King of Durabia Read online

“The hell part?” Kamran prompted, sliding to the edge of the bench. “I am looking forward to your rebellion. You have already caused enough of a stir with my family. So this should be interesting.”

  Ellena continued, sharing about a team of young men whose assignment was to weed out the women who were not keeping to the laws of the Nation. Any woman who fell for their ploys to sleep with one of those team members, was excommunicated. But because the men were on “assignment,” they were absolved of any wrongdoing. Though they, too, had indulged in sinful acts.

  She had only figured out what was happening when Brother Nate suddenly became so aggressive with trying to get her in bed. She didn’t even know how he managed to acquire her phone number. Ellena demanded that he stop calling; something that he ignored. Then when he cornered Brother Nate in the parking lot of the Mosque one day after Sunday service, she put a death grip on his groin and demanded the reason he wouldn’t leave her alone. He confessed that she was on the list of women this secret group wanted out of the organization because she was running a successful event planning outfit and did not allow one of the brothers to work with her and take the lead of her business. A secret group, because the Minister would not approve of such deception. Ever.

  Kamran flinched, but remained silent.

  “I became angry,” Ellena said, then averted her gaze, putting it squarely on the window overlooking the gardens. “I wrote a letter to the Minister, asking a question.”

  “That said …” Kamran hedged when Ellena averted her gaze.

  “Since the MGT were doing what we were supposed to do and the FOI were doing something entirely different, could we at least masturbate since it didn’t look like we were going to be married to any member of FOI any time soon.”

  Kamran smacked a hand to his forehead. “You did not.”

  She gave him a sheepish grin. “Actually, I did.”

  “To a high-ranking religious Muslim leader?”

  Ellena shrugged, unbothered by his alarm. “I needed answers.”

  Kamran closed his eyes, and rubbed his forehead for a few moments before saying, “Go on.”

  She had been called before the MGT and FOI captains and admonished for what she had written. They didn’t ask about the rest of those accusations and assertions regarding the men, or about that secret team led by Brother Nate and a few rebels running game on the women. Unfortunately, that details of that letter made the rounds through the Mosque and set tongues wagging and accusations hurling. She was invited to the Minister’s lavish home in Kenwood, and had dinner with the top brass of the Nation during Ramadan—a fast that Muslims observed.

  After dinner, the Minister requested a private audience, then complimented her on efforts that resulted in the creation of the Nation’s junior mosque. Something that came about when her then four-year-old nephew, Christian, stated that there was nothing in the regular mosque for him. He would rather go to church because they had Sunday School for little guys like him. Then the Minister ended the conversation and basically said, “Sister Ellena, some of my best followers are outside of the Nation.”

  Kamran frowned, processing those words. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “As my niece, Blair, and nephew, Christian, both say … deuces.” Ellena gave a sideways peace sign to illustrate her point.

  “You were asked to leave?”

  “In so many words,” she replied, smiling. “But it wasn’t a bad thing. I took a lot away from my time there. Discipline and I still don’t eat pork.” She lowered her gaze to the hands folded on her lap. “But the prayer. I impressed myself by learning it. Sometimes I say it in reverence to God, because God knows what I mean. I’ll say the Twenty-third Psalm, or a Baháʼí prayer.” As her memories stirred, she closed her eyes and let her head rest against the back of the bench. “And then sometimes I draw all the way back from my childhood and I’ll stand in the shower and sing Father I Stretch My Hands to Thee. It’s a song that the Deacons or Mother’s Board sang to start church services. Then I’ll flow into Guide Me Oh Thou Great Jehovah. Those make me feel better. Whether I call God the Creator, Jehovah, Allah, The Source, The Universe—God knows exactly what I mean. He or She—as God is a spirit and has no gender, has been knowing what Black people mean for centuries. The knowledge of our true God was taken, along with our culture and knowledge of self. We didn’t ask for that. But it’s the respect and reverence to All That Is that matters most.”

  Kamran stiffened and there was a vein throbbing at his temple

  “So, I never say there is only one path,” she said in a soft tone. “None of the religions travels a pure road, Kamran. None of them. Except, maybe, Baha’i—since that is the one religion that talks peace, equality, and furthering the development of all woman and mankind, and actually means it. One that talks connection to God and humanity and actually lives up to it. If I were going to embrace a religion—it would be that one more than any others because it at least encompasses and respects all religions, genders, ethnic backgrounds. There’s a place for me within that understanding.”

  Kamran gestured in a dismissive manner, scoffing as he said, “You’re only feeling this way about Islam not being the religion to embrace because that Nation of Islam is not pure Islam.”

  “Look at you,” she snapped and glared at him. “Judging them based on how the religion was brought to Black people in America. Islam, as you all worship, would have kept most of us Christian. Trust me. You think your form of Islam is better? Really?” she scoffed. “Muslims played a part in slavery, too. In some areas they still enslave African girls to this day. How dare you say it isn’t real. You are judging the Nation’s practices by your standards, your culture, and not by the fact that the Minister taught people who knew nothing—or never even wanted to embrace Islam—until it was presented in a way we could understand.”

