Quest turned to Ivy, who was still in shock, tears streaking her mascara. “And you. You never speak to our sister again. You see her on the street, you cross to the other side. You hear her name, you leave the room. You’re dead to this family. Dead to her. You understand?”
“Yes,” Ivy whispered.
“Now take your little boyfriend to the emergency room,” I said. “Tell them it was a kitchen accident. A woodworking accident. I don’t give a fuck. But if you mention our names, if youeven think about going to the cops, we’ll know. And we’ll finish what we started.”
“We won’t,” Ivy said quickly. “We won’t say anything. I swear.”
“Good.” Quest stepped back. “Get the fuck out of here.”
Ivy helped Julius to his feet. He was still crying, blood dripping through the makeshift bandage Thad had wrapped around his hand.
They stumbled toward the door, and we watched them go.
As soon as they were gone, Thad started laughing again. “Yo, that was wild. I can’t believe he actually pulled the trigger.”
“He’s a coward,” Quest said, pulling off his poncho. “Cowards always pull the trigger when their own life is on the line.”
I stripped off my poncho too, balling it up. “We need to call Serenity.”
“Not yet,” Quest said. “Let him tell her first. Let him suffer through that conversation. Then we’ll talk to her.”
We cleaned up the warehouse, bagged up the bloody plastic sheeting, and locked up.
As we drove back toward the city, I stared out the window, thinking.
About loyalty. About honor. About how easy it was to cross lines when family was involved.
And about Zahara. About the secrets she was keeping. About whether I was ready to cross lines for her, too.
Because I had a feeling I was about to find out.
19
ZAHARA
The lunch rush at Grits was brutal. I’d been on my feet for six hours straight, dealing with customers who snapped their fingers at me, left terrible tips, and acted like I was personally responsible for every little thing that went wrong with their meals.
“This sweet tea ain’t sweet enough.”
“My eggs are too runny.”
“Why my biscuit so small?”
I smiled through it all, refilled drinks, apologized for things that weren’t my fault, and pocketed the measly tips they left on tables sticky with syrup.
And then there was Larry. He’d been worse than usual today. Lingering too close when I passed by. Making comments about how my uniform fit. Brushing against me when there was plenty of room to walk by. Every time I felt his presence behind me, my skin crawled.
“Zahara, baby,” he’d said earlier, cornering me by the coffee station. “You look tired. You need someone to help you relax. I could?—”
“I’m fine, Larry.” I’d stepped around him, carrying a pot of coffee like a shield.
“Just saying. You ever need anything, you know where to find me, with yo’ fine chocolate self.”
The way he’d said it made me want to pour the hot coffee on him.
But I needed this job. Needed the money. So I smiled and nodded and kept moving.
I was clearing a table near the window when I saw Mehar, one of my younger sisters. One of my father’s other wives’ daughters.
