Page 64 of Raziel
How the hell did he find me?
He moved through the crowd that was fifty people deep. A white man in a black silk shirt and tailored slacks, moving through a barbecue, in a Black neighborhood stood out like an eclipse in sunlight. Every head turned. Conversations died mid-sentence.
He didn’t look at anyone else. His eyes, cold and furious, were locked on me.
Bria stuttered. “Oh shit, Maya…”
My heart hammered against my ribs.
“Don’t start,” I said, voice tighter than I wanted it to be.
“I warned you,” Raziel said, stepping closer. “You don’t need to be in this environment.”
The people around us shifted. Men stood up, tension rising. Deon’s playful demeanor vanished.
“What the fuck you mean by that, bruh?” Deon said. “What kinda environment you tryna say this is? What your hoe-ass tryna say?”
I grabbed Deon’s arm quickly. “It’s good,” I told him. “He didn’t mean it like that.”
Raziel’s gaze cut to Bria, who looked like she wanted the ground to swallow her whole.
“I told you to stay away from her.”
I stepped directly into his line of sight, blocking him. “You don’t own me, Raziel! Don’t come here acting like you do. Youain’t scared your fiancée gonna find out you slumming it?” I said it loudly. I wasn’t finna let him embarrass me like I was some child being scolded in public and keep quiet.
His eyes raked over my face “Cute,” he said, the word soaked in venom.
I waved him off. “Stop it, condescending ass. You’re making a scene. Go somewhere.”
He moved fast.
He grabbed me—iron grip on my arm—and in one shocking motion, yanked me off my feet and slung me over his shoulder.
The world tilted. People shouted. Bria screamed my name.
“Y’all—I’m good!” I yelled, trying to keep this from turning into something it didn’t need to be.
He carried me past the grill, past the stunned crowd, toward the black Navigator idling like a damn hearse.
“My bike!” I shouted.
“I’ll have someone get it,” he said flatly.
He dumped me into the passenger seat like I was a sack of rice and slammed the door. I clawed at the handle.
It wouldn’t open. I looked over and saw thechild lock was engaged. Of course. He thought of everything.
The ride was silent. Thick with tension. I could taste my own shame. He drove to my house.
“How are you getting in?” I spat—a final, pathetic grab for control. “I don’t have my key. Take me to my sister’s house.”
“Get out of the car.”
The way he looked at me made me listen.
He followed me, pulled a key from his pocket, and slid it into the lock.
It turned.
