Chapter 36 Rashid
RASHID
The boy was in his room when I found him.
Kneeling on his prayer rug, reciting verses in Arabic like I had taught him. His back was to the door. His voice was soft, mechanical, the words flowing without meaning or conviction.
He had no idea what was coming.
“Yusef.”
He stopped mid-verse. Did not turn around. Simply froze, his small shoulders tensing beneath his thin t-shirt.
“Yes, sir?”
“Stand up. Face me.”
He obeyed. Slowly. When he finally turned, I saw it immediately. The redness around his eyes. The dried tear tracks on his cheeks. The faint glimmer of something that had not been there this morning.
Hope.
His father had given him hope. And hope was the most dangerous thing a captive could possess.
“You disobeyed me.”
The hope flickered. Died.
“I… I just brought him food. Like you said.”
“You searched my home for a key.” I took a step closer. “You attempted to free a man who has openly stated he wants to kill me. You spent hours in that basement conspiring with him instead of returning to your studies as I instructed.”
The color drained from his face. “How did you—”
“I see everything, boy.” Another step. “Every room in this house has cameras. Every word you spoke, I heard. Every embrace you shared, I witnessed.”
His eyes went wide. The fear was back now, flooding in to replace whatever foolish hope his father had planted.
“I’m sorry.” His voice cracked. “I’m sorry, I just wanted to—”
My hand connected with his face before he could finish.
The blow sent him spinning. He crashed into the wall, sliding down to the floor, his hand flying to his cheek where my palm had left its mark.
“You wanted to betray me.” I stood over him, my shadow swallowing his small frame. “After everything I have given you. The food. The shelter. The education. The discipline that will make you a man. And this is how you repay me?”
“Please—”
I grabbed him by the collar and hauled him to his feet. Slammed him against the wall hard enough to rattle the windows.
“Your father is a failure. A coward. A man who abandoned your mother when she needed him most, who spent twelve years in prison while another man raised his son, who couldn’t control his impulses long enough to follow simple instructions.
” I leaned close, my face inches from his. “And you chose HIM over ME?”
“He’s my daddy—”
I hit him again. Harder this time. His head snapped to the side and blood sprayed from his split lip.
“He is NOTHING.” I threw him to the floor. “He was supposed to be a lieutenant in my organization. Instead, he murdered one of my soldiers because he couldn’t keep his emotions in check. He is a liability. A disappointment. A waste of blood and breath.”
Yusef was crying now. Curled up on the floor, arms raised to protect his head, sobbing the way he had when he first arrived.
All my work. All my progress. Undone by one conversation with a man in chains.
I kicked him in the ribs. Felt something crack beneath my shoe.
He screamed.
“You think love will save you?” I kicked him again. “You think your father will protect you?” Again. “You think hope means ANYTHING in this world?”
“STOP! PLEASE STOP!”
I paused. Breathing hard. The cough was trying to rise again, but I forced it down through sheer will.
The boy lay at my feet, broken and bleeding. His face was swelling. His breathing was ragged, hitching with each sob. One arm was wrapped around his ribs where I had cracked them.
This was not enough.
He needed to understand. Truly understand. That sentiment was weakness. That love was a lie. That the only thing that mattered in this world was power and the will to use it.
I reached down and grabbed him by the hair. Hauled him up until his feet barely touched the floor.
“Get up. We’re going to the basement.”
“No—please—I’ll be good—I’ll do whatever you say—”
“Yes.” I dragged him toward the door. “You will.”
Demetrius heard us coming.
The chain rattled as he scrambled to his feet, pressing himself against the wall, his eyes fixed on the stairs with a mixture of hope and fear.
When he saw Yusef—bloody, bruised, barely able to stand—the hope died.
“What did you do to him?!” Demetrius lunged forward, but the chain caught him short. “He’s just a kid! He’s just a fucking KID!”
I released Yusef, letting him crumple to the concrete floor at the base of the stairs. Then I descended the remaining steps, my footsteps echoing in the cold, bare space.
“He failed a test.” I straightened my bowtie. “I gave him simple instructions. Feed you. Return to his studies. Instead, he spent hours searching for a key to free you. Hours plotting with you to escape. Hours choosing sentiment over obedience.”
“He’s twelve years old!” Demetrius was straining against the chain, veins bulging in his neck. “He’s a CHILD! You can’t expect him to—”
“I can expect whatever I wish.” I pulled the gun from my waistband. A simple revolver. Six chambers. Only one bullet loaded. “And now, he will learn the consequences of his choices.”
Demetrius’s eyes locked onto the weapon. The fight drained out of him.
“No.” His voice was barely a whisper. “No, no, no. Rashid, please. Whatever you’re thinking—don’t. Please. I’ll do anything. I’ll be loyal. I’ll follow every order. Just don’t—”
“Yusef.” I turned to the boy, who was still crumpled at the base of the stairs. “Come here.”
He didn’t move. Just lay there, shaking, blood dripping from his lip onto the concrete.
“I said come HERE.”
Slowly, painfully, Yusef pushed himself up. His ribs screamed with every movement—I could see it in his face—but he managed to get to his feet and stumble toward me.
I pressed the gun into his hands.
His eyes went wide. “What—”
“Shoot him.”
The words hung in the air. Heavy. Final.
