“I study death for a living, analyzing it, day in, day out. I know more about it than most humans ever will.” I release my lip and meet his gaze. “No. I’m not afraid of dying. I’m more afraid of someone I love dying. Which is why I agreed to the autopsy in the first damn place. I’m afraid of the suffering my loved ones will feel if I die. But most of all, I’m afraid of living a life where I’m not my authentic self.”
Curious, he watches me in the mirror and brings us onto the hill, weaving our way toward the top.
“If I cower and cry because someone is being mean to me, I’m not being true to myself. If I become an obedient lapdog, just because Cordoza demands submission, then I’ve failed who I was born to be. And if I choose silence and obedience, just because society expects that from women, then I wouldn’t be the smart-mouthed pain in the ass Archer married.”
Harrison chuckles, dropping his chin into a gentle, bouncing nod. “Fair.”
“Felix received a crash course in independent women when I came along. But I think it was good practice for him. Especially considering he married the antithesis of everything hethoughthe wanted. Timothy the Second would have absolutely hated her.”
“You don’t like her, Chief?”
“Debbie?” I scoff. “I adore her. She’s smart, successful, and comes with a stubborn streak a mile wide. She allows Felix no room for bullshit, and she holds him accountable. To himself,” I clarify. “She makes him a better man, because she makes himwantto be a better man. And then she went and made a daughter, effectively growing his Kryptonite right there in her stomach. He won’t step out of line now. Not for the rest of his life.”
“Stepping out of line.” He ponders my words, turning them over on his tongue. “You don’t mind a moment of friendly debate, do you, Chief?”
“Debate is rarely friendly, Mr. Harrison. Fortunately, I always have the energy to argue.”
He snorts. “You say you wouldn’t—you couldn’t—lay down and shut your mouth, because that would do the real Minka Mayet a disservice. But Felix Malone was born to live outside the lines. Are you not expecting him to lie down and shut up now that Ms. Cannon says so?”
“Felix is who he always has been. He was born to be decent, family-protecting, brave, and good. His sexual proclivities and loudmouth don’t change that.”
Harrison’s cheeks flame bright red.God forbid I say sex.
“He’s notlessnow that he’s married. He’s the same person he always was, but with fewer women in his bed and a newfound ability to slow down andthinkbefore he spouts off misogynistic ridiculousness. He has a baby girl now, and she gives him a reason to be a better man. He’s stronger than ever, and having Christabelle and Zora in his life makes him a better leader than he ever could have been without them.”
“And Archer?”
Narrowing my eyes, I wait as we pull off the road and through the gates that secure our home. “He’s not being asked to lie down either, Mr. Harrison. He is a free man to do as he pleases, and I am a free woman to do the same. It just so happens wechooseto spend our freedom loving each other. I don’t ask him to submit, and he doesn’t ask the same of me.”
“He’d like for you to be a little less brave, I suspect. A little more obedient.”
“Because he worries about me, not because subservience turns him on. There’s a difference.”
“And you don’t care enough to do everything within your power to reduce the stress he experiences?”
“Sure, I do. Which is why I maintain boundaries with the likes of Cordoza, wield a blade with expert precision, and collect my soldiers, just as Felix and Estefan collect theirs. At the end of the day, I accept a ride in a fancy SUV with a man I know works for the family, purely so I can get home as quickly as possible. Because the sooner I walk through that door, the sooner Archer will see that I’m alive and well. He worries, Mr. Harrison, but he would be bored out of his brains if I suddenly became the submissive vagina on legs society thinks I should be.” I glance out the window and smile as we come to a stop at the front door. Unsnapping my seatbelt, I hook my arm through the strap of my bag. “It was nice debating with you. Maybe we could do it again sometime.”
“Indeed.” He cuts the engine and slides out of his side, beating me to my door and dragging it wide. “I don’t know if you care, Chief Mayet, but I caught an update on that case you testified on in New York, too.”
“Oh, yeah?” I exit the car and drop on to aching feet. Fixing my clothes and moving my bag to the crook of my elbow, I stop fussing and meet his eyes. “The DV case where the vic was pushed down the stairs and left to die? That one?”
“Yes, ma’am. Husband is going to prison.”
“Good.” I step away from the car and start walking around it. “I did my job, then.”
“Seven to ten,” he presses. “With the possibility of parole with good behavior.”
I skid to a stop, slipping in the loose gravel as the heavy stares of more guards—so many fucking guards in my life today—burn the side of my face. Rage spikes in my blood, boiling me from the inside. But slowly, carefully, I turn back and meet Harrison’s gaze. “Quite a light sentence, wouldn’t you agree?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He drops his chin. “I think so. Seven is better than freedom,but I can’t help but feel it’s not nearly enough. Seven provides him just enough time to create connections with other inmates, learn new skills, and reenter society more dangerous than he was before. Do you think there could be a retrial?”
I turn on my heels and head toward the house. “Doubtful. Can’t get a new trial without new evidence, and we have no new evidence to convince a judge to change his mind. The best we can hope for is a stray bus running that man down on the day of his release, smearing his gray matter on the road and sending him where he belongs.” I flash a wide grin and shove through the small wrought-iron gate by the front door, then I cross the threshold into icy cold air and a headache-inducing wall of sound.
Felix chatters to Zora. And Zora screams her little lungs out anyway. Catoloudlydeclares what the baby needs—a new diaper—and Steve, bless that old, tired man, adds his opinion.She needs milk.
Cato skids into the kitchen doorway in white socks, basketball shorts, and no shirt at all. Locking eyes with me, his lips swing wide. But before he can speak, before he can so much as ask how my day was, I plug my ears and turn up the stairs.
I’ll come down later. When I’ve had an hour to myself and my pounding headache reduces to something a little less bass-drummy, I’ll come back to the land of the living and join the chaos of a family of brothers who have no friggin’ clue how to function without shouting.
