Chapter 27 Prime
PRIME
The wheels touched down at Reagan National and I was already in killer mode.
Not literally. Not yet. But my mind was locked in, focused, ready to handle business. Every minute I spent away from Zainab was a minute too long, so I needed this shit done quick and clean.
Quest was waiting for me at arrivals in his Maybach.
I spotted his Gucci shades and custom suit through the tinted windows.
Looking like money even when he wasn’t trying.
But I knew my brother better than anybody, and soon as I got close, I peeped it—that tightness in his jaw, the way his eyes weren’t quite tracking. Something was eating at him.
“What’s good,” I said, sliding into the passenger seat. The leather was warm from the sun. Quest had the AC blasting and some J. Cole playing low through the speakers.
“What’s good.” He pulled off without looking at me.
We rode in silence for a few minutes, weaving through airport traffic. That wasn’t like Quest. Usually this nigga was running his mouth before I even got my seatbelt clicked. Cracking jokes, talking shit about my outfit, asking if the plane food gave me gas. Something.
But right now? Nothing. Just his hands on the wheel and his jaw clenched tight enough to crack teeth.
“Aight.” I turned in my seat to face him fully. “What the fuck is going on with you?”
He didn’t answer right away. Just exhaled—long, slow, heavy—like he’d been holding his breath for days.
“Camille’s pregnant.”
I blinked. Wasn’t expecting that. “Damn. Okay. Congratulations…?”
“It ain’t mine.”
“What?”
“I got a vasectomy years ago, Prime. Before I even met her ass.” He laughed, but it was bitter as black coffee.
“She cheated. Got knocked up by some random nigga. Then had the audacity—the unmitigated gall—to sit in my living room and tell me ‘we’re gonna have a baby.’ Like I’m stupid. Like I don’t know my own body.”
“That’s crazy.”
“Crazy ain’t even the word. That’s diabolical. That’s supervillain behavior.” He shook his head, gripping the steering wheel tighter. “I threw her ass out. Same night. Made her take all her shit and everything.”
My first thought—the only thought that mattered to me—came flying out before I could catch it. “She bet’ not fuck up Zainab’s case.”
Quest cut his eyes at me so hard I felt it in my chest. “Really, nigga? That’s the first thing out your mouth? I just told you my girl tried to trap me with another man’s baby and your concern is—”
“Nah, you right.” I held up my hands. “That was some selfish shit. My bad. For real.”
Quest’s whole face changed. Like I’d just told him I saw a unicorn outside the window.
“Hold up. Did you just… apologize? Without nobody making you? Without Zainab giving you that look?”
“Man, fuck you.”
He burst out laughing—a real one this time, loud and surprised.
“Nah, nah, I’m just saying! This is growth!
Old Prime would’ve doubled down. Would’ve said ‘yeah, and what about it?’ But look at you, apologizing and shit.
Acknowledging other people’s feelings.” He wiped a fake tear from his eye.
“My baby brother is becoming a real human being.”
“I will crash this car.”
“It’s my car.”
“And?”
He was still grinning, but it faded as he merged onto the highway. “Nah, but for real though. I appreciate that. The apology. It means something.”
“So how you really feeling about it?” I asked, serious now. “The cheating. The baby. All of it.”
Quest was quiet for a minute. The cityscape rolled by outside—monuments and memorials, all that DC bullshit I never cared about. Finally, he spoke.
“My ego is bruised. I ain’t gonna front.
Finding out she cheated? That stung. I’m Quest motherfucking Banks.
Women don’t cheat on me—I’m the one who—” He stopped himself, shook his head.
“Whatever. That’s my pride talking. The real issue is the betrayal.
She looked me in my face and tried to make me raise another man’s seed.
That’s a level of disrespect I can’t get past.”
“You ever want kids though? Like, for real?”
His jaw tightened again. “Nah. You know what happened. That door is closed for me. Permanently.”
I did know. We didn’t talk about it—ever—but I knew.
“I was upfront from jump,” Quest continued.
“Told Camille and Lyric both—I’m poly, I don’t do kids, and I don’t tolerate cheating.
Those were my terms. Non-negotiable. They agreed.
Signed up willingly. And then Camille went behind my back and violated every single boundary we set.
” He shrugged, but I could see the hurt underneath. “So I threw her out. Simple math.”
“And Lyric? How she handling it?”
