Chapter 4
ZAHARA
I stared at the strange man eating cereal in my kitchen like he paid the rent in this shit-hole, my blood pressure spiking so high I swore I could hear it rushing in my ears. Who breaks into someone’s home and just… has a snack?
“Who the fuck are you?” I repeated, gripping my keys tighter between my fingers, ready to gouge out those unnervingly beautiful eyes if he made one wrong move.
He took another deliberate spoonful of Cinnamon Toast Crunch, milk dribbling down his chin before he wiped it away with the back of his hand. Those ocean-colored eyes never left mine as he chewed, swallowed, then pushed the bowl away.
“You ain’t got shit but sugar in this house,” he said, gesturing around my kitchen.
“I can see you have a son, but he needs some real food if you want him to grow and be strong. All you got is junk.” He flicked the cereal box with his finger, making it topple over.
“No protein. No vegetables. Just processed shit that’ll stunt his growth. ”
The audacity of this man had me speechless for a solid three seconds before my voice came back with a vengeance.
“Who the FUCK are you?” I demanded again, my voice rising dangerously. “You break into my house, eat my food, and now you critiquing my grocery choices? I’ll ask you one more time before I call the cops—who are you and what the hell are you doing in my apartment?”
He stood up slowly, and I took an involuntary step back.
This man was tall, taller than I’d realized when he was sitting.
His shoulders filled the small space of my kitchen, and when he took a step toward me, I felt the air leave my lungs.
He towered over my 5’7” frame, forcing me to crane my neck just to maintain eye contact.
Up close, I could see the definition in his arms, the way his muscles strained against the fabric of his shirt.
His chest was broad, tapering down to a narrow waist. This man was built like he bench-pressed cars for fun.
“Prime,” he said, his deep voice rumbling through the small space between us. “Prime Banks. I got a message for you from Meech.”
Meech’s name hit me like a slap. My entire body went rigid, and I took another step back, bumping into the wall.
“I don’t want to hear shit Meech has to say,” I spat, my voice shaking with anger. “Get the fuck out of my apartment right now before I call the cops.”
He moved even closer, close enough that I could smell his cologne—something expensive that shouldn’t have smelled as good as it did.
His proximity made my heart race, but not just from fear.
I was acutely aware of how massive he was compared to me, how his presence seemed to suck all the oxygen from the room.
“Go ahead,” he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Call them. I can have you tied up in the back of my car before the operator even hangs up.” He reached out and touched my chin, tilting my face up to look at him. “You think I came all this way to play games?”
I slapped his hand away, refusing to be intimidated despite the fear crawling up my spine. “So you’re Meech’s errand boy now? That’s what you do? Break into people’s houses and threaten them for a man locked up in prison? Is that what passes for a career these days?”
His eyes narrowed at my tone, but a slow smile spread across his face. “Got a mouth on you, don’t you?” He leaned closer, his massive frame practically caging me against the wall. “Talking real big for somebody cornered in their own kitchen.”
I tilted my chin up, refusing to be intimidated even as my heart hammered against my ribs. “Working for a lowlife like Meech? That’s what you doing with your life? Running his errands while he rots in prison? Pathetic.”
Something dangerous flashed in those ocean-colored eyes, but then his lips curved into a mocking smile. “A lowlife you had a whole baby with,” he countered, his voice silky smooth. “What’s that make you, sweetheart?”
“You don’t know shit about me.”
“I know you had a baby with a nigga who spent all the baby’s life in prison. I know you only feed that baby sugar…”
My hand flew up before I could stop myself, palm open and ready to connect with his smug face. But Prime was faster—much faster than a man his size had any right to be.
His hand clamped around my wrist mid-swing, the force of his grip making me gasp.
In one fluid motion, he spun me around, my chest slamming against the kitchen wall.
Both my wrists were captured in his massive hand, pinned high above my head.
His other arm snaked around my waist, holding me firmly against him.
“That wasn’t smart,” he growled, his breath hot against my ear.
I struggled against his hold, but it was like fighting against steel.
His body pressed against mine from behind, the hard planes of his chest against my back, his hips pinning mine to the wall.
The position was compromising in ways I didn’t want to acknowledge—the heat of him, the strength, the way my body betrayed me with a shiver that had nothing to do with fear.
“Let go of me,” I hissed, my voice shakier than I wanted it to be.
“Not until you calm down and listen.” His lips were so close to my ear I could feel his warm breath on my neck. “And if you ever try to hit me again, I won’t be so gentle.”
I went still, my body trembling with rage and something else I didn’t want to name. The feel of him pressed against me was overwhelming—his scent, his heat, the undeniable power in his body. I could feel every hard inch of him, and it was doing things to me I hadn’t felt in years.
“What do you want?” I finally asked, my voice barely above a whisper. The fight was draining out of me, replaced by a weary resignation. “Just tell me what you want and get the fuck out of my house.”
