Prime: The Banks Empire

Chapter 1

PRIME

First time I caught a body, I was thirteen years old. Now here I was at thirty-two, standing over another body, praying this would be the last one.

Colombian nigga. Still warm. Blood seeping into his expensive-ass rug—the kind you see in magazines, not the kind you supposed to bleed out on.

The funny thing? Wasn’t even my beef. Wasn’t nobody’s beef but the man who paid me. And that man? The dead nigga’s father-in-law. Head of one of the biggest cartels moving weight up and down the eastern seaboard.

You’d think he’d handle his own family business, right?

Got a whole army of shooters on speed dial.

But nah, when it’s your daughter’s husband you need gone, you can’t touch that yourself.

Can’t have the streets knowing you move like that on family.

Bad optics. Bad for the brand. So you call a professional. You call me.

I was expensive as hell. And worth every penny.

As I stood there looking down at what used to be somebody’s son, somebody’s husband, I shook my head.

These bodies stopped meaning something to me a long time ago.

They were just dollar signs now. Transactions.

And business had been good. Good enough that I had more money than I knew what to do with.

Good enough to walk away.

The question was whether this life would let me.

I wiped down everything I touched, not that I touched much. I was too good for that amateur shit. Gloves stayed on the whole time, shoe covers too. I moved through the penthouse like a ghost, checking angles, making sure nothing pointed back to me.

The Colombian would be found eventually. Probably by his mistress, the one his father-in-law definitely knew about. Another reason daddy wanted him gone. Can’t have your daughter disrespected like that. Not when you’re supposed to be a man of honor.

Honor. Funny word for what we did.

I slipped out the service exit, took the stairs down twenty-three flights because elevators had cameras and I wasn’t about to let some grainy footage be the thing that finally caught me slipping. By the time I hit the street, I was just another nigga in a hoodie walking through Manhattan at 9 PM.

My phone buzzed before I even made it to my car.

It was my oldest brother, Quest.

I almost didn’t answer. I was tired…dead tired. The kind of tired that settles in your soul and makes you wonder what the fuck you’re doing with your life. But it was Quest. And I never told my brothers no, especially since they rarely asked.

“Yeah.”

“Prime.” Quest’s voice came through tense. Always business with him. “Need you at Onyx. Got a situation.”

“What kind of situation?”

“The kind that needs your skills. Some niggas trying to shake down Levi, talking about protection money. Won’t leave.”

I stopped at my car, key fob in hand, and closed my eyes. I could feel the weight of it already, another night, another problem, another body if it came to that. My brothers had enough pull to handle that shit themselves. Why were they bothering me about this shit?

“I’m in New York.”

“How far?”

“Four hours, maybe three if I push it.”

“Push it.”

The line went dead.

I stood there for a second, looking at my black Bentayga like an annoyance.

I should’ve said no. Should’ve told him I was done, that I was trying to be done.

But Quest didn’t ask for much. None of my siblings did.

And after everything, after what Vivica did to me, after the years I spent away, they were the only family I had that was worth a damn.

I got in the car and pointed it south toward DC.

This was supposed to be my last night in the life. But I guess the life had other plans.

I pulled up to Onyx a little past midnight, the club just hitting its stride.

The parking lot was packed—luxury cars lined up like a dealership, valets jogging back and forth.

Bass so heavy I could feel it in my chest before I even cut the engine, purple and blue lights cutting through the tinted windows, strobing against the night.

Onyx was one of Uncle Levi’s spots, been in the family for years.

He’d built it up from nothing back in the nineties, turned it into one of the premier spots in DC.

Three levels, top-shelf everything, the kind of place where politicians rubbed elbows with street niggas, and everybody acted right because Levi didn’t play about his establishment.

Which is why the idea of somebody trying to shake it down confused me. Did these niggas know who they were fuckin’ with?

I parked in the back like Quest told me to, already running scenarios.

Some young boys probably, testing the waters, thinking they could extort the old heads.

Maybe trying to test the Banks, to see if we still went hard.

Uncle Levi had enough muscle on payroll to handle small-time threats, but if Quest was calling me, it meant they wanted to send a message. The kind of message I specialized in.

I was mentally preparing to hurt somebody when security waved me through without even checking me.

That should’ve been my first clue.