“She was standing right there when it happened. Saw the whole thing go down.” He snorted.
“She’s still around. For now. But honestly?
I don’t even know if I want her there anymore.
The house is a mess, she’s always out at some party, and I’m starting to feel like I’m just a wallet with a heartbeat to her. ”
“Damn.”
“Yeah. Damn.” He glanced at me. “But that’s my shit to figure out. What about you? How’s Zainab holding up?”
“She’s strong. Stronger than me, honestly.
I couldn’t imagine being pregnant with an ankle monitor, can’t leave the house, facing a murder charge for something shit I ain’t do.
But Goddess is holding it together. Still taking care of Yusef.
Still making sure everybody else is good.
” I paused, feeling something soft crack open in my chest. “She gives me hope, man. For a long time, I ain’t see nothing in my future but death.
Killing or being killed. That was the only ending I could picture for myself.
But Zainab… she makes me want to live. Makes me want to build something. Be something.”
Quest nodded slowly. “I know you love her. And she’s gonna beat this case. We’re gonna make sure of it.”
“Camille still handling it?”
“Yeah. She knows what happens if she fumbles.” His voice dropped into something colder. “I made the consequences very clear.”
I didn’t ask for details. Didn’t need to. Quest could be just as terrifying as me when the situation called for it—he just wrapped it in better packaging.
“Speaking of consequences,” Quest said, turning down a tree-lined street. “India Coleman. What’s the play?”
“We’re gonna have a conversation.”
“What kind of conversation?”
I cracked my knuckles. “The kind she ain’t gonna forget.”
India lived in a high-rise condo in Navy Yard. Sleek building, fancy lobby, doorman who thought he was protecting important people. The kind of place you moved into when you were fucking the mayor and wanted everybody to know you’d made it.
Too bad all that security couldn’t stop two determined niggas with the right connections.
Quest knew a guy who knew a guy who knew the building manager’s weakness—gambling debts and a taste for women he couldn’t afford. Sixty minutes and a few bribes later, we had a key to India’s unit and the security cameras on her floor were experiencing “technical difficulties.”
The apartment was nice. I’d give her that. Modern furniture, floor-to-ceiling windows, a ridiculous waterfront view. Vivica was taking care of her little side piece real good.
“Yo.” Quest’s voice echoed from the kitchen. I heard cabinets opening and closing. “This woman ain’t got shit to eat in here. No snacks, no leftovers, no nothing. The refrigerator got bottled water and some expired yogurt. That’s it.”
“We ain’t here to eat, Quest.”
“I know, but damn. A nigga hungry. What does she survive on? Photosynthesis?”
I smirked. “Our mother’s pussy.”
Quest made a sound like a cat coughing up a hairball. “Nigga! Why would you— I did not need that image in my head!”
“You asked.”
“I didn’t ask for that! I didn’t ask for anything close to that!” He came out of the kitchen looking genuinely traumatized. “I’m gonna need therapy now. You paying for it.”
“Send me the bill.”
We posted up in the living room—me in the chair facing the door, Quest leaning against the wall by the window. The sun was starting to set, painting everything in shades of orange and red. It would’ve been beautiful if we weren’t here to ruin somebody’s life.
Twenty minutes later, we heard it. Keys jingling. The lock clicking open.
India walked in on designer heels, designer bag swinging from her arm, phone pressed to her ear. “No, I told them the budget proposal needs to be revised before the council meeting. If they can’t get the numbers right by—”
She flipped on the light.
And saw us.
The phone slipped from her fingers and hit the hardwood with a crack. A tiny voice was still yapping on the other end, but India couldn’t hear it. She was frozen solid, eyes wide, mouth hanging open like she’d seen a ghost.
Nah, baby. Ghosts can’t hurt you.
We can.
“Have a seat, India.” I gestured to the dining chair Quest had pulled into the middle of the living room. “We need to have a conversation.”
“How did you— this is— I’m calling the police—” She scrambled for her phone, but Quest was faster. He kicked it across the floor, then grabbed her arm and guided her—not gently—toward the chair.
“You’re not calling anybody,” he said pleasantly. “Sit down.”
She sat. Not because she wanted to, but because she understood, maybe for the first time, that she wasn’t in control anymore.
I pulled up a chair across from her. Close enough that our knees were almost touching. Close enough that she could see every scar, every hard line in my face, every ounce of violence I was holding back.
