Chapter 01| Thy shall not kill

Chapter 01|Thy shall not kill

Jasmine rolled her eyes as Kolade's widow screamed, wailing and thrashing on the floor, her four years old son beside her, moping at her in absolute confusion. Then seconds later, He becomes engrossed in glancing at the casket oblivious to the reality, that the man he calls daddy was lying in there.

   Jasmine  hated two things intensely in her life amongst others. Being emotional and faking being emotional and as she noticed the whimpers of tears, the fake sobs, and overly pitched moans, she could tell that almost everybody who looked teary was dying to just get their damn act over with.

   Everyone knew Kolade's wife would have thrust a knife into his chest and murdered him in cold blood, one of these days if one of their assignments which had gone horribly wrong courtesy of the dead man, had not.

   Aside from being an unapologetic cheat, according to rumors spiraling in the Natives, He was also a woman beater who had branded his wife's body with his belt on many occasions and then raped her.

   But as she watched the woman who was still on the ground, her black gown had ridden up showing the welt of a belt on her leg, a permanent makeup ~ A scar, She couldn't bring herself to blame her for her stellar Oscar-worthy performance. The mourning of her husband was one she had to deliver with great expertise to avoid skepticism and fingers being pointed at her.

   At least she was more efficient in acting her parts, than her coward of a husband who had almost outed them when he was caught, due to his obstinacy in taking direct orders from a "woman".

   A title she only remembered was supposed to be hers when she uses her body as bait to execute her assignments beautifully. 

   She'd been raised among the men, slept with bruises and aches sustained from intensive training. She'd slept on cold tiles, on the bare ground vulnerable to the cold breeze during the harmattan, she'd been made to battle the toughest of them all. She'd worked endlessly, tirelessly to be who she was today regardless of the fact she had breasts.

   She grunts in frustration as she struggled with her lighter which won't come on, desperate to have a smoke.

   "You know you shouldn't be attempting to lit a cigarette in a roomful of people who are teary and are about to throw up because of how upset they are." 

   6.5ft tall, a scar on his hairline which ran down to his temples made his face even more hardened, Two tribal marks adorn both sides of his cheeks, and his youthful never aging gait still made him a name that sent chills down the spine of misfits who thinks of double-crossing him.

   Yet, Jasmine thought President and The crown of the Natives was too serious a title for a man who had said bed stories to her and had even checked in her wardrobe for monsters.

   Young Bolaji Bolanle, her uncle, and her boss.

   "You are late." She successfully lits her cigarette, puffing the smoke defiantly from her nose, watching its movement, and noticing it fits into the grave cold environment.

   Young eyes the stick on his Nephew's finger displeased.

   Ranging from squabbles to full-blown arguments, he had tried making her notice his resentment for the newfound habit she had taken a liking to. Most of those fights had led to her, bluntly reminding him, he wasn't her Dad.

   "I am a member of the Native and apologetically that only gives me certain entitlements that are not extended to wings. Even I, Young can still use traffic in Lagos as an excuse because it is valid enough." He drily stated his hands on his pocket.

  She eyes the uniform, her uncle had insisted all of them had to wear to the burial, already feeling sweaty and resenting the way the jacket stuck to her body like a second skin.

   She could make out the outline of the Ruger LCR pistol he had tucked on the side of his jacket and knew things could get ugly in their little black, dress-up get-together nuisance.

   "I still don't know why you make functions like this, mandatory when you know how I feel about them?" She closed her eyes, almost tempted to yawn.

   Her eyes met that of the pastor, with his oversized coat, and shoes which were accusing the sky of only God knows what, his eyes mirrored the boredom in hers.

   "Because the Native is more than a group of people who just sell ammunition and distribute drugs. We are a brotherhood, a family and when shit goes down, we would always be there for one of our own__" 

   "Don't know if I can call a group of faceless people who can't follow my direct orders, family. I had clearly said, don't engage, Stay in formation repeatedly. I don't even know what I'm doing at the funeral of a man, that I hardly know." Her eyes shone with silent accusation and confusion. "We had barely exchanged 7 words."

   He was a wuss, a disrespectful chauvinistic male with arrogance the size of a skyscraper yet had the brain size of a pea and she was supposed to consider him family?

   Oh right! She thought sarcastically.

   Mr. Young sighed.

   "We are Africans Jasmine. They've barely recovered from having a child who screams at the pelt of a thunderstorm, nonetheless, a girl in a sacred brotherhood they considered was only for the male. Now standing tall and barking orders, even for my men that will take a lot of getting used to. You are the first woman ever to Join the native and now they have__"

   "I walked my way to the top. So, I won't request their respect and loyalty, it is in demand. I earned it. Assignments after assignments I executed with admirable flawlessness, I sold consignments and made deals in our favors with cartels that send shivers to their spine. I brought glory to the family and expanded our warehouses in months on my first assignment and for some reason being a woman matters?" 

   He chuckled.

   "You earned your position, not their loyalty. Men who will sacrifice their life for you? Now you have to work tirelessly to earn that loyalty besides this men have women in their house, like you. Who just cooks and bears children. It would take time to get used to a woman hoisting a rifle and calling all the shots." He had the gentle patient smile on his face, the smile he only reserved for her. Only her saw him like this.

   "While they take their sweet time getting used to the fact that I pee without standing up, they can as well Join their brother below the debris of sand and dust."

   "... A time to die and a time to live.."

   The preacher coughed violently. She rolled her eyes, at the memorized robotic verse carefully read out at almost every burial she had been at.

   She was not a Christian. There was no point in belonging to an organization, to her, when one of their rules,

   "Thy shall not kill."

   She erred every day.

   "God, this meaningless ceremony is taking more time than necessary." She murmured impatiently checking her wristwatch.

   This was the part of her job she strongly resented, being in attendance to play a pity game for dead members of the native, who will still be alive, if they fucking stuck to the rules.

   "Maybe I do make sure, you are in attendance, hoping to see a tear or two roll down your cheeks one of these days." He said, hitting the cigarette stick off her finger.

   She scoffed.

   "Tears? Is that even a thing?" She asked bringing out another stick of cigarette from her jacket's inner pocket.

   "Yes, you know the liquid substance you release when you are emotionally triggered__"

   She tried to light the cigarette, he glowered at her.

   "We have been over this already, an addiction of any form is a weakness to any man and no man of the Native has the luxury of being weak. You are the second in command Jas__"

   "And I do my job damn well regardless of if I have a damn cigarette hanging from my lips or not." She retorted.

   "Jasmine please..." He whispered, his eyes softening.

   She sighed and threw her cigarette.