Page 108 of Omar

"That's exactly how it was. She told me everything, Supreme. Every detail. The shopping trips, the flowers, the oxtail dinners. You think that's love?"

Supreme's face twisted. The mask was gone now. What was underneath wasn't fear or anger. It was wounded pride. He'd genuinely believed his own story and hearing it dismantled was breaking him apart.

"She chose to stay," he said through his teeth. "Nobody forced her."

"She stayed because you told her what would happen to her sisters if she left. She stayed because your people followed her everywhere. She stayed because you made sure she had nowhere to go." I stepped closer. "That ain't a choice. That's a trap."

Supreme's hand moved. Fast, underneath the table, reaching for something taped to the underside. A gun, a knife, I didn't wait to find out. I crossed the distance in two strides, grabbed the table edge, and flipped it sideways. It crashed onto the concrete floor between us, the metal legs scraping. Supreme stumbled backward, his hand coming up empty.

I grabbed him by the throat before he recovered his balance. Drove him backward into the wall. His head cracked against the plaster hard enough to dent it. His feet lifted off the floor for a second before I brought him back down, my grip tightening.

His hands came up to my wrist immediately, both of them, clawing at my fingers, trying to pry them loose. His nails dug into the skin of my forearm, drawing blood. He was strong, stronger than I'd expected, his whole body fighting the hold. His knee came up toward my groin and I shifted my hips to take it on my thigh instead.

"Get... off me," he managed, the words barely making it past my grip.

I didn't answer. I pushed harder, pinning him flat against the wall, my forearm across his throat now, my body weight behind it.

He tried a different approach. His right hand left my wrist and swung at my face. The punch connected with my cheekbone, snapping my head sideways. My vision blurred for a second. He used the opening to try to twist free, getting one shoulder off the wall before I slammed him back.

"This is for Asha," I said, my face close to his. "For three years you stole from her."

His eyes were bulging now, the veins in his neck pressing hard against my forearm. He was still fighting, his legs kicking against the wall, one shoe coming off and skidding across the floor. His right hand found my face again, weaker this time, his fingers pushing at my eyes. I turned my head and pressed harder.

His mouth was working, trying to form words. His lips moved around sounds that didn't come. His left hand was still on my wrist but the grip was loosening, his fingers uncurling one at a time.

The fight left his body in stages. His legs stopped kicking first. Then his hands fell from my wrist to his sides, fingers uncurling. His eyes went from desperate to dull, the pupils widening, the light behind them dimming until there was nothing left.

His body went heavy. The full weight of him hung from my arm, pulling against my shoulder.

I held on for another ten seconds. Counted them in my head. Then I stepped back and let go.

Supreme slid down the wall and landed on the floor in a sitting position, his head tilted to one side, his eyes open and empty. One shoe on, one shoe off. The grey suit creased and twisted. The overturned table on the floor beside him. The man who'd run Crown Heights for a decade sitting on cold concrete seeing nothing.

I stood over him. My cheekbone was throbbing where he'd hit me. My forearm was bleeding where his nails had dug in. The fluorescent light buzzed overhead.

Then I turned, opened the door, and walked out.

Kadeem was in the hallway with the inside guard still on the floor behind him. He looked at my face, looked past me into the room, and nodded once.

"Let's go," he said.

We walked out of the building. James had the car running. Asha was in the back seat. I got in beside her and James pulled away from the curb.

Nobody spoke. The streets passed outside the windows, Crown Heights giving way to the border, then Bed-Stuy. Brooklyn at night, moving around us.

Asha was shaking. Her whole body trembling, her hands gripped together in her lap, her eyes fixed on the seat in front of her. She wasn't crying. She wasn't making any sound at all. She was just shaking.

I put my hand on her knee. She flinched, then went still and her hand came down on top of mine. She held it there.

We drove the rest of the way like that. My hand on her knee, her hand on mine. James driving, Kadeem in the front seat on his phone telling Devon it was done.

When we got to the apartment I walked Asha upstairs. Nene was at the door before we made it to the landing, her face tight with fear until she saw us. She grabbed Asha and pulled her inside.

I stood in the hallway for a moment. Kadeem was still downstairs with James, running the cleanup logistics. Devon was coordinating from APEX. The warehouse operation would proceed as planned, minus Supreme.

My phone buzzed. Devon: Warehouse team is in position. Awaiting your go.

I texted back: Go. Hit it.