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Didn’t turn around.

Levin’s voice came from behind me.

“You keep talking about what a brother supposed to do.”

My hand tightened around the doorknob.

“Before you get too righteous…”

I looked back.

His eyes were even colder now.

Nothing funny left in them.

“You might wanna ask yourself what kind of brother helps send his own brother to prison for seven fucking years.”

Everything inside me stopped.

Levin stared at me.

My mouth went dry.

“I don’t know what the fuck you talking about.”

“Yeah.”

Levin smiled.

But there wasn’t shit funny about it.

“You do.”

I stared at him.

He stared right back.

And for the first time since I walked into my brother’s house weeks ago, I understood something.

Levin hadn’t been helping me because he didn’t judge me.

He hadn’t been letting me stay here because I was his little brother.

This nigga knew.

He’d known.

And suddenly I wasn’t thinking about Sam anymore.

I was trying to figure out exactly how long.

Seven years ago flashed through my head.

That little-ass interrogation room.

Two detectives across from me.

Me young as fuck, scared even though I'd spent the first hour pretending I wasn't.