Page 34 of Omar

I did. Everyone knew. She'd made it three states away before his people found her. She was still in a hospital somewhere upstate learning how to walk again.

"I'm not her," I said quietly.

"You're right. You're worse. Because she didn't have Omar waiting for her on the other side."

I closed my eyes.

"Just promise me you'll be smart," Nene continued. "Please."

"I promise."

"I mean it."

"So do I."

We talked for a few more minutes about nothing important. She told me about a client at the salon who'd come in asking for box braids and left with a pixie cut because Nene had talked her into it. I laughed and it felt good to laugh about something normal.

When we hung up I sat at the kitchen table for a while with my coffee getting cold. Then I opened my banking app.

The savings account I'd been building for two years sat there with its quiet numbers. I was three thousand away from the target I'd set myself. A month at the salon rate, maybe five weeks if I had a quiet patch. Three thousand.

I knew the number represented a door and I still hadn't figured out exactly what was on the other side of it. Where I'd go, how I'd make it clean, how I'd get out in a way that didn't give Supreme a reason to find me. I didn't have all of that yet.

But I had three thousand to go.

I looked at the number for a while. Thought about Omar's mouth on mine. Thought about Supreme's arm around my shoulders at dinner. Thought about Nene's voice saying you need to get out like yesterday.

I closed the app and finished my coffee.

The plan was still the plan. Get to the number. Figure out the exit. Disappear.

The plan just had more variables now.

I got dressed and texted Cee that I was ready. He pulled up twenty minutes later and I got in the back seat. We drove to the salon in silence. I had three clients booked and a color correction that was going to take most of the afternoon.

I sat in my chair between appointments and checked my phone more times than I should have. No messages, no missed calls. Omar wasn't going to reach out and it was too dangerous anyway. We both knew it.

But I checked anyway.

At the end of the day Cee drove me home. I went upstairs and Supreme was already there, waiting. He was in a good mood again. Some other deal, some other win. I smiled, kissed him, asked him about his day and did my usual winning performance.

But when I lay in the dark afterward, Supreme's arm heavy across my body, I touched my waist one more time where Omar's hands had been.

Then I moved my hand away.

And promised myself I wouldn't do it ever again.

Chapter 13

Omar

The 4Q was packed when I arrived. The venue was a converted auto shop on Myrtle Avenue that somebody had gutted and fitted with a stage, a bar, and a sound system that shook the floor when the bass dropped. Rashid had been performing here since he was nineteen, building a following one show at a time. The crowd tonight was two hundred deep, pressed together in the dim light, phones out, voices loud over the warm-up DJ's set.

I stayed at the back near the exit. Devon was beside me with a beer he wasn't drinking, scanning the room like he did at every public event, cataloging faces.

"He's got a good crowd tonight," Devon noted.

"Venue booked him for two nights after the social media numbers. First one's tonight."