Prime III: The Banks Empire

Chapter 1 Zainab

ZAINAB

I hadn’t slept.

Couldn’t sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the cameras flashing. The handcuffs clicking. Prime’s face. My man had that look in his eyes like he was about to tear through every cop in that room with his bare hands.

And Vivica. Standing in the back of MY bakery. Smirking.

I paced the cell, my feet slapping against cold concrete. Five steps forward. Turn. Five steps back. Turn. The khaki jail clothes they’d given me were stiff and scratchy, two sizes too big, smelling like industrial detergent and someone else’s despair.

The fluorescent lights hadn’t turned off all night. I didn’t even know what time it was anymore. Morning? Still night? Time didn’t exist in here. Just the buzzing of those lights and the distant sound of metal doors clanging somewhere down the hall.

My baby kicked.

Hard.

I pressed my palm against my belly, trying to breathe. “I know, baby. I know. Mama’s scared too.”

My heart was doing that thing again. It was racing so fast I could feel it in my throat. I couldn’t get a full breath. Every inhale felt like I was breathing through a coffee stirrer. The walls were too close. The ceiling was too low. The air was too thick.

Breathe. You have to breathe. For the baby.

But how was I supposed to breathe when everything I’d built—everything I’d finally let myself believe I could have—had just been snatched away in front of everyone I loved?

I was supposed to be safe.

WE were supposed to be safe.

He promised.

“Aye.”

I stopped pacing. Looked over at the metal bunk on the other side of the cell.

My cellmate —Adrienne, she’d told me her name was when they first put me in here—was propped up on one elbow, watching me with tired eyes.

She was older than me, maybe late forties, with box braids pulled back in a low ponytail and the kind of face that said she’d seen some things. Lived through some things.

“You gon’ wear a hole in that floor,” she said.

“Sorry.” I didn’t stop moving. Couldn’t stop. If I stopped, I’d think. If I thought, I’d break.

“And if you don’t sit your pregnant ass down somewhere, that baby gon’ drop right out your pussy onto this concrete.”

A laugh escaped me before I could stop it. The sound surprised us both.

“It would be just my luck,” I muttered, finally sinking onto the edge of my bunk. The thin mattress wheezed under my weight. “Give birth in a jail cell. Add it to the list.”

Adrienne sat up fully now, swinging her legs over the side of her bunk. She studied me for a long moment. Her eyes dropped to my left hand—to the pale tan line where my engagement ring used to be. They’d taken it during booking. Along with my earrings, my bracelet, my dignity.

“First time?” she asked.

I nodded. Swallowed hard.

She made a sound. Not quite a laugh, not quite a sigh. “Yeah. I can tell. You got that look.”

“What look?”

“Like you still think this is a mistake. Like somebody’s gonna come through that door any minute and say ‘Oops, wrong person, you’re free to go.’”

My jaw tightened. “It IS a mistake. I didn’t do what they’re saying I did.”

Adrienne laughed for real this time. A dry, humorless sound. “Yeah, sis. That’s all of us.”

I opened my mouth to argue—to explain that no, really, I was actually innocent, this was actually a setup—but what was the point? Everyone in here probably had a story. Probably believed their own story. Who was I to say mine was more true than theirs?

Besides. I wasn’t completely innocent, was I?

I DID steal my sister’s identity. I DID lie to everyone I loved for five years. I DID build an entire life on a dead woman’s name.

I just didn’t kill her.

“So what they got you for?” Adrienne asked, like we were making small talk at a bus stop.

“Murder.” The word tasted like ash in my mouth. “First degree. And identity theft.”

Adrienne’s eyebrows rose. “Damn. They came for your neck.”

“Yeah.” I rubbed my belly again. The baby had settled down, but I could still feel that fluttery movement, that reminder that there was a whole other person counting on me to figure this out. “They really did.”

“Who’d they say you killed?”

I closed my eyes. “My sister.”

Silence.

When I opened my eyes, Adrienne was looking at me different. Not with suspicion. Not with judgment. Just… looking.

“Did you?” she asked quietly.

“No.” My voice cracked. “I found her. After. I found her body and I… I took her name because I was scared and I didn’t know what else to do. But I didn’t hurt her. I would never—”

I couldn’t finish. The tears were coming now, hot and fast, and I was so tired of crying. I’d cried during booking. Cried in the holding cell. Cried when they took my clothes and gave me these scratchy khakis that smelled like giving up.

“Alright, alright.” Adrienne’s voice was softer now. “I believe you. Breathe.”

I wiped my face with the back of my hand. Took a shaky breath. Then another.

“The worst part ain’t being in here,” Adrienne said after a moment. “It’s not knowing what’s happening out there.”

That hit me like a punch to the chest.

Yusef.

Oh God, Yusef.

He’d watched them drag me out of my own grand opening. He’d seen the handcuffs, the cops, the chaos. After everything that boy had been through with his mom, his father, with me, the shooting, the months of silence and therapy—now this?

Who was with him right now? Was he okay? Had he spoken? Had he eaten? He knew I wasn’t a murderer. He was with me when we found the body.

And my bakery. Sweet Zin’s. The tables were probably still set up for the grand opening that never finished. The banner probably still hanging. My dream, frozen in time like a crime scene.

Because that’s what it was now. A crime scene. MY crime scene.

“You got somebody?” Adrienne asked. “Somebody on the outside fighting for you?”

I thought about Prime.

The way he’d looked at me when they put the cuffs on. Like he was going to tear the world apart. Like he was barely holding himself back from doing something that would get him locked up, too.

“Yeah,” I whispered. “I got somebody.”

“Then hold onto that. It’s the only thing that’s gonna get you through.”

