King of Chatham, page 1
part #2 of Kings of the Castle Series
KING
OF
Chatham
Book 2 of the Kings of the Castle Series
London St. Charles
Macro Publishing Group
Chicago, Illinois
This is a work of fiction. All characters and events in this book are purely fictitious, a creation of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or somewhere in between is coincidental.
Kings of Chatham - Book 2 of the Kings of the Castle Series
Books 2-9 are standalone books.
Published by:
Macro Publishing Group
1507 E. 53rd Street, Suite 858
Chicago, Illinois
www.thekingsofthecastle.com
King of Chatham © Copyright 2019 by London St. Charles
Trade Paperback ISBN: 978-0-993288-5-9
Digital ISBN: 978-0-9993288-4-2
All rights reserved. Without prior permission, no part of this book, in any form, may be used or reproduced in any form or means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system except quotes used in reviews.
Cover Design by: Woodson Creative Studio
www.woodsoncreativestudio.com
Interior Design by: Lissa Woodson
www.naleighnakai.com
KING
OF
Chatham
Book 2 of the Kings of the Castle Series
London St. Charles
Table of Contents
DEDICATION
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
ABOUT THE KINGS OF THE CASTLE SERIES
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
EPILOGUE
LONDON ST. CHARLES
THE HUSBAND WE SHARE
SUGARCOATED DECEPTION
BETRAYAL OF TRUST
ABOUT THE KINGS OF THE CASTLE SERIES
AUTHOR BIOS
SERIES MENTORS:
♦ DEDICATION ♦
“A woman is like a tea bag–––you never know how strong she is until she gets in hot water.”
––Eleanor Roosevelt
♦ ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS ♦
All praises to the Man above for giving me the gift to create, the opportunity to live my dream, and the perseverance to push through when the going gets tough.
Writing King of Chatham reminds me of a snake shedding its skin. As the snake grows, the skin becomes stretched, and the only way to allow further growth is to shed the old skin. Writing this story, my literary palate was stretched further than I could fathom. It expanded with each word typed, minutes that turned into hours of research, and tapping into a genre that I don’t usually pen. This process has allowed me to grow as a writer and discover a deeper level of my craft.
That being said, I couldn’t do all of this alone.
To my husband and daughters, who accept me in all my introverted splendor when I’m in the writing cave. Who’ve excused the messy house, lack of cooking, and choppy conversation. Thanks for not holding my misgivings over my head while I crushed my goals.
To my mom, who I love more than anything. Thanks for understanding my hustle. I feel guilty when I can’t get by there over the weekend, or our conversations are cut short because I have a deadline.
To MarZé and Gwen, thanks for getting me over the hump during the trying times. Encouragement and plotting sessions, coupled with gut-busting laughter, are recipes for success. I couldn’t have done this without you ladies.
To the Queen Writers of The Kings of the Castle Series, you ladies are some of the best storytellers I know. The love and support that we show each other is unmatched. I was beyond thrilled to meet most of you at the Cavalcade of Authors.
To my literary team, thanks for putting that flair on my story via edits, beta reads, and cover design. Naleighna, I smiled as I typed your name. Thanks for everything you do. I can’t say it enough. Deb, your feedback propelled me to the moon. J.L, I’m loving this cover. You got Reno looking sexier than a …
To my readers, I love you. Thanks for every book you’ve read, every review posted, every Facebook shout out, every recommendation, and so forth.
One Love,
London St. Charles
ABOUT THE KINGS OF THE CASTLE SERIES
Books 2-9 are standalones, no cliffhangers, and can be read in any order.
Book 1 – Kings of the Castle, the introduction to the series and story of King of Wilmette (Vikkas Germaine)
USA TODAY, New York Times, and National Bestselling Authors work together to provide you with a world you’ll never want to leave. The Castle. Powerful men unexpectedly brought together by their pasts and current circumstances will become a force to be reckoned with. Their combined efforts to find the people responsible for the attempt on their mentor’s life, is the beginning of dangerous challenges that will alter the path of their lives forever. Not to mention, they will also draw the ire and deadly intent of current Castle members who wield major influence across the globe.
