Chapter 3 Mehar #2
I stood in the hallway for a moment, listening to the muffled sound of Sloane’s voice through the door, warm and patient. Then I forced myself to walk away. To give him his privacy. His space to heal.
I wandered into the kitchen, poured myself a glass of water, and leaned against the counter.
The house was too quiet. Too empty. Just me and my thoughts and a thirteen-year-old boy who couldn’t speak, alone in a mansion that felt more like a mausoleum.
Which was dangerous.
Because when I was alone, I started thinking about who put my sister in that cell. Who made that call. Who fed information to the cops and orchestrated her arrest at the worst possible moment.
Someone wanted her gone.
And when I found out who, I was going to make them regret the day they were born.
I’d already destroyed one man who hurt me. Left him bleeding and broken, missing pieces he’d never get back. I’d do it again without hesitation. Without remorse. Without a single prayer for forgiveness.The old Mehar would have been horrified.
The new Mehar? She understood that sometimes monsters were necessary to fight other monsters.
I was mid-thought, fingers tight around my water glass, when the doorbell rang.
I froze. Justice wasn’t expecting anyone—he would have mentioned it. And I didn’t know enough people in DC to have visitors.
The bell rang again.
I set the glass down and moved toward the front door, my hand instinctively going to my waistband before I remembered I wasn’t carrying. Stupid. I’d have to fix that.
I checked the video monitor by the door. A man. Tall. Alone. Holding what looked like a folder.
I’d seen him at the grand opening yesterday. Standing near the back of the crowd. Justice had dapped him up. Quest too. Family, I’d assumed. One of the cousins Prime had mentioned in passing.
Even through the grainy monitor, I could tell he was fine.
I pressed the intercom. “Who is it?”
“Thad. Justice’s cousin.” His voice came through smooth and unhurried. “Got some paperwork for Justice. He asked me to drop them off.”
Family or not, I wasn’t about to just open the door because a man said so. I pulled out my phone and shot Justice a quick text:
Someone named Thad at the door. Says he’s dropping off paperwork for you. He legit?
Three dots appeared almost immediately.
Yeah that’s my cousin. Good looking out tho. I forgot I asked him to swing by.
I exhaled. Slid the phone back in my pocket.
Through the monitor, Thad looked up at the camera like he knew I was making him wait on purpose. One eyebrow raised, hint of a smirk. Patient, but amused.
That confidence irritated me.
I opened the door.
Shit.
The monitor didn’t do him justice. He was taller than I realized.
Built like he lived in the gym but wasn’t loud about it.
Square jaw, clean-shaven, skin the color of dark honey.
Black joggers that fit right, white tee stretched across his chest, fresh Jordans, gold chain catching the last of the sunset.
But it was his eyes that got me.
Dark brown, almost black. Sharp. The kind of eyes that made you feel like he was seeing more than you wanted him to.
I knew eyes like that. I saw them every morning in the mirror.
“Took you long enough,” he said. No attitude, just that same amusement. “You always make people wait on the porch?”
“Only the ones I don’t know.”
“Smart.” He nodded, eyes still on mine. “Who taught you that?”
“Life taught me that.”
His smirk softened. “Fair enough.”
He held up the manila folder but didn’t hand it over. Just held it there.
“So. Justice around, or…?”
“He’s at the office.” I leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. Not moving aside. “I can take the folder.”
His eyes moved over me. Slow. Not hiding it. Taking in the tattoo on my neck. The nose stud. The way I was standing like I wasn’t about to move for him or anybody else.
I should have been offended.
Instead I felt my face get warm. Stood a little straighter without meaning to.
That pissed me off.
“You’re Mehar, right?” he asked. “Zainab’s sister. I saw you yesterday. Before everything went sideways.”
“Yeah.” My jaw tightened. “Before.”
We stood there for a second. Evening air between us. Him looking at me like he was trying to figure me out.
I didn’t like how much I wanted to let him.
“You gonna let me in?” he asked. “Or we doing this on the porch?”
“Porch works for me.” I held out my hand. “I’ll make sure Justice gets it.”
He looked surprised for half a second. Like women didn’t usually tell him no.
Good.
But he recovered quick, stepping closer to hand me the folder. Closer than he needed to be. Close enough that I caught his cologne—something I didn’t recognize. Dark. Warm. Expensive.
Made me want to lean in.
I didn’t. But I didn’t step back either.
His fingers brushed mine when he handed over the folder. Not an accident. Quick, but I felt it go up my arm.
I kept my face blank.
His eyes said he knew exactly what he did.
Asshole.
I tucked the folder under my arm and waited for him to leave.
He didn’t.
“You mind if I use the bathroom real quick? Long drive out here.”
I should have said no. Something was telling me to say no.
But Justice confirmed he was family. And it was just the bathroom.
“Down the hall. First door on the left.”
“Good looking out.”
He stepped past me. His shoulder almost brushed mine. Almost. His cologne hit me again and I had to stop myself from breathing deeper.
The fuck was wrong with me?
I stayed by the door, arms crossed, listening to his footsteps. Telling myself I was being smart. Keeping eyes on the exit.
Not thinking about his back in that white tee. Not thinking about anything.
Two minutes later, he was back. Same energy. Like he owned wherever he was standing.
He stopped in front of me. Too close. Close enough that I had to look up to meet his eyes. Close enough that I could see a small scar near his temple.
I should have stepped back.
I didn’t.
“Thanks for holding it down,” he said. Voice lower now. “I can tell you don’t trust easy. That’s good.”
“I’ve had practice.”
“I bet.” His eyes dropped to my mouth. Quick. Then back up. “I can tell you been through some things.”
My throat got tight. “You don’t know anything about me.”
“Not yet.” He smiled. Not the smirk—something else. “But I’m patient.”
He stepped past me onto the porch. I let myself breathe.
Then he turned back, walking backward toward his car.
“I’ll be seeing more of you, Mehar.”
It wasn’t a question.
“That right?”
“Mm-hmm.” His eyes held mine. “Count on it.”
He slid into a red Porsche Panamera and pulled off.
I stood in that doorway way too long. Watching his taillights until they disappeared. Then just standing there like an idiot, staring at nothing.
His cologne was still in the hallway.
I looked down at my hand. The one he touched.
I rubbed my hands together, annoyed at myself.
Get it together, Mehar. You don’t even know this man.
But I wanted to. That was the problem. The way he looked at me—like he saw who I was NOW, not the broken girl who showed up eight months ago—made me want to show him more.
And that was stupid.
I knew what happened when you let a man see too much. Ahmad taught me that lesson in blood and bruises and years I wasn’t getting back.
But Thad wasn’t Ahmad.
Thad was something else.
I walked back into the house. Closed the door. Locked it. Stood there in the quiet, heart still beating too fast.
I’ll be seeing more of you, Mehar.
I didn’t know why those words stayed with me. Didn’t know why I was still thinking about the way his eyes dropped to my mouth. Didn’t know why his cologne in the hallway made me want to open the door again.
What I did know was this:
Thad was trouble.
And I’d never been good at staying away from trouble.