Chapter 39 Farah
FARAH
The door closed behind Prime, and I was alone with him.
Thad.
Prime’s cousin. The quiet one who never said much at family gatherings.
The one who always lingered in corners, watching everyone with those flat, empty eyes.
I’d been tied to this chair for what felt like days, and he had barely spoken ten words.
Just sat on that cot in the corner, watching his laptop, eating takeout, occasionally glancing at me like I was furniture.
Now he was standing over me, a first aid kit in his hands, his face expressionless.
“Gotta clean that up,” he said, nodding toward the bloody hole where my ear used to be. “Prime said not to let you bleed out.”
Prime.
The name sent a fresh wave of pain through me—not from the wound, but from somewhere deeper. Somewhere I had buried all my fantasies about the man I thought I loved.
Prime wasn’t the man I thought he was.
I had spent YEARS wanting him. Obsessing over him. Doing everything I could to make him see me as more than Rashid’s daughter.
I had thrown myself at him at every opportunity. Showed up at his penthouse uninvited. Wore clothes that left nothing to the imagination. Made it clear—embarrassingly clear—that I was available. Willing. Desperate.
And he had rejected me. Every. Single. Time.
But I hadn’t given up. Couldn’t give up. Because in my mind, Prime was everything. The perfect man. Strong. Dangerous. Loyal. The kind of man who would protect me, cherish me, make me feel safe in a world that had never felt safe.
I had convinced myself that he just needed time. That eventually he would see what was right in front of him. That the connection I felt was real, even if he hadn’t acknowledged it yet.
So I did things. Desperate things. Pathetic things.
Like putting that roach in Zainab’s cinnamon rolls.
The memory made me cringe. I had snuck over to Zainab’s table at the gala, waited until she was distracted, and slipped a dead roach inside one of her cinnamon rolls.
I wanted to humiliate her. Wanted Prime to see that she wasn’t good enough for him.
Wasn’t clean enough, careful enough, worthy enough.
Instead, he had defended her. Comforted her. Looked at her with a tenderness I had never seen him show anyone. And the bitch slapped me!
But still I hadn’t given up.
I planted those panties in his penthouse, hoping Zainab would find them, hoping it would drive a wedge between them.
It hadn’t worked. Nothing had worked.
Because Prime didn’t want me. Had never wanted me. Would never want me.
And now?
Now he had tied me to a chair. Cut off my ear. Sent a photograph of my severed flesh to my father like I was nothing more than leverage.
The man I loved had mutilated me.
Thad pressed an alcohol-soaked gauze to the wound. I hissed at the sting, tears springing to my eyes.
“Hold still,” he muttered.
I tried to focus on the pain. On the physical sensation. Anything to distract from the emotional devastation threatening to swallow me whole.
Prime was a monster. He had always been a monster. I had just been too blinded by my obsession to see it.
My father had tried to warn me. Had told me, over and over, that Prime was dangerous. That the boy he had raised had become something cold and ruthless. That I should stay away from him.
I hadn’t listened.
And now I was paying the price.
Thad finished wrapping the bandage around my head, his movements clinical, detached. But when he was done, he didn’t step back.
He stayed close.
Too close.
“You know,” he said, his voice different now. Lower. “Prime is gonna be gone for a while.”
Something in his tone made my skin crawl.
“So?”
“So…” He reached out and touched my face. Not gently. Possessively. His thumb tracing my cheekbone, his eyes traveling down my body in a way that made my stomach turn. “Seems like a waste. Pretty thing like you, all tied up. Nobody around to hear nothing.”
“Don’t touch me.”
He smiled. It was the first expression I’d seen on his face since I’d been brought here, and it was terrifying. Empty. The smile of a man who felt nothing. Who wanted nothing except what he could take.
“You ain’t in a position to be giving orders, princess.”
“Prime will kill you.”
“Prime don’t know what I do when he’s not around.” He leaned closer, his breath hot against my neck. “And you ain’t gonna tell him. Know why?”
I couldn’t speak. Could barely breathe.
“Because by the time he gets back, you’re gonna be too ashamed to say a word. That’s how it always works with girls like you.” He pulled back slightly, studying my face. “Pretty girls. Rich girls. Girls who think they’re better than everybody else.”
“Please—”
He licked the side of my face.
One long, slow stroke from my jaw to my temple. His tongue wet and rough against my skin.
I screamed. Thrashed against the restraints. But my wrists were still bound, my ankles still tied, my body still weak from blood loss and shock.
“Yeah.” His voice was thick now. Hungry. “Fight. I like it when they fight.”
“NO! GET OFF ME! HELP! SOMEBODY—”
His hand clamped over my mouth.
“Nobody’s coming, princess. Nobody can hear you. It’s just you and me.”
His other hand moved to his belt.
I screamed behind his palm. Thrashed. Bit. Fought with everything I had left.
It wasn’t enough.
Prime
Quest and Justice were already waiting when I walked in.
Quest behind his desk, laptop open. Justice in one of the leather chairs, leg crossed, jaw tight. Neither of them spoke when I entered. They didn’t need to. The tension in the room said everything.
“You look like shit,” Justice said.
“Feel like it too.” I dropped into the chair across from Quest. “We got Creed on the line?”
“About to.” Quest tapped his laptop, and a moment later, Creed King’s face appeared on the large monitor mounted on the wall.
