Chatter and laughter follow the toast, and like all the air was suddenly vacuumed out of the room, I’m struggling to breathe. It isn’t the torture or murder; it’s the blinding, hot exposure. The nearly overwhelming sense of being seen… and accepted with admiration by this lethal circle when my own “family” had rejected and reviled me for most of my life. I’m like a mountain climber who’s gone from one altitude to another. Disoriented. Sick. I need space that doesn’t include Asad or these people. I’ve overstayed my welcome here, and more than anything, I crave the safety and familiarity of my home.
“Excuse me,” I murmur to no one in particular as none of them are really paying attention to me. I head toward the doors, but hard, long fingers cuff my wrist.
“Where are you going?” Asad bends his head over mine, and his lips are a sensual threat as they almost brush the top of my ear.
“To the bathroom.”And then out of here.
He studies me, and my heartbeat pounds in my ears becausefor an illogical moment I think he’s able to read my mind. But then he nods and releases me. Silently loosing a sigh of relief, I wind through the servers entering with pots of coffee and plates of dessert, making my way out of the dining room. Leaving the rest of them to toast, dine, and laugh and… do whatever partygoers do.
For several minutes, I weave and stumble through this maze of a house. This might’ve been my father’s at one time, but it’s still foreign to me. Bypassing closed doors and furnished but empty living rooms, parlors, and a den, I eventually locate the bathroom, and I spend about twenty minutes in the luxurious, tastefully decorated space. I wash my hands and using one of the towels, clean up the few flecks of blood that splattered on my chest and neck. There’s nothing I can do about the fluid on my shoes and hem of my pants. I’m not tossing them though. Tired, and hoping it’s possible to avoid seeing any more people before I skip out, I exit the bathroom and heave an audible sigh this time when the hallway appears free of people.
“Ember.”
Fuck.
“Kareem.” I turn around and don’t bother pasting on a smile. My polite life expectancy expired for the evening. “I didn’t see you there.”
“I’m sorry. I saw you leave and followed to make sure you’re okay.” He chuckles, sliding his hands into his pockets. “A lotwent down in there.”
“It did.” I nod. “Thank you, but there was no need to check on me. I’m good.” Irritation and an urgency to get the hell up out of here war with each other, and I glance over his shoulder. “Look, I don’t want to—”
“You sure you’re okay? I don’t mean to pry, but when Prince announced your engagement, you didn’t exactly look like a blushing bride.” He gives a dry, short laugh, shaking his head. “Ember, if anyone knows my brother, it’s me. And I love him, but he can be… focused. And when he has his mind set on something, hedoesn’t allow much to deter him. Not even the wordno. I’m going to be honest with you, Ember. I can’t imagine in what world you would willingly go into this marriage…”
“And if that is the case, what could you do to help me?” I tilt my head, studying him, curious about his answer.
Because like he said, he possibly knows his brother better than anyone. So he also understands that there isn’t shit he could do to save me. Shit, he can’t even save himself from the hell of this family. I’ve never once witnessed him stand up to his mother, much less Asad. So how in thefuckcould he do anything for me?
He huffs out another laugh, and it’s just as bitter as its predecessor.
“I already know what you’re thinking. You don’t think I can do a damn thing. But you’re wrong.” He edges closer to me, and not willing to appear weak, I stop myself from retreating, but an unease begins to creep through my veins. “You let me know—give me the word to get you out of this bullshit, and I’ll do everything in my considerable power to help you. You see, Ember, plenty of people underestimate me, and I don’t mind that. I can show you better than I can tell you. Are you going to give me that word, Em?” He inches even closer.
The unease blooms into a chasm of discomfort low in my stomach. Though I want nothing more than to be extricated from the miserable trap that marriage to Asad would be, I’ll use the shears still coated with Carter’s blood on my own hand before offering it to Kareem for help.
“I got it under control,” I say.
Fuck it. I don’t care how he perceives it. I retreat a step, inserting more space between us.
He arches an eyebrow and moves forward, reclaiming that space. Reaching up, he wraps a finger around one of my curls and tugs on it.
“Em, I shouldn’t have to remind you who or what Prince is—you grew up with him. He showed you more than any of us. Now imagine being married to him. When he can legally claim you ashis property and you’ll no longer have any control over your life. Do you really think he’s going to change and give a fuck about you? Do you honestly believe he’s going to be faithful? Prince is going to fuck everything that moves just like he does now and expect you to sit at home like good little silent, obedient wifey, wasting away. Is that how you see yourself? Is that the life you want?”
The life I want? I almost laugh in his face but manage to swallow it back. This hasn’t been the life I’vewantedfor thirteen years. But at twelve, others made those decisions for me, and at twenty-five, Asad was still trying to steal my choice, manipulate and sculpt my future into a nightmarish something that I didn’t recognize.
But why does Kareem suddenly give a fuck? He never did all these years. At least not enough to step in and defend me against his mother’s and Asad’s “tender mercies” before. So why now?
No. I don’t trust it. I don’t trust him. At the end of the day, he’s his mother’s son.
I guess he takes my silence as me considering his little speech because he smiles at me, rubbing my hair between his fingers.
“Look at tonight, for example. Mom may have invited Aryn here this evening, but Asad damn sure didn’t tell her to leave. And then he had her sit beside him at dinner instead of you. They’ve been together for a while now, and it’s been no secret. It’s also no secret, at least to me, why he’s forcing you to marry him, and it has nothing to do with actually wanting you. The Cross DNA. Keeping you chained to this organization so you can’t take your talents elsewhere. You’re the moneymaker, Em, and Asad and Mom will never let that go.”
He’s not informing me of anything I’m not already aware of or hasn’t occurred to me. That shrewd, too-sharp gaze studies my face like hard calculus, but I’m proficient in concealing my thoughts and emotions. He and his family instilled that in me long ago. So though his well-aimed darts struck their target, he’ll never know it.
But I’ll never be my mother, though I love her with all my heart. I will never be a man’s trophy—golden, silent, and decorative—while he disrespects me, fucking anything that moves and expecting me to shut up and take it. I’ll walk away. And if that’s not an option, I’ll kill all of us first. And I mean that shit with everything in me.
“Kareem, you know what they say about touching a Black woman’s hair.” I wrap my hand around his and squeeze, digging my nails into the sensitive flesh between his fingers until his mouth flattens and he releases me. “Don’t.”
“Ember…”