They came for me an hour later.

“Ali. You got your phone call.”

I followed the guard down a long hallway that smelled like bleach and bad decisions. My hands were shaking. I already knew who I was calling. There was only one person I needed to hear right now.

The phone was cold against my ear. I dialed the number I knew by heart, turned away from the guard like that would give me some privacy.

One ring.

He picked up before the second one even started. Like he’d been staring at his phone. Waiting.

“Goddess.”

Prime’s voice hit me like a wave. Deep. Steady. That controlled calm he got when he was trying not to lose his mind.

“Prime.” His name came out broken. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t—I swear I didn’t—”

“Girl, go ’head with that bullshit. I know you didn’t kill your sister.”

How could I have been so silly to think he could ever think something like that of me?

The tears were back. I pressed my hand over my mouth to keep the sob in.

“Where are you?” I managed.

“Parking lot. Been here all night.”

All night. He’d been sitting in that parking lot all night. Waiting. Not sleeping. Not leaving.

“You didn’t have to—”

“Yeah I did. I ain’t leavin’ your side. ” His voice left no room for argument. “Listen to me. I already hired a lawyer. Camille. Quest’s girl. She’s licensed in DC and California. She’s on her way here right now. She’ll see you this morning.”

Camille. I did know her. Sophisticated, smart, always put together. She’d been at family dinners, holidays. I’d never imagined I’d need her services.

“Okay,” I breathed. “Okay.”

“I need you to breathe for me, Goddess.” His voice dropped lower. Softer. Just for me. “Breathe for our baby. Can you do that?”

I nodded, even though he couldn’t see me. Forced air into my lungs. Let it out slow.

“Good. That’s good.” A pause. “Zainab, they’re saying you can’t get bail right now. They’re going to extradite you to California and then we can try for bail.”

“No.” I shook my head. “No, Prime, I can’t—I can’t go back there—”

“I know. I know, baby, I’m sorry. But Camille is going to fight. We’re going to do everything we can. And I’m going to be right there with you. You hear me? I’m not leaving you.”

“But Yusef—”

“He’s with Justice right now. Mehar will be there. We got a village. He’s okay. Scared, but okay. We got him.”

I pressed my forehead against the cold wall. Tried to hold myself together.

“I’m going to find out who did this to you,” Prime said, and now his voice had that edge.

That dangerous, quiet edge that reminded me who I was dealing with.

Not just my fiancé. Not just my baby’s father.

A man who had done terrible things to terrible people.

A man who was capable of violence most people couldn’t imagine.

“When I find out who’s behind this…” He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t need to.

I thought about Vivica. That smirk at my grand opening. The way she’d been standing in the back, watching it all go down. Like she knew exactly what was about to happen.

Did she do this? Was she behind my arrest?

I wanted to say it. Wanted to ask Prime if his own mother could really hate me that much. But I didn’t have proof. Just a feeling. Just a smirk. And accusing Vivica Banks without evidence? That was a move I couldn’t take back.

So I kept it to myself. For now.

“Yes.”

“Good. Camille’s going to explain everything when she gets there. The extradition process, what to expect, all of it. And Zainab?”

“Yeah?”

“You are coming home to me. Do you understand? I don’t care what I have to do. I don’t care who I have to go through. You. Are. Coming. Home.”

I closed my eyes. Let his words wash over me like armor.

“I love you,” I whispered.

“I love you too. Both of you. Now breathe, Goddess. I’ll see you soon.”

The line went dead.

I stood there for a moment, phone still pressed to my ear, trying to hold onto the sound of his voice. Trying to believe that everything he said was true. That I would come home. That this nightmare would end.

Then the guard cleared his throat, and I handed the phone back, and I walked back to my cell on legs that didn’t feel like mine.

“Your man sounds like he got money,” Adrienne observed.

I didn’t respond. Didn’t confirm. Didn’t deny. I’d been around long enough to know you don’t advertise nothing in a place like this.

She read my silence anyway. Sucked her teeth. Shook her head slowly. “Money don’t mean shit in here, sis. In here, you on your own.”

Adrienne glanced toward the cell door, then back at me. Lowered her voice.

“And do yourself a favor. You see a big bitch named Mona? Built like a linebacker, got a crew that follow her around like she the warden? Don’t look at her. Don’t talk to her. Don’t owe her nothing.”

“Why?”

“Because she runs commissary, runs book, runs damn near everything on this block. And she got a nose for money.” Adrienne’s eyes dropped to my ring finger. To that tan line. “She probably already clocked you.”

My hand curled into a fist, hiding the evidence.

“Keep your head down,” Adrienne said. “That’s the only advice I got.”

I didn’t respond. Just sat there, hand on my belly, her words settling into my bones.

California.

They were sending me to California.

The same place I ran from five years ago. The same city where I found my sister’s body, cold and stiff in that apartment, her eyes open and staring at nothing. The same streets where a man watched me run and let me live.

I’d spent five years building a new life. A new name. A new me. I’d buried Zainab and become Zahara and convinced myself that the past couldn’t touch me anymore.

But now the past wasn’t just touching me.

It was dragging me back.

I left California to survive.

Now they were sending me back to bury me.

And somewhere out there, walking free, was the man who actually killed my sister. The man whose face I’d seen in that alley. The man I’d watched Justice dap up at my own grand opening like they were old friends. The man that I now know is their cousin.

Thad.

I pressed my palm flat against my belly, feeling my baby shift and settle.

Not now, I told myself. You can’t deal with that now.

But the thought was already there. A splinter buried deep. Festering.

I was in jail for a murder I didn’t commit.

And the real killer was out there, living his life, shaking hands with my fiancé, walking free.

For now.