Yusef looked at the gun. Looked at his father. Looked at me.
“I… I can’t…”
“You can and you will.” I moved behind him, one hand gripping his shoulder, the other pressing against the back of his head. Guiding his aim toward Demetrius’s chest. “This is the consequence of your choices. You tried to free him. You chose him over me. Now you will end him.”
“PLEASE!” Demetrius was crying now. Actually crying, tears streaming down his face. “Rashid, please, don’t make him do this. Kill me yourself. Shoot me right now, I don’t care. But don’t make my son—don’t make him carry this—”
“He should have thought of that before he betrayed me.”
“HE’S A CHILD!”
“He is MY blood. MY legacy. And he will learn that weakness has consequences.” I tightened my grip on Yusef’s shoulder. “Shoot him. Now.”
Yusef’s hands were shaking so badly the gun rattled. Tears poured down his face, mixing with the blood from his split lip.
“Daddy…” His voice was barely audible. “Daddy, I can’t…”
“It’s okay, son.” Demetrius’s voice had changed. The desperation was fading, replaced by something softer. Something resigned. “It’s okay.”
“I CAN’T!”
“Yes you can.” Demetrius took a shaky breath. “Look at me, Yusef. Look at me.”
The boy raised his eyes to meet his father’s.
“I love you.” Demetrius’s voice cracked but held steady. “I love you so much. And I’m sorry. I’m sorry I wasn’t there. I’m sorry I wasn’t the father you deserved. I’m sorry for all of it.”
“Daddy, please—”
“But you gotta do this, son. You hear me? You gotta survive. Whatever it takes. Whatever he makes you do. You survive. And when you get out of here—and you WILL get out—you find your Auntie Zai. You find Prime. You let them take care of you. You live a good life. You be better than me.”
“I don’t want to—”
“I know, baby. I know.” Tears were streaming down Demetrius’s face, but his voice was calm. Peaceful, almost. “But it’s okay. I forgive you. You hear me? I forgive you. This ain’t your fault. None of this is your fault.”
I was growing impatient. “Enough. Shoot him. NOW.”
“I love you, son.” Demetrius closed his eyes. “I love you. Remember that. No matter what happens. I love you.”
I pressed the gun harder into Yusef’s hands. Moved my finger over his on the trigger.
“Three.”
Yusef sobbed.
“Two.”
Demetrius whispered something. A prayer, perhaps. Or a final goodbye.
“One.”
I squeezed Yusef’s finger.
BANG.
The shot echoed through the basement like thunder. Demetrius jerked once, a red bloom spreading across his chest, and then he slumped against the wall. The chain went taut, holding his body upright, his head lolling forward.
Dead.
Yusef didn’t scream.
That was what surprised me. I had expected wailing. Hysterics. The theatrical grief of a child who had just killed his own father.
Instead, there was silence.
The boy stood frozen. The gun still raised. His eyes fixed on his father’s body with an expression I couldn’t quite read.
Then he moved.
Fast. Faster than I anticipated.
He spun around, the gun swinging toward my face, and pulled the trigger.
Click.
Nothing.
Click. Click. Click.
Empty.
I hadn’t even flinched. Simply stood there, watching him squeeze the trigger over and over, his face contorting with rage and grief and desperate, futile hope.
“I loaded one bullet,” I said calmly. “Did you really think I would hand you a weapon capable of killing me?”
Click. Click. Click.
“I taught Prime that same lesson twenty years ago. Never hand a man a loaded weapon unless you’re prepared for him to use it.”
The clicking stopped. Yusef stood there, chest heaving, the empty gun trembling in his hands. His eyes were wild. Feral. The eyes of a boy who had just lost everything.
“I hate you.” His voice was raw. Broken. “I HATE YOU.”
“Good.” I plucked the gun from his hands. “Hate is useful. Hate can be shaped into something powerful. Hold onto that hate, Yusef. Let it fuel you. Let it burn away the weakness your aunt instilled in you.”
He lunged at me. Fists swinging. Screaming wordlessly, tears and blood flying from his face.
I caught his wrist easily. Twisted. Heard the bones grind together.
Then I hit him. Once. Hard. Right at the temple.
His eyes rolled back and he collapsed at my feet.
I stood over him for a moment, catching my breath. The cough was threatening again, tickling at the back of my throat, but I refused to give in to it.
The boy would wake up in his room. He would remember what he had done. What I had made him do. And he would never again make the mistake of choosing sentiment over obedience.
I bent down and scooped him up. Carried him up the stairs, past the monitors, past the study, up to his room on the third floor.
I laid him on his bed. Checked his pulse. Steady enough.
Then I returned to the basement.
Demetrius was still there. Still chained. Still dead. His blood was pooling beneath him, spreading across the concrete in a dark, widening circle.
I felt nothing.
This was the cost of disloyalty. The price of impulsiveness. The natural consequence of choosing emotion over discipline.
I would dispose of the body later. For now, I had other matters to attend to.
Prentice still had my daughter. Rita had humiliated me. But I was Rashid Muhammad. I was Shadow. I had survived worse than this and emerged stronger.
I would survive this too.
Even if my body was failing me. Even if my enemies were circling. Even if the boy upstairs would never forgive me for what I had made him do.
I would survive.
I always did.