I moved through the main floor which was packed wall to wall. Bodies everywhere, girls in dresses that barely qualified as clothing, niggas in designer everything trying to stunt. The DJ was going crazy, and the bar was crowded with people waving bills trying to get the bartender’s attention.

I headed for the VIP stairs, the ones that led to the private rooms on the third floor. That’s where the real money got spent. Where niggas bought bottles that cost more than rent and conducted business that couldn’t be discussed in the open.

The bass faded as I climbed, replaced by that muffled thump that let you know the party was still going, but you were above it now. Literally and figuratively.

The hallway was too quiet. Plush carpet, dim lighting, doors to private rooms on either side. No commotion. No voices. No sound of niggas getting checked.

Second clue.

My hand went to my waistband instinctively, fingers brushing the grip of my nine. The door to the main VIP suite was cracked open, the biggest one, the one Uncle Levi reserved for family or high rollers dropping serious bread.

I pushed it open, already annoyed.

“SURPRISE! HAPPY BIRTHDAY!”

The lights flipped on and I swear to God my soul left my body for a second.

Balloons—black and gold ones—everywhere. A whole-ass banner that said “HAPPY 32ND BIRTHDAY PRIME” in glittery letters. And every single person I knew in DC packed into this room, grinning at me like this shit was cute.

“Nah.” I turned on my heel immediately. “Nah, fuck this.”

“Prime!” Serenity’s voice cut through the laughter. “Don’t you dare!”

“Ren, I just drove four hours thinking I was about to put hands on somebody—”

“Because Quest lied to you, I know. And it worked.” She was already moving toward me, that smile on her face that she knew I couldn’t say no to. My baby sister. Twenty-seven now, but still thought she could bat her eyes and get whatever she wanted.

She was right.

“Y’all got me fucked up,” I said, but I wasn’t moving toward the door anymore. “I thought somebody was up here fuckin’ with Uncle Levi’s spot, like they ain’t know who he roll with.”

“Only person getting got is you,” Justice called out, holding up a drink. “For emotional damages. Nigga really thought he could dodge his birthday party?”

Quest was leaning against the bar, because of course this VIP room had its own bar, marble countertop, top-shelf bottles lined up like soldiers, and that smug-ass smile was plastered on his face.

“You should’ve heard yourself on the phone.

‘What kind of situation, Quest?’” He mimicked my serious voice, making everybody laugh.

“I don’t do birthdays,” I said flatly.

“We know,” Serenity said, grabbing my arm. “You haven’t celebrated your birthday in like fifteen years. But you’re home now, and we’re celebrating whether you like it or not.”

“That’s because Scorpios are allergic to joy,” Ivy called out from across the room, raising her glass. Serenity’s best friend was always talking shit.

“Nah, Scorpios just don’t do performative bullshit,” I shot back.

“See?” Serenity laughed, tugging me further into the room. “Classic Scorpio response. Mysterious, brooding, acts like he’s too deep for celebrations.”

Justice raised his glass. “Happy birthday, little brother. Whether you want it or not.”

I scanned the room. My brothers: Quest, Justice, even Cannon.

Serenity and her husband Julius, who gave me one of them stiff-ass nods like we was cool.

We wasn’t. Never would be. Ivy was there too, looking fine as hell in something that was doing everything right, but that was a whole other situation I wasn’t touching.

Other faces I recognized from back in the day. People who knew me before I left to go underground. Before I became what I became.

“This is some bullshit,” I muttered, but I could feel myself giving in.

The suite was decked out, leather couches in a U-shape, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, ambient lighting that made everybody look good. Uncle Levi didn’t do nothing half-ass. There was even a cake on the bar, black and gold to match the balloons.

“It’s love, Prime. Let people show you love for once in your life. Especially on your birthday.”

“Show me love by mailing a card or some shit. I do not like surprises. Or parties.”

“I know. That’s why this was perfect.” She grinned up at me, all dimples and mischief. “Classic Scorpio—hates being the center of attention, hates surprises, probably hasn’t celebrated a birthday since he turned eight. But guess what? You’re thirty-two now, you’re home, and we’re doing this.”

I looked at her, then back at the room full of people waiting to see what I’d do.

I sighed.

“Aight. But next time? Just tell me.”

“Where’s the fun in that? Plus, you’d just disappear if we told you. Very Scorpio of you.”

“You gon’ keep bringing up my sign all night?”

“Absolutely.”