Page 38 of Omar

His boys nodded along like they were backing a winner.

"Omar." Kadeem's voice was low. Controlled. A warning to keep it clean and get a handle on the situation.

"Last time," I told Kyran. "Go home."

Kyran's eyes locked on something behind me and his face split into a grin. Rashid had come through the curtain, still in his stage clothes, towel around his neck. He took in the scene without speaking.

"There that nigga is," Kyran called out. "The golden boy himself. Yo Rashid, your pops would be sick watching you put out this garbage. Malik Baptiste rolling in his grave right now watching his son make pop music for white bitches, cos that's where he is, ain't it? Dead and buried for real."

The corridor went dead quiet.

"Watch your mouth or I'mma..."

I didn't get to finish it. Rashid moved around my shoulder before I could stop him. He crossed the space in three steps and his fist connected with Kyran's jaw so hard that Kyran's feet left the floor. His body followed his head backward. He hit the wall and bounced off it. Kyran's boys flinched. Devon and James were already on them, hands firm, voices low.

Rashid grabbed Kyran by the front of his shirt and hit him again. A body shot that folded him forward, then Rashid grabbed the back of his head and drove his knee up into Kyran's face. Something cracked. The sound was wet.

I got Kyran by the collar and hauled him toward the back door before anyone in the venue heard what was happening. He was heavy and limp and making sounds that didn't form words. Blood was running from his nose and his mouth and somewhere above his left eye. Rashid followed us through the door and into the lot, his breathing steady, his face completely flat.

The lot was empty. Cold air, dumpsters against the far wall, two cars parked near the fence. I let go of Kyran and he dropped to the concrete. His head hit the ground and his body curled into itself.

Rashid stood over him. Blood on his knuckles, his shirt pulled out of shape from grabbing Kyran, but otherwise unbothered. Like he was waiting for a cab.

"Don't ever say his name," Rashid said quietly. "You hear me? Don't you ever say his fucking name."

Kyran tried to speak. Blood bubbled out instead. He got one arm under himself and pushed. He made it halfway up before his elbow buckled and he went back down. Rashid watched him struggle, then kicked him in the ribs. The sound Kyran made was barely human.

"Rashid." I kept my voice level. "Enough."

My brother looked at me. His eyes were clear and calm and that was worse than anger. Anger burns off. Whatever this was, it lived in him.

"Aight," he said, and stepped back.

I crouched over Kyran. His pulse was there but it was thin and fast. His breathing rattled. One eye had swollen shut and the other wasn't tracking right. Blood was pooling on the concrete under his head.

"He's breathing," I said.

Rashid pulled out his phone and started scrolling.

Kadeem came through the back door. One look was all he needed. "Nobody was here." He texted Devon.

Stone appeared at the mouth of the lot thirty seconds later. He didn't come in. He stood at the entrance facing the street, one hand in his pocket, his back to us. Watching. Making sure the way was clear. Clean hands. Professional distance.

Devon pulled up in the SUV and we loaded Kyran into the back. His breathing was shallow and his eyes were closed. Kadeem told Devon to take him to King's County, side entrance, make it look like he walked in. Devon nodded and drove.

Stone turned back to us once the car was gone. "Rashid, let me see those hands."

Rashid held them out. His knuckles were split and swelling.

"Come inside," Stone said. "Let's get you cleaned up before anyone notices."

He guided Rashid back toward the building with a hand on his shoulder. Kadeem and I stayed in the lot. The cold settled against the sweat on my neck.

We cleared out separately. Stone left alone. Rashid went to an after-party in Clinton Hill with his people like nothing had happened. Kadeem dropped Shanay home and then met me at Ma's.

She was asleep upstairs, didn't know we were there, didn't know what the evening had produced. Kadeem put two glasses on the table in the kitchen.

"That's the second time," Kadeem said.