  “I am not judging,” he defended, and pulled away. But that was exactly the case. “I just think if you had a better understanding of Islam, you would see things different. That is all.”

  “Then let me ask you this,” she snapped, and he flinched a little. “How are we supposed to embrace a religion that treats women and Blacks no better than the white Americans in power, racists, and bigots, treat us? I mean, people who forced their tainted version of Christianity on us and still expects us to embrace the forgiving and turn the other cheek part of it?”

  She lasered her focus on him. “Nothing that Christ taught covered that kind of life-long chattel slavery, abuse, and downright torture. No matter how many people want to claim slavery is in all cultures, it was never to the degree of chattel slavery in America. That wasn’t of Christ, but the Bible has been misused for that end. When the truth of it is that we were commodity—it was about money. The parts where slaves were to be treated fairly and, at some point, earn their freedom—like in the Bible, and every other culture—was totally overlooked.”

  Kamran’s eyes glazed over a little and she could tell this was effecting him deeply—at it should. He couldn’t consider having her as his wife, without knowing these things.

  “The fact that considered us beasts and it was a sin—according to their own Bible—to sleep with beasts, but they raped the women and children anyway—shows exactly how much of the Bible they believed. At least, until it suited them to ignore things..” She inhaled, this was taking so much out of her, but it was ground that definitely needed to be covered. Otherwise, he would hold out hope that she would convert to a religion she couldn’t embrace any more than she could totally embrace the one she grew up with.

  “Only when politics came into play and the North wanted to strip the South of its power and money base that was held through slaves and what they brought to the economy, is what finally forced the slave’s release. Not because of some moral or religious conviction—it was money. Some were born a slave and died a slave. No other slavery had that taint on it. No other type of slavery was so soul-damaging. Christ would never have sanctioned chattel slavery or abject
greed. Not the Christ—the religion was named after.”

  Kamran’s eyebrows drew in, absorbing her words. The silence went on for such a long time, she realized he was truly processing everything she had said. “You have taught me more about American history and the experiences of your people there. And your experience with the National of Islam.”

  The moment resignation and understanding flickered in those dark brown eyes, Ellena placed a hand over his.

  “If five years is all I will have with you,” he said. “Then I need to make sure it feels like an eternity in Heaven.”

  She lowered her gaze to hide her tears and said, “I apologize if I embarrassed you earlier.”

  “I was shocked.” He guided her onto his lap and held onto her. “It was magnificent. But I do not wish for them to believe that I had something to do with your knowledge.”

  “You did,” she countered. “I have never said that prayer outside of my home. In the shower mostly. Saying it tonight made me a little less of an outsider, less of an outside wife, and a little more of a wife who might fit in.”

  Kamran kissed her gently. “You are so wise.”

  “Thank you.”

  “And we will not inform them that you do not actually speak the language,” Kamran warned.

  “Why?”

  “So they will be less likely to insult you within your hearing.”

  Ellena searched his eyes for a moment. “Will you teach me?”

  “I would like nothing better.” He guided her to stand, then placed another kiss to her lips. “Rest now.”

  “You can’t stay?”

  “No, my love. Not until we are properly committed to one another in the eyes of my family—and yours.”

  “But I promise to be good,” she said in a sulky voice. “And … And … And, I won’t …”

  Kamran gave her a parting kiss. “Sweet dreams. You have given me much to ponder. I will come for you first thing in the morning.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  “She is going to be a problem,” Faiza said, removing her headpiece and gently placing it on the chaise. Their suite had been done in reds and creams, her favorite colors a drastic difference from the suites claimed by Kamran and Ellena—theirs were done in the Durabia royal colors.

  Amir dropped his dishdasha onto the floor. “How?”

  “I have a really bad feeling about all of this.” Faiza nodded as she peered up at him. “Your father makes an exception for her. He allows Ellena to live in the Free Zone, but the rest of us are restricted to the palace grounds. That is so unfair.” Her lips formed a pout. “I want to live in the Free Zone, too. I would like a break from all of these extensive requirements.”

  “She is a heathen, a nonbeliever. What does it matter?” he said with a dismissive gesture. “I do not wish to see her at family meals every day. It is fine.”

  Faiza gripped his arms. “No, I am telling you there is more at work here. Now your father is having private meetings with Kamran? He has never done that before. Your father is getting old, sentimental.”

  “I will admit that it bothered me at first,” Amir said, shaking her off so he could move further into the room and discard his remaining garments. “But there is nothing that my father will keep from me.”

  “Is there not?”

  Amir paused, retracing his steps until he stood in front of the woman many considered to be the most beautiful in the sheikhdom. “Why do you insist that one woman is going to change our way of life?”

  “Because she will,” she spat. “Your father would never have allowed any of you to take a nonbeliever to mate.”

  “Special circumstances. Kamran was never going to have a permanent mate here. He cannot sire children. And you must remember she will never rise to any status that will concern us.” He shrugged. “Ellena Kiley is nothing.”

  Faiza closed her eyes and exhaled. “I am just grateful they will not have children,” she said. “Then we will have a real problem.”

