“Be safe.”
“You too.”
I hung up.
Thad led me through a back hallway, gun still in his hand, eyes scanning every corner. We came out a service door into an alley. The night air hit my skin and I realized I was still trembling.
A black car was waiting. But Thad didn’t put me in it yet. He just stood there, looking at me.
“You sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah. I just…” I wrapped my arms around myself. “That was a lot.”
He nodded. Tucked the gun back into his waistband. Then he leaned against the wall beside me.
We stood there in silence for a minute. Just breathing. Coming down from the adrenaline.
“Can I ask you something?” I said.
“Anything.”
“Earlier. When you pulled that gun. You didn’t even hesitate.”
He was quiet for a second. Then: “My father taught me that. Don’t hesitate. Hesitation gets you killed.”
“Your father?”
“Calvin Banks. Alexander’s younger brother.” He stared at the ground. “He was the muscle behind the business. Made problems disappear when they needed to disappear. Taught me how to move. How to handle situations. How to make sure threats stayed gone.”
Something about the way he said it made my stomach tight. But I didn’t know why.
“He brought that energy home, too,” Thad continued. “To my mother. To me. Did whatever he wanted. Nobody could stop him.” His jaw tightened. “Until somebody did.”
I didn’t ask what that meant.
“You ever have somebody like that?” he asked. “Somebody who was supposed to protect you but did the opposite?”
Ahmad’s face flashed in my mind. His hands. His voice. The years I lost to him.
“Yeah,” I whispered. “I have.”
He nodded. Didn’t ask for details.
“Then you know what it’s like to survive somebody.”
I did. God, I did.
We stood there in the quiet. Two people who’d been through things. At least that’s what I thought.
Then he turned to face me. Stepped closer.
“I meant what I said earlier. You’re beautiful, Mehar.” His hand came up to my jaw. “And I’m not gonna hurt you. I need you to know that.”
And then he kissed me.
Soft at first. Testing. I didn’t pull away.
His hand slid to the back of my neck. Gripped. Not rough—possessive. Like he was claiming something. My body responded before my brain caught up. I leaned into him, fingers gripping his shirt, a sound escaping my throat I didn’t recognize.
