Chapter 25 Prime
PRIME
Growing up without a father left a hollow void inside of me.
So when Rashid stepped in to mold me, I didn’t resist. He gave me discipline. Grit. Street smarts. He turned me into a killer. Showed me how to make money and move like smoke; there one second, gone the next, no trace left behind. He carved me into the ruthless nigga I am today.
But it left a dark hole inside of me. One I couldn’t fill no matter how much money I stacked or how many bodies I caught.
Until her.
Ever since Zainab walked into my life, that hole started closing.
Her beautiful dark skin. That bright smile.
Her sense of humor that caught me off guard every time.
She had a fire in her, and I wasn’t like some niggas who wanted to extinguish a woman’s flame.
I wanted her to burn. Wanted her to light up the whole world while I stood in the shadows keeping her safe.
Rashid gave me life. But Zainab gave me a reason to live it.
As much as I respected him—revered him, even—my love for her took precedence. And if he couldn’t understand that, we had a problem.
The cigar bar was quiet when I walked in.
Low jazz playing from hidden speakers. Leather booths. The smell of expensive tobacco and older money. This was Rashid’s domain—one of many—and he sat in his usual spot near the back, a glass of bourbon in front of him and a Cuban cigar smoldering between his fingers.
He looked… different. The charcoal suit was still perfectly tailored, the burgundy bowtie still immaculate, those Malcolm X glasses still giving him that professor-instead-of-killer look.
But something was off. He was thinner than the last time I’d seen him.
The suit that usually fit him like armor seemed to hang slightly at the shoulders.
And there were hollows beneath his cheekbones that hadn’t been there before.
Fifty-seven years old. For the first time, he actually looked it.
I filed that observation away and said nothing.
“Prentice.” He gestured to the seat across from him. “Sit.”
I sat. Not because he told me to, but because I needed to see his face when we had this conversation.
A waiter appeared. I ordered a Banks Reserve whiskey, neat. Neither of us spoke until it arrived and the waiter disappeared again.
“You wanted to meet,” Rashid said finally. “So meet. Say what you came to say.”
I took a sip of my whiskey. Let the burn settle in my chest before I spoke.
“I want the boy back.”
“No.”
“I’m not finished.” I set the glass down carefully. “I understand your position. Yusef is your blood. Meech is his father. You feel entitled to him.”
“I don’t feel entitled. I am entitled.” Rashid drew on his cigar, the ember glowing orange in the dim light. “That boy carries my sister’s bloodline. He belongs with his family. His real family. Not some woman playing house with my nephew’s son.”
“Zainab raised him for twelve years. She’s the only mother he’s ever known.”
“And look what that produced.” Rashid’s lip curled with disdain.
“A soft, emotional child who cries at the slightest discomfort. Who can’t look a man in the eye.
Who flinches at raised voices and cowers when challenged.
” He shook his head slowly. “That’s what happens when women try to raise men. They create weakness.”
I felt my jaw tighten but kept my voice level. “What if we split custody? Yusef spends time with both families. Zainab gets him during the school year. Meech gets summers and holidays. Everybody wins.”
Rashid laughed. Actually laughed—a low, rumbling sound that held zero humor.
“Compromise.” He said the word like it tasted bitter. “The Prime I trained didn’t compromise. He took what he wanted and eliminated obstacles.” He leaned forward, studying me with those sharp eyes. “What happened to you?”
“I grew up.”
“You went soft.” He jabbed his cigar toward me. “This woman has you thinking with your heart instead of your head. The soldier I built would have never let a female cloud his judgment like this.”
There it was. The dismissal I knew was coming. Women were tools to Rashid. Vessels for children. Warm bodies when needed. But never equals. Never partners. Never anything worthy of the kind of devotion I felt for Zainab.
And the worst part? I used to think the same way.
Before Zainab, I carried my mother’s abandonment like a weight around my neck. Judged women who raised children alone because my own mother couldn’t be bothered to raise me at all. Looked at single mothers and saw failure instead of strength.
Zainab changed that. Watching her sacrifice everything for Yusef—her identity, her safety, her entire life—showed me what real love looked like. What real strength looked like. She’d done more for that boy in twelve years than Meech had done in his entire existence.
But Rashid would never understand that. His worldview was calcified. Immovable. Women were beneath him, and no amount of evidence would change his mind.
“I’m not soft,” I said quietly. “I’m evolved. There’s a difference.”
“Evolved.” Rashid snorted. “Is that what you call it? Because from where I’m sitting, you look like a man who’s lost his edge.
Who’s forgotten who he is and where he came from.
” He leaned back, swirling his bourbon. “You weren’t like this for your first love.
Nala. Now you’re willing to die for this one.
What is it about broken women that draws you in? ”
The mention of Nala sent ice through my veins.
“I was never in love with Nala.”
Rashid raised an eyebrow. “Is that what you tell yourself?”
“It’s the truth.”
“Mmm.” He didn’t look convinced, but he let it go. For now. “Regardless. The boy stays with me. With Demetrius. Where he belongs.”
