I tried to see past the bodies moving through the doorway, but flashing lights from outside washed everything together in red, white, and blue. Before I could get a better look, the officer behind me jerked me forward, nearly making me stumble.
The second they dragged me outside, police cruisers came into full view. They lined the curb and spilled into the street as neighbors crowded their balconies, sidewalks, and breezeways in pajamas, bonnets, house shoes, and hoodies.
Everybody was watching. Phones were out.
Somebody whispered my name.
Another person said Giani’s.
“Watch your step,” the officer warned as he shoved me down the walkway.
I barely heard him as I searched cruiser to cruiser, tinted window to tinted window, every dark shape making my pulse jump before crashing down again.
Nothing.
There was no sign of him anywhere.
The officer tightened his grip on my arm, yanking my attention back to him. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law—”
The words blurred together almost immediately. My thoughts traveled elsewhere.
Where the fuck was Booda?
I scanned the police cars again, barely noticing the cameras pointed at me now. Somebody across the lot was crying. Somebody else was yelling questions at the officers. The entire complex sounded far away and underwater.
Then my eyes landed on Tink.
He stood off to the side near the curb, holding onto his mother so tightly his fists had twisted into the fabric of her shirt as tears streamed down his face.
His eyes locked onto mine, and my chest caved in. Underneath that grief was something worse.
Disappointment.
Giani was his cousin. And I—I was no one. Just his neighbor. But we had grown close.
I’d watched him change from a young thug into a respectful young man. Had even taken part in that transition.
Somewhere between the cookouts, the conversations in the breezeway, and me fussing at him every time he did something reckless, Tink had started listening to me. Really listening.
That little boy who once tried to rob me with shaky hands and fake confidence had slowly turned into someone softer around the edges. He was more thoughtful and more careful with the choices he made. And now he was standing there, looking at me like he didn’t know who the fuck I was anymore.
That hurt worse than the handcuffs.
Because I was a hypocrite.
Everything I’d tried to teach him only applied to everybody else. Not me. Not the woman standing in front of him with blood on her hands and police lights flashing across her face.
How the fuck was I gon’ teach him right from wrong when I liked taking lives? How was I any better than the people I used to warn him about?
Tink’s face crumpled harder as another sob broke loose from him, and his mother pulled him against her chest while glaring at me with pure hatred.
I couldn’t even blame her.
Not really.
Because standing there in handcuffs with police lights flashing across my face, I was the person I’d sworn I wasn’t.
I finally had to accept that.
