Discovering one of the most mysterious and successful assassins out there tried to kill her didn’t even cause her to flinch.
But this—this hospital, her friend inside—has fear fucking swimming in those eyes.
“Eshe…”
Before I can say anything else, she slips out of the car, firmly shutting the door behind her. My scrutiny follows her as she crosses the street, steps on the sidewalk, and enters the front entrance of the hospital. When those doors close behind her, I pull off, headed back toward the other side of town.
Except I don’t make it far before I’m whipping my Ford GT into an open parking spot a block over from the hospital.
“Fuck,” I growl, stepping out and locking the door.
This might be the dumbest thing I’ve done in recent history. No, taking the job to kill Eshe Diallo was the dumbest, but this—following after her—is definitely a runner-up. Everyone except for Eshe and Abena believes I’m dead. It’s the best cover I could ask for to move unseen. And look at me risking that shit. And for what?
Yeah, I still don’t have an answer.
Pulling my hoodie up over my head, I stick to the early-evening shadows and hurry back to the hospital, then slip in through a side entrance, avoiding security and cameras. Mass General is a huge hospital, but it’s also very busy, and no one pays attention to me as I make my way to the intensive care unit.
The fuck am I doing?
My fists clench in the front pocket of my sweatshirt. The only answer I got is Eshe is my kill, no one else’s. But the answer, the justification for me stalking her down in this hospital, needingto lay eyes on her, sounds false in my head, tastes like a lie on my tongue.
The only thing that feels faintly truthful is she’s mine until she’s not.
I round the corner, nearing the bank of elevators and the main nurses’ station just as Eshe steps forward from a group of women of various shapes, sizes, and ethnicities. They all bear the same menacing edge. They fan out around her like a protective living wall; the six women must be the rest of her Seven.
A tall, older white man with dark hair and a petite woman with golden-brown hair and burnished-brown skin emerge from a room directly across from the nurses’ desk. Deep lines etch both their faces, and they stop in front of Eshe. Though she’s obviously younger, they dip their heads in deference, and Eshe clasps their hands before embracing first the woman and then the man. They must be Penn Dawson’s parents.
I can’t hear their conversation from my position behind the wall, but Eshe appears to be comforting them before she eases past them to enter the hospital room. Two of the women—Tera Washington and Nef Grant—take up position on either side of the door, while the other four stand with Penn’s parents.
Eshe’s safe. No one’s getting in that room. Not with her personal guard here.
I can turn around and go about my business. Ishouldturn around and go about my business. Which is hunting Abena and ridding her of that worthless thing she calls a life. Eshe is on my list, but her aunt rides the top of it. I dragged her out of that warehouse and delivered her back to her people. So yeah, I can go.
And yet, I remain standing here, hidden in plain sight, for several more minutes before finally leaving as silently as I arrived.
CHAPTER NINEEshe
She’s okay. Penn’s going to be okay. She’s not like Ma. She’s coming back to me and will be as good as new.
I keep repeating this mantra in my head, trying to get it to sink in. A punctured lung, ruptured spleen, broken arm. The doctors are saying the swelling on her brain should go down soon. In the grand scheme of things, her injuries could’ve been much worse. She’s going to make a full recovery. But that logic doesn’t unravel or erase the filthy, snarled knot of guilt and dread in my gut. So far, no luck. But I’m not giving up. Because once I stop chanting it, I’m afraid I’ll charge out of this loft and wage a war on the streets of Boston, flooding the gutters with blood in revenge…
I drag myself back from the edge. Steady myself from spiraling down a dark, crimson-drenched hole that I may not climb back out of until this murderous rage inside me is satisfied.
“Abena’s going to fucking pay for this,” Maura hisses, her usual smile missing, and the killer that lurks behind her pleasant expression is on full display.
“This wasn’t Abena,” I say, not removing my gaze from Penn. “Well, not directly.”
God, with her hazel eyes closed, her light brown skin mottled with bruises, and her long dark brown hair flat and tangled around her round face, she looks so… small. Defenseless.
Nah, fuck that.
Never defenseless.
Not as long as she has us here surrounding her.
“What do you mean this wasn’t Abena?” Tera demands. “Who else would come after us? Come after you?”
I glance up, not having realized that she and Nef entered the hospital room and closed the door behind them. The seven of us gather around Penn’s bed like a guard. Like a human shield between her and whoever is stupid enough to come after her.
