Chapter 27 Zainab
ZAINAB
“Zainy, what’s happening? Who is that?”
Mehar’s voice was high and tight, her hands gripping the dashboard as I weaved through traffic, the black Tahoe filling my rearview mirror like a nightmare I couldn’t wake up from.
“It’s Zoo.” I ran a yellow light, heard horns blaring behind me. “Nigel’s father.”
“Nigel? Who is that?”
“It’s the boy Yusef killed.”
The words came out flat. Matter-of-fact. Like I was reading a grocery list instead of confessing my nephew’s darkest secret.
Mehar’s head snapped toward me. “What?”
“Nigel was bullying him. Had been for months. It got physical. Yusef…” I swerved around a minivan, my heart pounding so hard I could feel it in my teeth. “Yusef shot him in self-defense. But Zoo doesn’t see it that way. He’s pissed I helped cover it up.”
“Yusef?” Mehar’s voice cracked. “He’s twelve years old, Zainab. He’s a CHILD.”
“I know.”
“He killed someone?”
“I KNOW.” I checked the mirror again. The Tahoe was closer now. One car length. Half a car length. “And if we don’t lose this man, we’re going to be next.”
I grabbed my phone from the cupholder and hit Prime’s contact. He picked up on the first ring.
“Goddess.”
“Someone’s following me.” I hated how shaky my voice sounded. “Black Tahoe. Tinted windows. It’s Zoo—Nigel’s father. He’s been on me since the mall.”
A pause. When Prime spoke again, his voice was ice. Controlled. The voice of a man who’d handled situations like this a hundred times before.
“Where are you now?”
“Heading east on Route 4. Just passed the—” The Tahoe surged forward and SLAMMED into our bumper. Mehar screamed. I screamed. The Acura fishtailed, tires shrieking against the asphalt, and I fought the wheel to keep us from spinning out. “HE JUST HIT US.”
“Listen to me.” Prime’s voice cut through my panic like a blade. “Breathe. You’re going to be okay. Do exactly what I say.”
“Okay. Okay.” I was gasping, hands slick with sweat on the steering wheel. “What do I do?”
“There’s a gun in the glove compartment. Glock 19. Loaded. Safety’s off.”
Mehar was already reaching for it, her hands trembling as she popped open the compartment and pulled out the black pistol. It looked huge in her small hands. Deadly.
“I know how to use this,” she said, and her voice had gone strangely calm. “Ahmad made me learn. Took me to the range every month because he was paranoid about government agents coming for him.”
Any other time, I might’ve laughed at the absurdity of a hotep conspiracy theorist accidentally teaching his abused wife the skill that might save her life. But there was nothing funny about this moment.
“Good.” Prime’s voice was still steady. “Now listen. I need you to lure him toward the Banks Reserve warehouse. You know where that is?”
“The one off Miller Road? In the middle of nowhere?”
“That’s the one. Get him on the back roads. Away from witnesses. I’m already on my way.”
The Tahoe slammed into us again. Harder this time. Metal screamed against metal. The Acura lurched forward, and I barely kept control as we careened through an intersection, running a red light, horns blaring all around us.
“HE’S TRYING TO RUN US OFF THE ROAD.”
“Then don’t let him.” Prime’s calm was infuriating and grounding all at once. “You’ve got this, Zainab. Get to Miller Road. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
“A few MINUTES?”
“Drive fast. Shoot if you have to. I love you.”
The line went dead.
“PRIME!” I threw the phone into my lap, both hands back on the wheel as the Tahoe pulled up alongside us. I could see Zoo through his window now—face twisted with rage, mouth moving like he was screaming something I couldn’t hear.
Then I saw the gun in his hand.
“GET DOWN!”
The first shot shattered the back window.
Mehar screamed, ducking low in her seat, glass raining down around us like deadly confetti. I swerved hard to the right, tires squealing, putting distance between us and the Tahoe.
But he was faster. Pulled up alongside again. Raised the gun.
The second shot took out the driver’s side mirror.
“MEHAR, SHOOT HIM!”
She was already moving. Rolling down her window, the wind whipping her hijab—the one she’d worn out of habit this morning, the last piece of her old life still clinging to her—as she leaned out with the Glock gripped in both hands.
“STEADY!” I screamed. “AIM FOR THE TIRES!”
She fired.
The first shot went wide, sparking off the Tahoe’s hood.
Zoo swerved but didn’t slow down. He was right beside us now, close enough that I could see the murder in his eyes. I sped up.
Mehar fired again. And again. And again.
The Tahoe’s windshield cracked. Spiderwebbed. Zoo jerked the wheel instinctively, and I saw my opening—yanked the Acura hard to the left, forcing him onto the shoulder.
“THE TIRE!” I screamed. “HIT THE TIRE!”
Mehar adjusted her aim. Squeezed the trigger.
The front tire exploded.
The Tahoe swerved violently, fishtailing across the road, and I watched in the rearview as Zoo fought for control. He lost. The SUV spun once, twice, then careened off the road and into a drainage ditch, coming to rest at an ugly angle.
We didn’t stop.
I floored the accelerator, the damaged Acura groaning in protest but still running. The back window was gone. The mirror was gone. The windshield had a crack running through it from the impact. But we were alive.
We were alive.
“Is he dead?” Mehar was twisted in her seat, staring back at the wreckage. “Did I kill him?”
“I don’t know.” I couldn’t see movement from the Tahoe, but I couldn’t see a body either. “I don’t know.”
“Oh God. Oh God oh God oh God.” The Glock was still in her hands, the slide locked back on an empty magazine. She’d fired every round. Her whole body was shaking now, the adrenaline wearing off, the reality of what she’d just done crashing over her.
“You did good.” I reached over and squeezed her arm. “You saved us. You hear me? You SAVED us.”
She nodded, but her eyes were glassy. Shock setting in.
My phone buzzed. Prime.
Prime: Almost there. Where are you?
Me: Just passed Miller Road. His car’s in a ditch. Don’t know if he’s dead.
Prime: Go to the warehouse. Code is 7491. Wait inside. Don’t come out until I get you.
Me: What are you going to do?
Prime: Handle it.
I turned onto the dirt road that led to the Banks Reserve warehouse—a massive storage facility in the middle of absolutely nowhere, surrounded by trees and silence. The perfect place to hide.
The perfect place to make someone disappear.
I punched in the code and pulled into the dark interior of the warehouse, killing the engine. For a long moment, neither of us moved. Just sat there in the damaged car, breathing hard, listening to the tick of the cooling engine and the pounding of our own hearts.
Then headlights appeared in the rearview.
Prime’s Bentayga rolled past the entrance, heading back toward the main road. Back toward Zoo.
I watched until his taillights disappeared into the darkness.
“What’s he going to do?” Mehar whispered.
I thought about Prime. About the man he used to be. About the things Rashid had trained him to do. About the cold, calculated violence that lived just beneath the surface of those ocean eyes.
“Whatever he has to,” I said quietly. “Whatever he has to.”