Creed looked exactly like I remembered—sharp eyes, calculating expression, the kind of face that revealed nothing and saw everything. The King brothers had built their reputation on information. They knew things about people that even the FBI couldn’t find. And they were very, very expensive.
“Prime.” Creed nodded at me through the screen. “Quest. Justice. Thanks for the call.”
“Thanks for taking it,” I said. “What do you have on Rashid?”
“I know you know the basics—NOI background, contract work but he’s also Shadow of the BCC. So I’ll skip to what you don’t know.” Creed pulled up something on his end. “Family and hideouts. That’s what you need, right?”
“Right.” Fuck, my little sister was working for the BCC now.
“Rashid’s mother is still alive. Ninety-one years old, lives in a nursing home in Detroit.
He’s got two aunts in Baltimore. A sister in Philadelphia.
” He rattled off the information like he was reading a grocery list. “I’ve got home addresses.
Phone numbers. Daily routines. I can send you everything. ”
Quest and Justice exchanged a look.
“What about properties?” I asked. “Rashid’s been a ghost for thirty years. He’s gotta have safehouses, hideouts, somewhere he operates from.”
“That took more digging.” Creed’s expression shifted slightly.
“He’s got a compound in Virginia—about forty-five minutes outside DC.
Gated. Secure. That’s his primary residence.
He also owns a row house in Baltimore under a shell company.
Uses it for meetings. And there’s a warehouse in Southeast that the BCC uses for distribution. ”
“The compound in Virginia. That’s where he’d be holding someone?”
“If he’s got a hostage? Yeah. That’s the spot. Secluded. Soundproofed basement. The kind of place where nobody hears anything.”
My jaw tightened. Yusef had been in that basement for over a week.
“What else?”
“This is where it gets interesting.” Creed leaned closer to the camera. “Rashid has a son. Kasim Muhammad. Thirty-one years old. Currently incarcerated in Panama on drug trafficking charges.”
I leaned forward. “Panama?”
“Yeah. Got caught trying to move product through the Canal Zone about two years ago. The Panamanian authorities aren’t known for their flexibility, but with enough money, anything’s possible. Word is Rashid’s been working on getting him out. Could happen within the next year.”
“What do we know about Kasim?”
“Smart. Patient. Strategic. Did three years in a federal facility in the States before the Panama situation. Inside, he was quiet. Didn’t cause problems. Didn’t make enemies.
Just watched. Learned. Built relationships.
” Creed paused. “He’s not like Meech. Not impulsive.
Not emotional. If Rashid dies before getting him out, Kasim’s gonna be a problem. ”
Quest and Justice exchanged another look.
“That’s more than enough,” I said slowly. “But I need one more thing.”
“Name it.”
“A photo of Kasim. In his cell. I want Rashid to see that we can reach his son anywhere.”
Creed was quiet for a moment. “That’s not easy. Panamanian prisons aren’t exactly cooperative.”
“Can you do it?”
“I’ve got contacts down there. It’ll take some bribes. Maybe a few threats. But yeah.” He nodded slowly. “I can make it happen.”
“I need it by tomorrow afternoon.”
“That’s tight.”
“Can you do it?”
Another pause. Then: “Yeah. I can do it.”
“How much?”
Creed smiled—the first real expression I’d seen from him all call. “This one’s on the house, Prime. Consider it a professional courtesy.”
“I appreciate that.”
“Don’t mention it. Rashid’s been a ghost for thirty years. The fact that you’re about to bring him down?” He shook his head. “That’s worth more than money. That’s history.”
Quest leaned forward. “Anything else we should know?”
“Just one thing.” Creed’s expression turned serious.
“Rashid’s sick. I don’t know with what, but my sources say he’s been making a lot of visits to oncologists.
Paying cash. Keeping it quiet.” He looked directly at me through the screen.
“Whatever you’re planning, you might not want to wait too long. The man’s dying.”
I absorbed that information. Filed it away.
“Thanks, Creed. Send everything to Quest’s secure server.”
“Already done. Good luck, Prime. You’re gonna need it.”
The screen went dark.
Quest, Justice, and I sat in silence for a moment.
“So,” Justice said finally. “What’s the play?”
I stood. Walked to the window. Looked out at the city lights below.
“Tomorrow, Rashid’s gonna call. He’s gonna want to make a deal. His daughter for Yusef.”
“And?”
“And I’m gonna let him think he’s won.” I turned back to face my brothers. “But before that exchange happens, I want him to know exactly how exposed he is. His son in Panama. His mother in Detroit. His aunts. His sister. Everyone he’s ever loved.”
Quest nodded slowly. “Psychological warfare.”
“He came to Grandma Rita’s house.” My jaw tightened. “I want him to spend his last days knowing that everything he built can be destroyed with a single phone call.”
“And then?”
“And then we make the trade. Get Yusef back. End this.”
Justice leaned forward. “You think he’ll let it end?”
“He doesn’t have a choice. He’s dying. His daughter’s missing an ear. His operation is crumbling.” I headed for the door. “Rashid’s done. He just doesn’t know it yet.”
“What about Kasim?” Quest asked.
I paused with my hand on the handle.
“Kasim’s a problem for another day. Right now, I just want Yusef home safe.”
I walked out.
But Quest’s question echoed in my mind all the way to my car.
What about Kasim?
That was a war for another time.
First, I had to finish this one.