Chapter 18 Zainab #2
“Well.” Her voice dripped with condescension. “You certainly know how to pick them, Prentice.” She looked at me like I was something stuck to the bottom of her designer shoe. “But I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. You’ve always been a disappointment.”
Something snapped inside me.
Twelve years of rage. At my father. At every man who’d ever tried to break me. At this woman who’d treated her own son like garbage his entire life.
My hand connected with her face before I even registered moving.
The slap echoed through the ballroom like a gunshot.
Vivica stumbled back, her hand flying to her cheek, shock and fury warring on her face. The crowd went absolutely silent. Somewhere, a glass shattered.
And then Prime was lifting me off my feet, throwing me over his shoulder and carrying me toward the exit like I weighed nothing.
“PUT ME DOWN—”
“Nah.”
He didn’t stop until we were outside, the cold air hitting my face like a wake-up call. The valet scrambled to get the car, probably terrified of whatever the hell had just happened inside.
Prime set me down but kept his hands on my shoulders, looking into my eyes.
“You done?”
I was shaking. Adrenaline and anger and the sudden realization of what I’d just done all hitting me at once.
“I’m sorry.” The words came out broken. “I’m so sorry, I just—she said—and then your mother—I couldn’t—”
“Get in the car.”
The ride home was silent for the first few minutes.
I sat in the passenger seat, staring at my hands like they belonged to someone else. I’d just slapped two women at a high-profile gala. In front of politicians and business leaders and God knows who else with their phones out recording everything.
My reputation. Sweet Zin’s reputation. Everything I’d been building…
“I ruined everything.” My voice cracked. “All those people saw. They were recording. By tomorrow it’s gonna be all over the internet—”
“Probably.”
“And the roach—people are gonna think my rolls are dirty. That I have an infestation. Nobody’s gonna want to hire me now. I baked every single one of those in the new kitchen, Prime. There were no roaches. I would never—”
“I know.”
“Farah did it. She had to have. She’s been trying to get at me since the last gala and now she—”
“I know.” Prime’s voice was calm. Steady. “I’ll handle Farah.”
“How? She’s Rashid’s daughter. She’s connected to—”
“I said I’ll handle it.” He glanced over at me, and there was something in his eyes I couldn’t quite read. “You need to learn to control your anger in public. We both do. Can’t be out here giving people ammunition to use against us.”
I deflated. “I know. I’m sorry.”
“But.” He reached over and took my hand. “Thank you. For Vivica.”
I looked at him. “You’re not mad?”
“That you slapped my mother in front of half of DC’s elite?” A small smile tugged at his lips. “I’ve wanted to do that my whole life. Seeing you do it for me?” He squeezed my hand. “That’s the most gangsta shit anyone’s ever done on my behalf.”
I laughed through the tears that were starting to fall. “I just couldn’t listen to her talk to you like that. After everything she put you through…”
“I know.” He brought my hand to his lips, kissed my knuckles. “And I love you for it. But we gotta be smarter. Play the long game. Farah and Vivica—they’re not worth catching a case over.”
“You’re right.” I wiped my face with my free hand. “I know you’re right.”
“We’re gonna figure this out. The videos, the reputation stuff—we’ll handle it. Together. Okay?”
I nodded, leaning back against the headrest. The adrenaline was fading, leaving nothing but exhaustion in its wake.
“I love you,” I said quietly.
“I love you too, Goddess. Violent ass and all.”
I laughed again, and this time it felt real.
We pulled into the parking garage of Prime’s building, and I took a deep breath. All I wanted was to shower, crawl into bed, and forget this night ever happened. Tomorrow we’d deal with the fallout. Tonight, I just needed to hold Yusef and remind myself what actually mattered.
The elevator ride up was quiet. Comfortable. Prime’s hand in mine, solid and reassuring.
The doors opened onto the penthouse floor.
And immediately, I knew something was wrong.
The front door was open.
Not just unlocked. Open. A sliver of light spilling into the hallway from inside.
Prime went rigid beside me. He was moving before I could process what was happening, pulling me behind him, his whole body shifting into something dangerous and alert.
“Stay here,” he said.
But I couldn’t. I was right behind him as he pushed through the door, my heart pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears.
The living room was intact. Nothing broken. Nothing out of place.
Except the PlayStation was on. The controller abandoned on the floor in the middle of a game.
“Yusef?” I called out, my voice cracking. “YUSEF!”
I ran through the penthouse. His bedroom. The bathroom. The kitchen. The guest rooms. The balcony.
Empty. Empty. Empty. Empty.
“He’s gone.” The words came out as a whisper. Then louder. “HE’S GONE. Prime, he’s GONE—”
Prime was on his phone, pulling up cameras, checking security footage, his face carved from stone.
“Someone took him,” he said quietly. “Someone got past the doorman, past the cameras, past everything—”
“WHO?” I was screaming now, hysteria clawing at my throat. “WHO TOOK MY BABY?”
But Prime didn’t answer.
He was staring at his phone, at whatever the security footage was showing him, and his expression…
His expression told me everything I needed to know.
He knew exactly who took Yusef.
And whoever it was, they were already dead.