“You made some phone calls a few weeks ago,” I said, keeping my voice calm. Conversational. Like we were discussing the weather. “To the LAPD. To the District Attorney’s office in Los Angeles. To a detective named Morrison. You remember those calls, India?”
Her face went gray. Actually gray, like somebody had drained the blood right out of her.
“I don’t know what you’re—”
“Don’t.” The word came out sharp enough to cut. “Don’t insult me by lying. I’ve got the phone records. I know exactly what you did.”
She started trembling. Good.
“Because of those calls,” I continued, “my woman got arrested. Dragged out of her own bakery—the business she built from nothing—in handcuffs. In front of her employees. In front of customers. Put in a cell like a common criminal for a murder she didn’t commit.
” I leaned closer. “She’s pregnant, India.
With my child. And you had her locked up like an animal. You and Vivica. You did that.”
The tears started falling. I didn’t give a fuck.
“I was just following orders!” she sobbed. “Vivica told me to make the calls! She said if I didn’t, she’d—”
“I don’t care.”
“She threatened my job! My reputation! She said she’d destroy me if I didn’t—”
“I. Don’t. Care.” Each word hit like a bullet. “You had a choice. You could’ve said no. You could’ve warned us. You could’ve done literally anything except ruin an innocent woman’s life. But you didn’t. You followed orders like a good little soldier, and now you gotta deal with the consequences.”
“What do you want?” she whispered. “Money? I have money. I can pay you—”
“I don’t want your money.” I sat back, letting the silence stretch. Letting her marinate in her own fear. “I want you to understand something, India. When you made those calls, you declared war on my family. And I don’t lose wars.”
Quest shifted by the window, arms crossed, watching with cold amusement.
“So here’s how this is gonna go,” I said.
“You’ve got two options. Door number one: you die.
Tonight. Right here in this pretty apartment.
We’ll make it look like Vivica did it—crime of passion, lover’s quarrel, jealousy over some imaginary affair.
The evidence will be airtight. She’ll spend the rest of her miserable life in prison for murdering the woman she loved. ”
India was sobbing so hard now she could barely breathe.
“Door number two: you disappear. Fake your death. Leave the country and never, ever come back. We’ll help you set it up—new identity, new passport, a job teaching English in Cambodia or wherever the fuck you want to go.
Somewhere Vivica will never find you. We’ll even give you seed money to get started. Enough to build a new life.”
“And Vivica?” she choked out.
“Still goes down for your murder. Either way, her career is over. Her freedom is over. Everything she built comes crashing down.” I shrugged. “The only difference is whether you’re alive to see it happen.”
India shook her head frantically, tears and snot running down her face. “I can’t— I can’t just leave everything— my life is here—”
“Your life is over either way.” I pulled my knife from my waistband. Let the blade catch the dying sunlight. Watched her eyes go wide with pure, animal terror. “The only question is whether you’re still breathing when the credits roll.”
I stood up slow. Walked behind her chair. Brought the blade to her throat.
“Choose.”
“Please—”
I pressed. Just a little. Just enough to break the skin. A thin red line bloomed against her neck, and she screamed.
“CHOOSE.”
“Door two! Door two! I’ll leave, I’ll disappear, I’ll do whatever you want, just please don’t—”
I stepped back. Wiped the blade on my jeans.
“Smart choice.”
Quest tossed her a handkerchief from his pocket. “Clean yourself up. We got work to do.”
She pressed the fabric to her neck with shaking hands, her whole body trembling like a leaf in a hurricane. Mascara running. Nose dripping. All that polished, professional bullshit stripped away to reveal what she really was underneath.
A coward. A follower. A woman who’d thrown someone else under the bus to save her own ass, and was now facing the consequences.
No sympathy. None.
“Here’s how this works,” I said, settling back into my chair.
“From this moment forward, you do exactly what we say, when we say it. Any deviation—any attempt to warn Vivica, contact the police, or disappear on your own terms—and door number one becomes your only option. We will find you. And we will finish this. Are we clear?”
She nodded frantically, still crying.
“Use your words, India.”
“Yes! Yes, I understand. I’ll do whatever you say. Please. I’ll cooperate. I promise.”
I looked at Quest. He was smiling—that cold, satisfied smile he got when a plan came together.
“Wonderful.” I matched his smile with one of my own. “Now. Let’s get started.”