He loosened his grip slightly but didn’t release me completely. “Meech wants to see his son. This weekend. And you’re going to bring him.”
I laughed, a bitter sound that scraped my throat. “Like hell I am.”
“It wasn’t a request.” His grip tightened again, reminding me of how easily he could overpower me. “You’re bringing Yusef to visit his father this weekend. And next month, you’re going to testify at Meech’s parole hearing.”
The word “parole” hit me like a sledgehammer, and I went completely still in his grip.
A cold chill ran down my spine despite his body heat against my back.
Meech could be coming home soon. I needed to be in another state when that happened.
I was going to have to move again, but I was so tired of running away.
“Get the fuck away from me,” I whispered, a tremor in my voice. “I’m not doing shit for Meech. Not now, not ever.”
Prime chuckled, a deep rumble I could feel vibrating against my back. “You think you have a choice? That’s cute.”
He loosened his grip just enough to spin me around, still keeping me caged against the wall. His face was inches from mine, those unsettling ocean eyes boring into me.
“It was too easy getting your routine down,” he said, his voice casual like we were discussing the weather. “You work at Grits; usually the breakfast and lunch hours, except when Larry sends you home early for not letting white ladies pet you like some zoo animal.”
My blood turned to ice. How did he—
“When you work the morning shift, you take the 42 bus to work at 6:15 every morning. You get off at the corner of 8th and Maple, stop at the bodega for coffee—black with two sugars—and you’re at Grits by 6:45, ready for the morning crowd.
Your landlord let me in yesterday when I flashed some cash and told him I was your baby daddy and wanted to surprise our son Yusef for his birthday.
Nice old man, didn’t even ask questions. ”
I felt my stomach drop as he continued, his voice almost bored.
“Yusef is down the hall at Brandi’s apartment right now. 3C. They’re probably playing that video game he likes—what’s it called? Fortnite? They play it every Monday after school. Your friend Brandi seems nice. Trusting. Leaves her spare key under that fake plant by her door.”
Every word was like a knife sliding between my ribs. He knew everything. My routine. Where Yusef was. Who watched him. I felt physically sick, bile rising in my throat.
“You threatening my child?” My voice was barely audible, rage and fear making it hard to speak.
Prime’s expression hardened. “I don’t threaten children. Ever. But I am making sure you understand the situation. Meech wants to see his son. And you’re going to make that happen.”
I closed my eyes, trying to steady my breathing. This man could take Yusef. Could hurt me. Badly. I could feel the power in his body, the strength he was holding back. I’d been in enough bad situations to recognize the real thing when I saw it.
“Fine,” I whispered, defeat washing over me. “Fine. I’ll take him. Just this once.”
Prime stepped back, releasing me completely, satisfaction flashing in those ocean eyes. “Good choice.”
My legs nearly gave out when he moved away, the sudden absence of his body heat making me shiver. I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to stop the trembling.
“Saturday. 7 AM. I’ll be here to pick you both up.”
“I have a car,” I shot back, desperate to maintain some control.
“I don’t give a fuck if you got a private jet. I’ll be here Saturday at 7.” He walked toward the door, his movement fluid and predatory. “Don’t make me come looking for you.”
“Get out of my house,” I said, my voice hollow.
He paused at the door, those unnerving eyes sweeping over me one last time.
“Feed your son something real, Zahara. He deserves better than sugar cereal and excuses. He’s old enough to cook for himself now,” he said, his hand on the doorknob.
“You might want to get some actual ingredients though. Your son can’t live on cereal and pop tarts. ”
Then he was gone, the door closing behind him with a soft click that felt deafening in the sudden silence of my apartment.
I slid down the wall until I hit the floor, my legs finally giving out completely. The breath I’d been holding escaped in a long, shuddering exhale. My hands were trembling so bad I had to press them against the cool tile to steady them.
Who the fuck did he think he was? Coming into my house, judging my parenting, my food choices, my life? Prime Banks with his perfect body and those unsettling eyes that saw too much. Mr. High-and-Mighty is acting like he knew the first thing about raising a child on your own.
The world didn’t know—couldn’t possibly understand—how hard it was to keep a roof over your head, food on the table (even if it was just cereal), and a child safe and happy when you were doing it all alone. No family to fall back on. No child support. No safety net. And no education.
I pulled out my phone and sent my twin a text: You won’t believe what happened to me today! I’m being forced to take Yusef to see Meech in prison!
As soon as I hit send on my message, I got up and drank a glass of water.
I sent Brandi a text telling her to let Yusef walk home when he’s ready.
She replied saying they are still playing their game.
I stood up and looked in my refrigerator and realized that Prime was right.
There wasn’t really shit in here but cereal, milk, and ingredients for my zinnamon rolls. I had to do better, but how?