  Amir stared at his reflection in the floor-length mirror. “When I am king, I will banish Kamran and his heathen wife from Durabia.”

  “That cannot happen soon enough,” she snarled. “Your father is lingering on the throne out of spite.”

  “No, he says I am not ready to rule.”

  “Pshaw!” Faiza said, placing her hands on his shoulders. “That is not the point. He, even in his advanced age, is not ready to relinquish power.”

  “He is the reason Durabia is the City of the World. People love him.” He had tired of an argument that seemed to be ongoing.

  “They need to learn to love you.” She slapped her hands on his chest. “Have you put any plans in place that you can share with your father? Show him you are ready to move Durabia even further into progress.”

  He lowered his gaze to his hands. “Ellena was right about one thing. My father has done all the work,” he answered with a shrug. “There is nothing for me to do but carry out his plans.”

  She threw up her hands and inched backward. “And that is where you err. He believes you are not ready because you do not have an initiative of your own. Trust me, Kamran does. And after such a vehement endorsement by his pet heathen, Kamran will now have his ear.”

  “Careful, wife,” Amir warned with a level glare. “Your claws are showing.”

  “Claws, eh?” she snapped. “Did you hear her suggestion about the Sheikh’s error in bypassing Kamran when he could have made a nephew your brother’s successor instead of producing a child. That would put Kamran squarely on the throne. That one is clever, intelligent. What she states is something that I have feared all along.” Faiza’s expression reflected pure disdain. “She is manipulative, conniving and she is sooo … round.”

  “She is curvaceous,” Amir countered. “Evidently, Kamran likes that.”

  “She is plain,” she scoffed and sat on their bed.

  “She is beautiful to him. Do you see the way she lights up when he looks at her?” He stared at her for a few seconds. “They are actually in love. What are the odds?”

  “How can he love a fat cow like her?” she snarled, her hazel eyes flashing with fire. “He is just elated he now has something to put his qadib into.”

  Amir shrugged, sliding off his sandals. “He always had a place to do that.”

  “But did he ever avail himself of that pleasure?”

  He blinked twice, shifted on the floor as he mulled over an answer. “No.”

  “And your father knows it,” she said with a sly smile. “Kamran holds himself to a higher standard—even higher than you.”

  Amir moved toward the wall adjacent to the closets, looking at her in the mirror. “What I do in the Free Zone is not your concern.”

  “It is your father’s concern,” she shot back. “He despises the fact that the men in this family indulge in such base actions as relations with girls.”

  “They are women,” he defended.

  “They are girls,” she screamed, getting to her feet. “And some are there against their will. That is despicable. You have a wife. What does it say that you have me and yet seek out other women?”

  Amir swept his shame aside and roared, “I have desires you cannot fulfill. I do not want the same mouth kissing my children that has been wrapped around my qadib.”

  Faiza flinched. “You are an animal.”

  “And thanks to the El Zalaam, you do not know how much of that is true.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Alejandro, I have good news and I have bad news,” Ellena said to her boss, watching as Saba laid out a choice of silky garments that Kamran had sent over. The purple and golds of her suite were blended perfectly to create the ambiance of royalty, but the décor was simple and a bit muted after staying within the luxurious Jumillah.

  “Give me the bad news first,” Dro said, and the shuffle of papers on the other end signaled he was in the middle of analyzing something. As a “Fixer” he had been part of some behind the scenes activities—worldwide—f
or private companies, individuals and governments. Everything from “rescues”, intel, covert operations and missions that would keep political regimes from failing.

  “I won’t be coming back to America.”

  Dro paused a long while. “What happened?”

  “I’m getting married in a few days.”

  “El, you are many things,” he began. “But someone who dives headfirst into something as important as marriage, isn’t one of them.”

  Ellena laughed. His summation of her was true. “You are right, it all happened so suddenly.” She went on to explain the circumstances surrounding her upcoming nuptials.

  “That’s some next level crazy right there,” Dro said when she relayed the entire series of event.

  She nodded to Saba to let her know it was fine to leave. “I know, right?”

  “You, a woman, will be living in the Middle East. Durabia is the bells and whistles of all the great trappings of luxury—the outer appearance of acceptance and inclusion. But there is a dark side, well, darker for you; someone who has lived with American freedoms.” He sighed. “Well, what passes as freedom these days, because we have our own issues with racism, bigotry, and a culture that doesn’t appreciate women. But these are levels of injustice you grew up with. Something you are well aware of how to maneuver between, to live with. Sharia Law is not forgiving. And no amount of love will overcome that. And I don’t care how well he laid it on you, El, that’s only going to feel good for so long.”

  Ellena was not happy that he believed these new developments were all mostly about finally having an intimate encounter. There was so much more to their relationship than “slick dick” and “wet ass”.

  “I know what I’m doing, Dro,” she countered, dropping down on the bed. “I appreciate your concern. Really, I do. But I’m marrying Kamran Ali Khan in three days. I simply called because this is less than two weeks’ notice.”

  “I don’t care about that,” he snapped. “I care about you. You’ve been my right hand, sometimes my left since I opened Vantage Point. You are a valuable employee, but I also consider you family.”