“And look what that produced.” Rashid’s lip curled with disdain. “A soft, emotional child who cries at the slightest discomfort. Who can’t look a man in the eye. Who flinches at raised voices and cowers when challenged.” He shook his head slowly. “That’s what happens when women try to raise men. They create weakness.”
I felt my jaw tighten but kept my voice level. “What if we split custody? Yusef spends time with both families. Zainab gets him during the school year. Meech gets summers and holidays. Everybody wins.”
Rashid laughed. Actually laughed—a low, rumbling sound that held zero humor.
“Compromise.” He said the word like it tasted bitter. “The Prime I trained didn’t compromise. He took what he wanted and eliminated obstacles.” He leaned forward, studying me with those sharp eyes. “What happened to you?”
“I grew up.”
“You went soft.” He jabbed his cigar toward me. “This woman has you thinking with your heart instead of your head. The soldier I built would have never let a female cloud his judgment like this.”
There it was. The dismissal I knew was coming. Women were tools to Rashid. Vessels for children. Warm bodies when needed. But never equals. Never partners. Never anything worthy of the kind of devotion I felt for Zainab.
And the worst part? I used to think the same way.
Before Zainab, I carried my mother’s abandonment like a weight around my neck. Judged women who raised children alone because my own mother couldn’t be bothered to raise me at all. Looked at single mothers and saw failure instead of strength.
Zainab changed that. Watching her sacrifice everything for Yusef—her identity, her safety, her entire life—showed me what real love looked like. What real strength looked like. She’d done more for that boy in twelve years than Meech had done in his entire existence.
But Rashid would never understand that. His worldview was calcified. Immovable. Women were beneath him, and no amount of evidence would change his mind.
“I’m not soft,” I said quietly. “I’m evolved. There’s a difference.”
“Evolved.” Rashid snorted. “Is that what you call it? Because from where I’m sitting, you look like a man who’s lost his edge. Who’s forgotten who he is and where he came from.” He leaned back, swirling his bourbon. “You weren’t like this for your first love. Nala. Now you’re willing to die for this one. What is it about broken women that draws you in?”
The mention of Nala sent ice through my veins.
“I was never in love with Nala.”
Rashid raised an eyebrow. “Is that what you tell yourself?”
“It’s the truth.”
“Mmm.” He didn’t look convinced, but he let it go. For now. “Regardless. The boy stays with me. With Demetrius. Where he belongs.”
He reached for his bourbon,and I caught it, just for a second. A slight tremor in his hand. The glass shook, barely noticeable, before he steadied it and brought it to his lips.
Rashid didn’t have tremors. Rashid’s hands were surgeon-steady. I’d seen him put a bullet between a man’s eyes from fifty feet without flinching.
Something was wrong with him.
But that wasn’t my concern right now.
“You haven’t even told me what you’re doing to him.” I kept my voice steady even as rage bubbled beneath the surface. “Where is he? How is he?”
Something flickered across Rashid’s face. Pride, maybe. Satisfaction.
“He’s being rebuilt.” He said it casually, like he was discussing a renovation project. “When I took him, he was soft. Weak. Couldn’t even hold my gaze without crying.” He drew on his cigar. “I’ve started his training. Basic discipline. Pain tolerance. The understanding that actions have consequences and weakness is not tolerated.”
My hands curled into fists beneath the table. “What does that mean? Specifically?”
“It means I’m making a man out of him. Something his mother, excuse me, hisaunt—” he said the word with contempt “—clearly failed to do.” He smiled slightly. “He’s learning to kneel in rice. To carry weight without complaint. To accept correction without tears. It’s slow progress, but progress nonetheless.”
A cough rattledin his chest. He turned his head slightly, suppressing it, but I heard the wetness in it. When he looked back at me, his eyes dared me to comment.
I didn’t.
Kneeling in rice. Carrying weight. Correction.
