Rashid’s eyes flickered. That guilt again. There and gone.
“I’m disappointed in you, Prentice.” His voice hardened. “Everything I taught you. Everything I gave you. And you threw it all away for a woman. A woman who lied to you. Who used you. Who isn’t even who she says she is.”
“Her name is Zainab. And she’s worth more than anything you ever gave me.”
“She’s made you weak.”
“No.” I stepped closer. “She made me realize what I was missing. What you carved out of me when you turned me into your weapon.”
Rashid shook his head slowly. “You were nothing when I found you. A fat, stuttering boy who couldn’t control his rage. I made you powerful. Made you feared. Made you wealthy beyond your wildest dreams. And this is how you repay me?”
“You made me a killer. You used me. And when I finally found something real—something worth protecting—you tried to destroy it.”
A cough seized Rashid’s chest. He turned away, pressing a handkerchief to his lips. When the fit passed, he looked at the cloth. Red against white. Then he spat the blood onto the concrete floor. Disrespectful. Defiant to the end.
“Out of the graciousness of my heart,” I said slowly, “I’m allowing you to live out your final days. Spend them with your daughter. Make your peace with Allah. Do whatever dying men do.”
I paused. Let the silence stretch.
“But if you send any of your goons after me. After Zainab. After anyone I love…”
I pulled out my phone. Opened the notes app where I’d saved everything Creed had sent me.
“Your mother. Margaret. Room 412 at Sunrise Senior Living in Detroit. Your aunt Patricia in Baltimore—3847 Greenmount Avenue. Your aunt Dorothy—she lives two blocks over at 3912 Erdman. Your sister Denise in Philadelphia—1847 North 25th Street. Nice brownstone. I hear she has grandkids now.”
Rashid’s face went rigid.
“I will visit each and every one of them. And you know exactly what I’m capable of.” I held his gaze. “Because you trained me.”
“You wouldn’t.”
I swiped to a photograph. Held up the phone so he could see.
Kasim. His son. Sitting on a thin mattress in a Panamanian prison cell, staring at the camera with confusion and fear in his eyes.
Farah gasped. “Kasim? How did you?—”
“I can reach anyone, Rashid. Anywhere. At any time.” I pocketed the phone. “If you touch anyone I love—if you even THINK about coming after me or mine—I will kill every single person you’ve ever cared about. And it won’t be quick.”
Farah was crying again. Clutching her father’s arm. Looking at me like I was a stranger. A monster.
Maybe I was.
Rashid stared at me for a long moment. The mask was gone now. In its place was something I had never seen on his face before.
Defeat.
“We’re done,” he said quietly. “You hear me? We’re done.”
“Good.”
“You’re dead to me, boy. Everything I did for you. Everything I sacrificed. You’re nothing to me now.”
I smiled. Cold. Empty.
“You’ll be dead soon. So I guess we’re even.”
He held my gaze for one more second. Then he turned, guiding Farah toward the door. She went willingly, clinging to him, her sobs echoing off the metal walls.
