Someone followed Yusef. Took pictures. Used them to lure Zainab out of the house. Knew exactly how to manipulate her, exactly which buttons to push.
Someone who wanted her to suffer.
I pulled back onto the road, driving aimlessly now, my mind racing through possibilities. Who would do this? Who had that kind of access, that kind of information, that kind of?—
I stopped at a red light on Sepulveda.
And that’s when I saw her.
She was sitting in the outdoor section of an In-N-Out Burger, eating a Double-Double like she didn’t have a care in the world. Her hair was tucked under a baseball cap, but I recognized her profile immediately. The soft jawline. The way she held herself. And when she turned slightly to grab a napkin, I saw it—the side of her head where her ear used to be.
Farah.
Rashid’s daughter. The woman I’d sent a message through in blood. The woman whose father and brother were dead because of me.
She was here. In LA. Eating a fucking burger while my fiancée sat in a jail cell.
Everything clicked into place.
This wasn’t random. This was revenge. Farah had been watching us, stalking us, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. And she’d found it. Used Yusef as bait. Used Zainab’s love against her.
My hands tightened on the steering wheel.
The light turned green. Cars behind me honked. I didn’t move.
I just watched her eat. Watched her wipe her mouth with a napkin. Watched her check her phone like this was just another Tuesday.
Enjoy your meal, I thought. Enjoy every bite.
Because it might be your last.
I pulled into a parking spot where I could keep eyes on her and pulled out my phone.
Quest answered on the first ring.
“Yo. You back in LA?”
“Yeah.” My voice was calm. Cold. The voice I used when I was about to do something that couldn’t be undone. “I need a favor.”
A pause. Quest knew that tone. He’d heard it before.
“Name it.”
35
MEHAR
The Glock felt like an extension of my arm now.
I adjusted my stance the way the instructor taught me, with my feet shoulder-width apart, slight bend in the knees, shoulders relaxed. Breathe in. Breathe out. Squeeze, don’t pull.
The shot cracked through the air and the paper target jerked. Exactly at center mass. Right where I wanted it.
“Damn, girl.” Serenity’s voice came from behind me, impressed. “You’re so good!”
I smiled and fired again. Another center mass hit. Then another. And another. Six shots, tight grouping, all clustered around the heart.
“That’s what I’m talking about!” The range instructor, a thick Black woman named Denise who looked like she’d seen some things in her life, walked over to check my target. “You sure this is your first lesson? Most beginners can’t shoot like that.”
