Chapter 7 The Enforcer’s Question
The room was too small, too close.
Zuri sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the cracks in the wooden floorboards, trying to block out the sounds from below—the thump of music, the low voices of men who wanted her gone, the clink of bottles.
Every beat reminded her she didn’t belong here. Every whisper carried her name like poison.
The door creaked. Heavy boots crossed the threshold.
She didn’t need to look up to know it was him.
Amani.
The Enforcer.
The man who had stood between her and the wolves downstairs, then dragged her up here like she was already his prisoner.
The air shifted when he stepped inside, thicker, charged.
“You gonna sit there all night staring at the floor?” His voice was rough, carrying an edge that scraped across her skin.
Zuri lifted her chin. “Maybe.”
He shut the door behind him. The click of the lock made her chest tighten.
Amani leaned against the dresser, arms folded over his chest, watching her. His gaze wasn’t just sharp—it was dissecting, like he could strip her down to the truth if he stared hard enough.
“You brought fire to my doorstep,” he said. “And now every brother downstairs wants your head for it.”
“I didn’t ask you to lie for me,” Zuri snapped, her voice sharper than she intended.
His jaw tightened. “Doesn’t matter. You’re mine now. That makes your mess my mess.”
Her pulse skipped. She hated the way that word hit her—mine. Like chains and safety all at once.
She pushed to her feet. “I’m not yours.”
He moved before she could blink. One second he was across the room, the next he was in front of her, close enough that she could see the faint scar cutting through his eyebrow, close enough that the heat of his body stole her breath.
“Don’t play with me, Zuri.” His voice was low, dangerous. “A car doesn’t just blow up outside our bar. Someone sent a message. To you.”
Her heart stuttered. She forced her face blank. “You don’t know that.”
“I know enough.” His eyes narrowed. “Who are you running from?”
The question sliced through her like a blade.
Her mouth went dry. Memories clawed at the edges of her mind—blood on marble floors, shadows in alleyways, the sound of her father’s voice ordering men to kill.
She shook her head. “No one.”
Amani laughed, but there was no humor in it. “Bullshit.”
He grabbed her wrist, not rough enough to hurt, but firm enough that she couldn’t pull away. His thumb brushed against her pulse, and she hated that her body betrayed her, beating faster under his touch.
“You think I don’t recognize fear when I see it?” His gaze burned into hers. “You’ve been running a long time. I want to know from who.”
Zuri swallowed hard. She wanted to lie, to spin another story. But the way he looked at her—like he could see straight through the words before they even left her lips—froze her tongue.
So she said nothing.
The silence stretched, heavy.
Finally, he released her wrist, stepping back.
“You’ve got until tomorrow,” Amani said. His voice was calm now, almost too calm. “The club will demand answers. If you don’t give them to me first, they’ll take you apart piece by piece until they get what they want.”
Zuri’s stomach twisted. She believed him.
He turned toward the door, hand on the knob.
But then he paused, his shoulders rigid, his head tilting slightly as if he was listening to something only he could hear.
When he spoke again, his voice was softer, but it cut deeper.
“You’re hiding something big. And whatever it is—it’s gonna get us all killed if you don’t spit it out.”
The door clicked shut behind him, leaving her alone with her heartbeat pounding in her ears.
Zuri pressed her shaking hands to her face.
She couldn’t tell him. Couldn’t tell anyone.
Because if her family found out where she was…
Her chest tightened.
The explosion outside had only been the beginning.