Fate made them brothers, but protecting the Castle and the women they love, will make them Kings.
www.thekingsofthecastle.com
King of Chatham - Book 2 - Reno
King of Evanston - Book 3 - Shaz
King of Devon - Book 4 - Jai
King of Morgan Park - Book 5 - Daron
King of South Shore - Book 6 - Kaleb
King of Lincoln Park - Book 7 - Grant
King of Hyde Park - Book 8 - Dro
King of Lawndale - Book 9 - Dwayne
CHAPTER 1
The touch of Baba Godfrey’s arms encircling Zuri’s body caused a bone-wrenching chill to course through her veins despite the sweltering African heat. She froze, becoming almost as stiff as Mama Suby, who lay beneath the graveyard’s red soil.
“Your Mama loved you so much,” Baba said, his sweaty round face pressed firmly against her cheek. The thick accented English tinged with a hint of confidence that made Zuri’s insides cringe. “I know she feels your presence and is happy that you are home to take your rightful place as Djimon’s wife.”
Zuri didn’t respond, digging the heels of her shoes into the manicured grass of the family’s elaborate home garden, filled with multi-colored sunbirds perched on the morning glory bushes with white and purple flowers and cloves that left a pungent aromatic spice in the air. All sights, scents, and sounds she left behind. The last words Mama said to Zuri before helping her flee Tanzania five years ago were, “I may never see you again, but at least I know you will be alive and safe. You will be free of what will bind you here.”
She had broken her promise never to return, but despite the dangers of being on Tanzanian soil again, there was no way that Zuri would miss her Mama’s funeral.
Mama Suby’s eternal soul could rest in peace; knowing the sacrifices she made for her only daughter were not in vain.
Zuri tried to ease out of Baba’s fleshy arms, but he tightened his grip. The black Kaba and slit-style African dress that cradled her hour-glass curves, melted against her skin under the pressure of his intense hold.
She didn’t need or want his comfort. Zuri knew every bit of it came with strings attached, and she was no one’s puppet. Had it not been for Baba, she wouldn’t have been separated from her Mama and the rest of the family for the past five years. Trying to force her to marry Djimon Aku, a man she hardly knew, was something her mother would have never done.
“You have skirted your responsibility long enough,” Baba whispered in a stern voice. “It is time to let go of that school foolishness.”
“Never,” Zuri shouted, louder than intended, breaking free of his embrace. “I graduate in two weeks.”
The sea of older women and men cloaked in black and red dress garments and head ties, turned to face them, most with perplexed expressions. Zuri’s cheeks burned hotter than the sun that penetrated the overhead tent. The last thing she wanted to do was dishonor her Mama’s celebration of life. But the thought of not being there on her journey to the spirit world was unimaginable.
Zuri’s second-level teacher and clandestine guardian angel, Mama Winnie, swooped in and grabbed her by the hand. “Godfrey. Let me talk to her,” she suggested, guiding Zuri away from her father before he could protest.
The robust woman with a snatched waistline, smooth charcoal skin that belied her age, and teeth whiter than pure snow wrapped an arm around Zuri’s shoulder. “My love. I know it hurts. Try not to draw attention to yourself. It will make your departure less noticeable.”
Zuri nodded and forced the unshed tears to remain at bay.
“Thank you for always knowing what I need, even after all this time.” Zuri smiled, sliding her hand in Mama Winnie’s. “No wonder yo
“We still are,” she said, winking at Zuri as they strolled hand in hand to the opposite side of the garden where fewer mourners had gathered. They sat on wooden white folding chairs along the concrete ledge that separated the garden from the man-made pond filled with lily pads and koi fish.
Mama Winnie swept a gaze across the people who were seemingly engaged in conversation, but a good majority of them kept throwing suspicious glances in Zuri’s direction. Several men, who she only remembered from childhood to some extent, had somehow managed to encircle the garden where they now had become a human net or spider web. They had no reason to be this close, and Zuri could only suspect that her father had something to do with this not-quite-so-subtle watch guard.
We still are.
“What does that mean, Mama Winnie?”
“You will see soon enough, my love.”
“Zuri,” Djimon’s heavily accented voice interrupted, and her heart lurched at the abrupt sound. He smoothed out the imaginary wrinkles in the crisp black shirt, then stroked a hand over the red tie that adorned his medium frame. “Can I talk to you?”
Before Zuri could respond, Mama Winnie said, “Give us a moment. She will be right there.”
Zuri wanted to scream, “No, I will not,” but remembered the advice Mama Winnie had given only minutes ago.
Djimon grimaced, frustration evident in his chiseled face as he turned on his heels and joined a group of twenty-somethings congregating near the gazebo several feet away.
