“Why did you?” I whisper.
He leans farther back, his arms falling to his sides, his hands sliding into his pants pockets. A long, silent moment passes between us, and it possesses a heavy, thick heartbeat.
“Because she’s my mother,” he finally says, voice flat, void of emotion. “And if my father didn’t say anything to save himself and betray her, I couldn’t either.”
The logic is fucked-up.
And yet, I get it.
It’s why I could hate my father in one breath and still be unable to fully exorcise that part of me that yearned for his approval. Hungered for his love.
“I’m sorry, Asad.” My hand lifts seemingly without my permission, but as it hovers over his jacket-covered forearm, I freeze. Staring down at it, I slightly shake my head, then lower it back to my side. “I’m sorry about the loss of your father,” I say again.“It’s been thirteen years since my mother’s been gone, but the pain, the grief of not just their death but of who you could’ve been if they’d stayed, never truly leaves, does it? The sense of being cheated of the life you could’ve led, of…”Being loved.I swallow, unable to vocalize that too-telling admission. “So yes, I’m sorry that all these years you have been alone in honoring the memory of Khalil Amir Prince. You won’t be any longer.”
He stares down at me, but his throat works as if he, too, is swallowing down a response.
I shake my head and step to the side. Again. And then again. Placing distance between us. “But what you just shared with me only solidifies my earlier point. When it comes down to it, you’ll always choose Michelle. Like you said, she’s your mother. I don’t have the benefit or grace of trusting you. As you reminded me, it can literally get me killed. And I don’t trust you to intervene. So-called fiancée or not.”
I don’t wait for the ice-cold bite of rage that will surely come in a scathing insult. Instead, I grip the doorknob again, twist it, and pull open the door. My heart pounds in my chest, the rhythm pulsing in my throat, chest, and belly, as I tread down the hall to the elevator. When the doors open, only then do I turn around and glance back toward the conference room door.
But the corridor and the doorway are empty.
And if I’m disappointed that Asad didn’t follow me, didn’t try to convince me that I was wrong, that I could trust him—that he would choose me before this organization, this family, his mother—well, it’s nothing I haven’t experienced before.
No one has ever prioritized me.
No one has ever put me first.
Loved me enough.
So I’ll do what I always have.
Go to work.
CHAPTER TENAsad
“Prince, there’s no activity around the perimeter of his house. None at all.” Eli’s voice echoes in my earbud, low but clear, as if he’s sitting next to me in this box van instead of lurking somewhere around the rear of Xavier’s Malibu mansion. “Either he’s out for the night, or he’s one cocky-ass son of a bitch having zero security.”
“Neither.” I shift on the silver bench and stare out the van’s tinted back window at the top of the massive white Mediterranean-style home with its terra-cotta roof, huge windows, and patios through the trees. Parked in a cut a short distance from the house, that’s all that’s visible to me. From experience, I know those glass walls offer gorgeous ocean views. I hope Xavier carries the memory into the afterlife, ’cause from what I hear, the lakes of fire in hell don’t carry the same vibe. “He’s in there,” I assure Eli. “And yeah, he’s bold as fuck, but this ain’t ’bout that. That mu’fucka know we coming. As soon as he arrived at the meeting today at the Castle, he knew. I saw that shit in his eyes.”
“If that’s the case, he should have a gotdamn armada waiting on us,” Makeda scoffs. I can’t see her from the window of the van where I’m waiting, but I don’t need to in order to know she has teams positioned on both sides of the mansion. “Maybe he pulled them inside for the element of surprise.”
Maybe. Every instinct whispers Xavier’s there, alone. Waiting. On me.
I ain’t never been one to disappoint.
“Let’s move out,” I murmur, shifting off the van’s bench and reaching for the handle on one of the doors. I tap the side of my earbud. “Ro? The system down?”
“Done,” she affirms from her position in another van farther down the road. “Alarms off and the cameras are on a loop. You’re good.”
“Bet.” I tug down my ski mask and shove the van door open.
Crystal, Murk, and Corey climb out of the van with me, while Dana stays behind the wheel. In our all black, we silently and as one coordinated unit move across the street, sticking to the late-evening shadows. That’s one of the great and advantageous qualities about these huge houses on these quiet, set-back roads that are monuments to a person’s ego and bank account. No neighbors for fucking miles. Which equals to no witnesses to a crime in progress.
I creep close to the small guard shack with its pointed turret and tiny window, pressing my back to the thick, towering hedge. Crystal slides to the other side of me, her short, slender frame moving with a graceful, deadly ease, and removes a thin, silver wand with a small, circular mirror attached at the end. She extends it just past the corner of the shrubbery, and we glimpse the guard on duty. Instead of being alert and on his shit, he leans his big, thick build back in his chair, his attention glued on whatever’s in front of him. Hell, I’m doing Xavier a favor by taking this mu’fucka out. He’s a waste of a W-2.
Crystal glances at me, and I nod. Removing my Glock from my hip, I round the hedge, and on quick, noiseless feet, approach the shack and pop the guard twice in the temple through the cracked window.
In minutes, we’re running up the long driveway and soon approaching the gurgling stone fountain and shallow front steps. Satisfaction pours through me. The first kill of several tonight, if I’m lucky. I need this—the adrenaline rush, the whistle ofexcitement rushing through my veins that taking a life brings. In ways, it’s cleansing. This shit, I know; it’s simple. It’s easy for me. And right now, I need simple and easy.
