I understand you grieving over the grandmother you haven’t seen in over a decade.”

  Asshole.

  “However, you needed back here. Don’t forget that,” he hissed, his thick accent lining every syllable. “It took you two weeks to get there. You should get your business taken care of in one week and head back. I’ll be expecting you in three weeks.”

  The single beep let me know that the call was over.

  That was how it always went between us. Me, trying to tamp down my dominant nature. Sora, trying to keep me under his thumb.

  Life in Japan was full of long dark days and cold, lonely nights. There was no family, no friends, no one to lean on. It was just me, Sora, and The-Woman-With-No-Name. Only the three of us making up an empty existence with fleeting moments of contentment.

  I never asked for more and nothing was ever offered. Emotions were for the weak, and the weak were always killed. That was all it had been for the last thirteen years.

  Less than three hours ago, I wished I had never come to Hell Fire Valley. Now, as I sat in my old bed in my grandmother’s home, wrapped in memories of a brighter time, I couldn’t help but think maybe I could have more.

  CHAPTER 4

  ADARA

  Two days.

  I had been in this town for two days, and I was going stir crazy. Mr. Bushae, my grandmother’s lawyer, had been ducking and dodging me since I got to town. That shit was going to end today.

  Never one to sit idly by, I grabbed my katanas, one scabbard on my left hip and the other slung diagonally over my back, snatched the keys to my granddaddy’s ‘99 Deville off the holder by the door, and left the house.

  I walked towards the back and opened up the garage door, the gears creaking from lack of use. Ripping off the tarp covering the car, a low whistle left my lips. The shiny burgundy exterior and cream leather interior looked almost brand new.

  Settling in the car, I breathed in deeply. A small
smile graced my lips. It smelled like my grandmother’s perfume. Pushing back the memories that threatened to overcome me, I turned the key in the ignition and prayed to whatever god was watching that the damn thing would start.

  After several tries, the engine roared to life, and I screamed with joy. Backing up, I hit the gas and made my way to town.

  Twenty-five minutes and a few wrong turns later, I pulled up to the front of a large red brick building. The small town was bustling. Couples, old folks, teenagers, and families were ducking in and out of the shops lining each side of the road.

  Hopping out of the car, I stormed into the building. I was tired of this man blowing me off.

  Mr. Bushae’s secretary blanched as I swept into the office.

  “Ma’am...you can’t go in there!”

  She moved to get out of her seat, but one look at the katana on my hip had her easing back.

  “Who the fuck is going to stop me?”

  “I...I...I will call the sheriff,” she stammered, her finger pointed near my face as I got closer to her desk.

  I snapped at the redhead’s finger with a feral smile as she screamed in fear.

  Pushing open the door, Mr. Bushae’s head snapped up as the wooden door slammed against the wall.

  “Oh my God!”

  My eyes shot daggers at the handsome older man. “God ain’t got shit to do with why I’m here?”

  “Lord, you look just like your grandmother,” he muttered while standing from the leather chair.

  “You know who I am?” I asked, sitting in the brown leather chair in front of his desk.

  “Adara Akame Mashall. Granddaughter of Sophia Mashall. Daughter of--”

  “I get the picture,” I interrupted. “There’s no need to go through my entire family tree.”

  Silence filled the room as we measured each other up. Standing at least 6’4”, he had deep brown skin, a smooth bald head, a full grey beard, and a body that most men in their twenties would kill for. His eyes were so dark they were almost black. Mr. Bushae was the definition of a silver fox.