“I said”—he swallows again but pushes on, and I swear, despite me wanting to drop-kick him in his throat, he earns even more begrudging respect from me—“I don’t doubt you have mad love for your girls, but you’re being selfish by not letting them know what’s going on so they can help you.”
I chuckle, and out the corner of my eyes, I don’t miss him recoil.
“I’m just saying,” he blurts, “you would willingly lay down yourlife for them with no hesitation or questions, but you’re not allowing them the opportunity to do the same for you. You’re not even giving them thechoiceto do it. And that’s what’s selfish and a little bit arrogant, if I’m being honest, because you’re making it for them like they’re not grown women fully capable of deciding whether they want to stand by you or not. And we both know they would. And that’s probably why you won’t ask. I get it though. It’s why H pushed me away in the beginning and refused to let me help him. But he couldn’t get rid of me. You have your own crew willing and ready to have your back. Not only will they be pissed if they find out you went into this shitshow without them, but imagine how they’ll feel knowing they could’ve been there for you and weren’t. They’ll never forgive themselves. Or you. I’m just saying, Eshe. Use them. That’s what they’re there for, and they want to be.”
Shit.
I blow out a breath. “You sure you’re sixteen?” I mumble.
He grins. “I’m fucking wise beyond my years. I keep telling H that.”
“A’ight, Samwise the Brave. Frodo wouldn’t have got far without Sam.”
“Yoooo!” Jamari holds a fist up to his smiling mouth. “You get it, too, right? Right?”
I laugh, shaking my head.
An hour and a half and several phone calls later, I turn down the isolated road in the New Hampshire woods. The look of awe on Jamari’s face is a little comical and a lot sweet. It’s obvious he’s an urban kid who hasn’t been out of Boston’s concrete jungle. I can just imagine how the isolated beauty of the thick, towering trees lining the single-lane street like sleeping giants would appear to him, even in the dark. Especially in the dark.
“Holy shit,” he breathes when the cottage comes into view. “It’s like a fucking fairy tale.”
He’s not wrong. It’s one of the reasons I love it. Not just its incongruity to this world but to me.
“It was my mother’s,” I explain to him because… Yeah, I don’t know why.
“It’s cool,” he says, sounding years younger than his age. But then he leans forward, chin almost touching the dashboard. “Huh. Do you think one of your Seven beat us here? Because whose car is that?”
I was so focused on the cottage and his reaction to it that I didn’t even notice the black Charger parked just in front of the garage. My heart slows and so does my pulse. Everything snaps into crystal clarity, and I decelerate, bringing the car to a stop several yards away from the front door.
“Wait here,” I order, grabbing my Glock from the center console and turning off the interior light.
I don’t wait to see if he complies but open my door just wide enough to slip out and, crouching, creep toward the strange car. Pressing my back to the rear panel, I sneak a look inside and see that the vehicle is empty. Anger flares to life behind my sternum, and I direct my narrowed glare toward the cottage. I know the fuck not someone didn’t break intomyplace.My mother’splace. The sense of violation, ofwrongness, scalds me, dirties me.
I hope they enjoyed those fingers they used to get inside, because they won’t have them for much longer.
Just as I straighten and head for the back of the cottage, the front door cracks open and a tall, slender figure steps out onto the porch. I halt, lifting my gun…
The porch light flicks on.
“Who the fuck are you?”
CHAPTER SIXTEENEshe
I stare at the beautiful Black woman who shouldn’t be leaning up against the living room wall in my mother’s cottage. A warning trips down my spine, like one predator scenting another.
And that’s exactly what she is—a predator. The warm-chestnut skin, tight brown curls, and delicate features don’t hide the monster lurking behind those stunning gray-blue eyes. Like recognizes like.
And yet, she’s a complete stranger.
An oddly familiar complete stranger.
“It took you long enough to get here,” she says with a slight smirk that doesn’t reach her bright but empty eyes.
“I repeat, who the fuck are you?”
She tilts her head, curls brushing her shoulder. “Think on it a little, olori. I’m sure it’ll come to you.”
The front door of the cottage swings open, and Tera, Doc, Nef, Kenya, Maura, and Sienna—pale and arm in a sling—rush in, followed by Jamari. My heart swells with joy in my chest at the sight of Sienna, even as I wonder why the fuck she’s here instead of at the safe house. But she’s not paying attention to me. None of them are. Their eyes lock on the woman across the room, and like one body, they immediately fan out, weapons drawn and aimed at her.
