Chapter 2 #2
I should’ve been taking her ass straight home, but I knew dropping her off drunk like this could be dangerous.
She could throw up in her sleep and choke on it.
Or stumble into something and bust her head open.
As annoyed as I was, I wasn’t about to let this drunk girl wander around her penthouse alone.
When I pulled into the underground garage of my building, everything was quiet. I parked, killed the engine, and sat there for a second, wondering what the hell I’d gotten myself into.
I popped the trunk and walked around. Farah was curled up on her side, passed out cold. Her makeup was smeared, her dress twisted up, one shoe missing. She looked like she’d fought the trunk and lost.
“Farah.” I shook her shoulder. Nothing. “Yo, wake up.”
She didn’t move. Out like a light.
I sighed, reached in, and picked her up. She was dead weight, her head lolling against my chest as I carried her to the elevator. The security guard at the desk looked up, took one look at the scene, and wisely said nothing.
In the elevator, Farah stirred slightly, mumbling something I couldn’t make out before going quiet again.
My penthouse took up the two top floors of the building.
I bought it three weeks ago but hadn’t had time to do much with it yet.
When I walked in with Farah in my arms, the emptiness of the place felt even more obvious.
Just a leather sofa, a coffee table, and a massive TV mounted on the wall in the living room.
I carried her straight to the bedroom—the only room with actual furniture. The California king was the first piece I’d bought. Memory foam mattress, Egyptian cotton sheets. Nothing but the best.
I laid her down on top of the covers and stepped back, looking at her. Even drunk and passed out, she was beautiful. Thick in all the right places, smooth brown skin, those lips that had been driving me crazy since she was old enough to wear lipstick.
But she was Rashid’s daughter. And that made her untouchable. Period.
I grabbed a blanket from the closet and threw it over her, then filled a glass with water from the bathroom and set it on the nightstand.
She’d need it when she woke up. I made sure she was lying on her side in case she did have to throw up.
I also brought her a trash can. If she made a mess in my room, she would def be cleaning that shit up in the morning.
For a second, I just stood there, watching her breathe. Her chest rising and falling, peaceful in sleep. Tomorrow she’d probably wake up embarrassed. Or pissed. Or both.
I turned off the light and closed the door behind me.
On the couch, I stretched out as best I could, one leg hanging off the edge.
It wasn’t comfortable, but I’d slept in worse places.
As I stared at the ceiling, I thought about how many times I’d had to clean up other people’s messes.
How many times I’d been the one to step in when shit went sideways.
I thought about my relationship with Rashid. How he’d taken me under his wing in prison, taught me discipline, showed me how to channel my rage into something controlled and deadly. Useful.
I must have fallen asleep thinking about that, because the next thing I knew, sunlight was streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows and someone was pounding on my door.
I sat up, instantly alert. The knocking came again, firm and measured.
“Shit,” I hissed, grabbing my phone. 8:27 AM. Too damn early for visitors.
When I checked the ring camera app on my phone, I saw that it was Rashid.
What was he doing here? Did he know Farah was here? I didn’t need this shit today.
I moved quickly to the bedroom, where Farah was still passed out, face buried in the pillow, her dark hair spread across the white sheets. I shook her shoulder roughly.
“Farah, wake up.”
She groaned, not opening her eyes.
“Farah!” I shook her harder. “Your father is here.”
That did it. Her eyes flew open, panic replacing the sleepiness. “What?”
“Your father is at my door. You need to be quiet as hell. Don’t make a sound, you understand me? If he finds you here, we’re both dead.”
She nodded frantically, pulling the covers up to her chin like she was hiding from a monster under the bed.
And in a way, she was. Rashid might’ve been a spiritual man, but he had zero tolerance for anything he considered disrespectful.
His daughter spending the night at my place would definitely qualify.
I closed the bedroom door and headed to the front door, taking a deep breath before opening it.
Rashid stood there in one of his immaculate suits, bow tie perfectly centered, his salt-and-pepper beard neatly trimmed. He looked me up and down, taking in my rumpled clothes from the night before.
“As-salamu alaykum, young-blood,” he said, his deep voice filling the entryway.
“Wa alaykum as-salam,” I replied automatically. “This is a surprise.”
He smiled, the lines around his eyes crinkling. “I hope I’m not disturbing you.”
“Not at all. Come in.”
I stepped aside, praying Farah would have the sense to stay quiet and out of sight. Rashid entered, his eyes taking in the sparse furnishings.
“Nice place,” he said, walking to the windows to admire the view of the city below. “Very spacious. I’m proud of you, Prime. You’ve done well for yourself.”
“Thank you.” I relaxed slightly. “What brings you by, Rashid? It’s early.”
He walked to my sofa and sat down without invitation, crossing one leg over the other. “I have a favor to ask of you. Nothing like your usual work,” he added quickly. “It doesn’t involve taking a life.”
I sat down across from him, curious despite myself. “What kind of favor?”
Rashid’s face grew serious. “I have a nephew, Meech. He’s been locked up for almost ten years now. A knucklehead, just got caught up with the wrong crowd. Made some mistakes.”
I nodded, waiting for him to continue.
“Meech has a son who was just a baby when he went in. The boy has never visited his father. Not once in ten years.” Rashid shook his head, genuine sadness in his eyes. “Recently, I discovered that Meech’s baby mother and the child have moved to the city. They’re living in the southeast area.”
“And you want me to find them?”
“I want you to visit them. Convince the mother to bring the boy to see Meech. And also,” he leaned forward, “to testify at Meech’s parole hearing next month. Her support could make all the difference.”
I rubbed my chin, thinking. “What if she doesn’t want to? People have reasons for keeping their kids away from prison.”
“Everyone deserves a second chance, Prime. You know that better than most.” Rashid’s eyes held mine, reminding me of everything he’d done for me. “Meech has changed. He’s educated himself, found faith. He deserves to know his son.”
I couldn’t argue with that. If anyone understood the power of redemption, it was me.
“Do you have an address? Her name?”
Rashid reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. “Zahara Ali. I don’t have an address, which is why I need your services. I no longer have the contacts that would give me that information. The boy’s name is Yusef. He’s twelve now.”
“I’ll find her,” I said. “Talk to her.”
What he was really asking was for me to threaten her… I wasn’t above that. Rashid was more than a father to me. I owed him my life, and this would be the easiest job I’ve ever had to do.
“Thank you, young blood.” Rashid stood, placing a hand on my shoulder. “This means a great deal to me. Family is everything.”
I walked him to the door, relieved that he was leaving without incident.
I walked back to the bedroom and opened the door. Farah was sitting up in bed, hugging her knees to her chest.
“Is he gone?” she whispered.
“Yeah, he’s gone.” I leaned against the doorframe, studying her. In the morning light, without the club makeup and attitude, she looked younger. Vulnerable.
“Go take a shower. I’ll take you home in a bit. I have work to do…”
“Can I stay…”
“Go. Shower,” my voice boomed. I was not about to let Farah get me caught up. No matter how fine she was.