He reached for his bourbon, and I caught it, just for a second. A slight tremor in his hand. The glass shook, barely noticeable, before he steadied it and brought it to his lips.
Rashid didn’t have tremors. Rashid’s hands were surgeon-steady. I’d seen him put a bullet between a man’s eyes from fifty feet without flinching.
Something was wrong with him.
But that wasn’t my concern right now.
“You haven’t even told me what you’re doing to him.” I kept my voice steady even as rage bubbled beneath the surface. “Where is he? How is he?”
Something flickered across Rashid’s face. Pride, maybe. Satisfaction.
“He’s being rebuilt.” He said it casually, like he was discussing a renovation project.
“When I took him, he was soft. Weak. Couldn’t even hold my gaze without crying.
” He drew on his cigar. “I’ve started his training.
Basic discipline. Pain tolerance. The understanding that actions have consequences and weakness is not tolerated. ”
My hands curled into fists beneath the table. “What does that mean? Specifically?”
“It means I’m making a man out of him. Something his mother, excuse me, his aunt—” he said the word with contempt “—clearly failed to do.” He smiled slightly.
“He’s learning to kneel in rice. To carry weight without complaint.
To accept correction without tears. It’s slow progress, but progress nonetheless. ”
A cough rattled in his chest. He turned his head slightly, suppressing it, but I heard the wetness in it. When he looked back at me, his eyes dared me to comment.
I didn’t.
Kneeling in rice. Carrying weight. Correction.
I knew exactly what those things meant. I’d lived them.
Survived them. Still carried the scars—physical and mental—from years of Rashid’s “training.” And that was just the beginning.
Soon would come the waterboarding, the beatings, eating of raw meat, forced to fight other boys and the list goes on.
And now he was doing the same thing to a twelve-year-old boy who’d already been through more trauma than most adults could handle.
“He’s a child.” My voice came out harder than I intended. “He watched his mother get murdered. He killed his bully in self-defense. He doesn’t need to be broken down—he needs therapy. Support. Love.”
“Love.” Rashid spat the word. “Love doesn’t build soldiers. Love doesn’t create men who can survive in this world. Love is what weak people hide behind when they’re too scared to do what’s necessary. And the fact that he’s already killed lets me know I’m on the right path.”
“Yusef doesn’t need to be a soldier. He’s a kid who plays piano and likes video games. He deserves a childhood.”
“Childhood is a luxury.” Rashid’s eyes went cold.
“One that produces soft, useless adults who crumble at the first sign of adversity. I’m giving that boy a gift.
The same gift I gave you.” He pointed his cigar at me.
“Or have you forgotten where you came from? The fat, stuttering embarrassment I found crying in a prison bathroom? Do you know who you would’ve been had I not stepped in that day? You’re welcome for who you are today.”
“I’m grateful for the skills you taught me,” I said carefully. “But I’m not grateful for the damage. And I won’t let you do the same thing to Yusef.”
“You don’t have a choice.”
“There’s always a choice.”
We stared at each other across the table. Two predators measuring each other. Two men who’d once been mentor and student, now something else entirely.
“Let me be clear,” Rashid said slowly. “That boy is staying with me. He will be trained properly. He will learn discipline and strength and how to be a man. And when he’s ready—when I’ve reshaped him into something worthy of my bloodline—he’ll thank me for it. Just like you should be thanking me.”
“And Zainab?”
“What about her?”
“She’s his mother in every way that matters. You can’t just erase twelve years.”
“Watch me.” Rashid’s smile was cold. “Women like her attract chaos. And chaos attracts attention. The kind of attention that gets people buried.” He ashed his cigar. “If she’s smart, she’ll move on. Find another man. Have her own children. Forget Yusef ever existed.”
“That’s never going to happen.”
“Then she’ll suffer for it.” He shrugged like he was discussing the weather. “Her choice.”
The threat hung in the air between us. Direct. Unambiguous. He wasn’t just taking Yusef—he was warning me to keep Zainab out of his way, or face consequences.
I thought about everything this man had given me. The discipline. The skills. The ability to survive in a world that wanted to destroy me. For years, I’d followed his orders without question. Killed who he told me to kill. Protected what he told me to protect. Been the perfect soldier.
But that was before Zainab. Before Yusef. Before I understood that there was more to life than power and control and the endless accumulation of bodies and money.
I wasn’t that soldier anymore.
“I’m going to take him back.” I stood up from the booth, looking down at the man who’d shaped me into a weapon. “Yusef is coming home. And anyone standing in my way gets dealt with.”
Rashid didn’t flinch. Just looked up at me with something like amusement.
“Is that a threat, Prentice?”
“It’s a promise.”
“You think you can win a war against me?” He chuckled, shaking his head. “I taught you everything you know.”
I buttoned my jacket and straightened my cuffs. Took one last look at the man who’d raised me from nothing and turned me into something.
“You taught me everything you know,” I agreed. “But not everything I’ve learned.”
I turned and walked out into the cold December air without looking back.
Rashid thought he knew me. Thought I was still the obedient soldier who followed orders and stayed in his lane. Thought the years of training had made me predictable.
He was about to find out how wrong he was.