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Wasn’t her concern if he was truly guilty or not. The Tribe had marked Mofour for dispatch, and she was there to see it through.
It’s easier to take the lawyer out and keep the man happy. And it’s cheaper and less time consuming than buying off a jury.”
Yet as Nena looked down at the rifle in her hands, she couldn’t help wondering if there was more to life than taking lives.
She’d been dispatching for so long that taking lives, even corrupt ones, elicited no more emotion from her than firing off an email. She didn’t relish killing. Killing just . . . was. It was keeping order and advancing the Tribe’s cause.
She thought about asking Elin what these swirls of emotions meant, because they were alien to her. They scared her, too, made her feel unlike herself after she had fought so hard to feel a semblance of self again.
There was unbelievable pride in Black women’s hair. Their hair was their crown, their superpower, something women taught each other to care for, as Nena’s first mother had taught her.
She was curious about what that life was like, the one where she could give herself to someone and them to her.
“You never laugh, Nena,” my sister observed one day as we were looking through her favorite style magazines. “Not even a smile.” I shrugged. I find things amusing. I laugh within.