Zuri observed in silence, wondering why her? Some of the women, most from the tribe, yearned to be in her position. She’d gladly allow them. Becoming a man’s token wife was not on Zuri’s radar, and it had never been, hence her current situation. She coveted education and the freedom to choose her path more than anything.
Mama Suby came from a wealthy family, and they had set Godfrey up quite well, establishing long-lasting prosperity. Zuri’s parent’s thirty-year marriage started with a $500,000 dowry, a herd of cattle, and a five-bedroom house where Godfrey still resided. The embellishments to the home over the years have increased the value of the property that resembled a resort more than a single-family dwelling. Godfrey invested half of the dowry in the construction industry, which included, real estate and transport infrastructure. He worked closely with the government in the development of the road network, reconstructing bridges, and building a reliable railway in East Africa. Godfrey’s investment had gained him ten times the fortune he started with, over the three decades, making him an extremely wealthy man in his own right.
“What is wrong?” Mama Winnie asked, placing a hand on Zuri’s lap.
She gave Mamma Winnie a half-smile as her heart swelled with emotion. “I miss you already. You are the only real connection I have to Mama––– her life, her thoughts,” Zuri mused, laying her head against Mama Winnie’s forearm. “It feels like I am leaving for the first time all over again; sneaking off to escape the danger from my own Baba, who is supposed to love and protect me.” Zuri lifted her head, gazing into Mama Winnie’s chestnut eyes filled with wisdom. “I have heard of fathers being their daughter’s hero or their daughter’s first love, as they say in America. Why am I not allowed the same love?”
“You are, sweetheart.” Mama Winnie cupped a hand to Zuri’s cheek. “I do not think Godfrey is capable of showing you. He only knows the way of our ancestors. That is his way of expressing his love for you.”
“But Mama did not agree.”
Mama Winnie angled her body toward Zuri. “Suby wanted better for you. She risked her life to make sure you did not have to endure certain cultural practices.”
“Like being forced to marry and remain uneducated,” Zuri commented, shifting on the folding chair causing it to squeak from her efforts. She felt the heat of the elder’s orbs bearing down upon her and wondered why they were so fixated on her presence. Did they not expect Zuri to attend her mother’s funeral?
“Those are only part of it.”
Zuri leaned forward, catching Djimon gazing, almost glowering at her, shifting as though preparing to move in again. She lifted an index finger to ward him off. He frowned, and it caused his handsome features to take on an ugly state. She would get to him when she was ready and not a minute sooner. Placing her focus back on Mama Winnie as whispers of conversations echoed across the garden, Zuri asked, “What do you mean by only part of it?” A chill whipped through her so strong, she shivered.
“Suby sent you away so you would not have to undergo circumcision.”
“You mean mutilation,” Zuri countered in such a tone it caused the mourners to zoom in on her outburst, for yet a second time. Lowering her voice, she said, “That practice has been banned for over two decades.”
“As with forced marriages, but they still exist.” Mama Winnie shot a wary glance at Zuri. “We have to protect ourselves because the men will not. They welcome this practice because it almost always guarantees them a young virgin and a faithful wife. They prize those above all else.”
Female genital mutilation was common practice amongst their tribe in Tanzania. Most girls were cut days after birth to puberty to control their sexuality. The belief was rooted in ideas about remaining pure, modest, and beautiful for their future husbands. They were cut, removing some or all external female genitalia, then sewn what flesh was left back together, leaving a small hole for urination and menstrual passage. Then later, the girl was forced open by their husband’s penis or sliced open by a midwife for intercourse. The act was so painful and inhumane that the girls would rather swallow coal before having sex with their husbands, let alone, another man. The elder women of the tribe performed the ritual cutting. They viewed circumcision as a source of honor and a way to protect their daughters from social exclusion.
Zuri wrung her hands, frowning. “I remember some of the girls at school talking in a hushed manner about a secret initiation into womanhood where they learned about the duties of a wife. One of them said her older sister had it done and told her that sex hurts.”
Mama Winnie nodded. “That is how it starts. At least it did for me.” She winced, rubbing her hands in a circular motion on each of her thighs. “Suby overheard Godfrey talking with the Aku family about getting you prepared for Djimon. You were only eleven then. That is when Suby reached out to me, even though it put her life in danger, going against Godfrey’s beliefs.”
