“Zahara had a baby.”
He blinked. Confusion replacing the panic for just a moment.
“What?”
“Zahara. Had. A baby.” I stepped closer, getting in his face. “And you killed her.”
“Who?” He shook his head frantically. “I ain’t kill nobody named Zahara. I don’t even know who that is. You got the wrong?—”
“My girl worked at the BCC casino in LA.” I watched his face, waiting for the recognition. “She saw you kill someone in an alley behind the club. Some nigga who owed you money. You saw her watching. And then you retaliated.”
His eyes were darting now, searching his memory.
“You went after the witness. But you got the wrong one.” I let the words land like punches. “You killed her twin sister instead. Thinking it was her.”
I watched it happen. Watched the confusion clear. Watched the memory surface from whatever hole he’d buried it in.
“Ohhhhh.” The word came out long and slow, like a man who’d just solved a puzzle he didn’t know he was working on. “That was like… five, six, seven years ago. Some nigga owed me money and I popped him in the alley. Yeah, yeah, there was a witness. Some bitch saw me.”
Bitch.
I punched him again. Square in the mouth. Felt something crack under my knuckles, teeth, maybe.
He howled, blood pouring down his chin.
“I’m sorry!” he screamed, the words garbled by his swelling lips. “I’m sorry, okay? Not that bitch—I mean, not the witness. Your girl. I’m sorry, nigga. I didn’t know she was connected to you. How was I supposed to know?”
“You took someone from her that was very important.” My voice was calm. Controlled. The opposite of what was happening inside me. “You ruined her life. Ruined Yusef’s life—that’s her nephew, by the way. The kid she’s been raising because his mother is DEAD. And Mehar. You ruined her life too. Dating the man who murdered her sister while she thought she was finally finding happiness.”
“I barely remember that shit, Prime.” He was sobbing now, snot and blood mixing together on his face. “It was years ago.I was young. I was stupid. I was working for Rashid and doing whatever I had to do to survive.”
“I don’t care.”
“I didn’t even do it myself!” The words exploded out of him like he’d been holding them back. “I sent Dubz. My nigga Dubz handled the actual hit. Dwight White. He was my right hand back then. I paid him to take care of the witness. Your beef is with him, not me.”
Silence.
Then, from somewhere behind me, Justice’s voice: “There’s a nigga named Dwight White?”
I almost laughed. Almost.
“YES. Dwight White. Dubz.” Thad was nodding frantically, like he’d just handed me a get-out-of-jail-free card. “He did the actual killing. I just gave the order. You want the real killer? Go find Dubz. He’s probably still in LA somewhere. I can help you find him. Just let me go and I’ll?—”
“You ordered the hit.” I cut him off. “That makes it your kill. Dubz pulled the trigger, but you loaded the gun.”
The hope drained from his face.
I glanced back at Justice and nodded toward the door. He understood immediately, go find Dwight White. Start digging. We weren’t done yet.
Justice peeled off from the wall and headed out, already pulling out his phone.
I turned back to Thad.
“Please.” He was barely whispering now, all the fight gone out of him. “Please let me go. I’ll disappear. You’ll never see me again. I’ll leave the country. Whatever you want.”
“What I want is to kill you myself.” I stepped back, looking at him one last time. “But that ain’t my call. I made a promise.”
“To who?”
