Chapter 13 Prime
PRIME
Rather than go to my penthouse last night, I slept at my beach house about an hour outside the city. After dealing with that lame-ass nigga in prison, I needed to be surrounded by nature. Needed distance from the chaos.
My beach house was just as bare as my penthouse—brand new, barely furnished. But this was my sanctuary. A place I’d worked hard for. Killed for. A piece of peace that was mine alone.
I laid on my back, listening to the ocean crash against the sand while my thoughts kept circling back to Zahara.
I needed to get her out of my head. Nothing could happen between us.
She had too much baggage, and so did I. Besides, she was just a job Rashid had given me.
A favor. And after this was done, I was cutting ties with any more of his requests.
I had love and respect for Brother Rashid—he’d molded me into who I was today. But it had cost me. Cost me a lot.
He’d turned me into a weapon. A killing machine. And now I wasn’t sure if I even knew how to be anything else. Wasn’t sure if I could love, or if that part of me had been carved out somewhere between thirteen and twenty.
Once Rashid took me under his wing, he had me handle things inside.
Men that needed to be killed. Prisoners that needed to be extorted.
Problems that needed solving. Within two years, I’d shot up over a foot, packed on muscle, learned how to move with precision.
I could take down men twice my age because I was quick, calculated, efficient.
But now? Now I wanted to slow down. Figure out what the hell I was supposed to do with a life that wasn’t built on violence.
I looked around my large bedroom, my eyes landing on my first acoustic guitar propped in the corner.
It had been a gift from my time inside. There was a music therapy program—if you signed up, it counted toward your therapy requirements.
I’d attended faithfully every week, mostly because it got me out of my cell and away from the constant noise.
The therapist who ran it, Nala Heart, had given me that guitar. Taught me how to read music. Showed me that my hands could create something other than death.
In the closet next to the guitar were several guns. A Glock 19. A SIG Sauer. A Beretta. All cleaned, maintained, ready.
The juxtaposition wasn’t lost on me. Music and murder. Creation and destruction. The two sides of what prison had made me.
My phone buzzed on the nightstand. Rashid’s name flashed across the screen.
I answered. “Yeah.”
“Young blood.” His voice was warm, fatherly. “Heard from my nephew. Said the visit got a little rocky.”
Of course Meech had already run to his uncle. Probably crying about how I’d disrespected him in front of his son.
“Rocky is one word for it,” I said, sitting up. “Your nephew is a bitch.”
Rashid chuckled. “He just didn’t have the proper upbringing.”
“The whole visit, he was obsessing over Zahara. Barely looked at his son. Kid came all that way and Meech spent thirty minutes asking where the mother was.”
“He’s got history with her. Complicated history.”
“History or not, he should’ve been focused on Yusef. That’s what he asked for, right? To see his son?”
“You’re right. You’re right.” Rashid’s tone shifted slightly. “But I need to make sure Zahara will be there for his parole hearing. That’s important, Prime. For the family.”
“She’ll be there.”
“Good. That’s good.” A pause. “And Prime? Don’t antagonize my nephew. I know he can be difficult, but he’s blood. I’ll deal with him when he comes home. Straighten him out. Get that family back together the right way.”
Something cold settled in my stomach. Get that family back together. Like Meech and Zahara and Yusef were supposed to be some happy unit. Like Meech deserved that after a decade of being absent. After making his son feel worthless for playing chess and piano.
“You hear me, son?”
“Yeah. I hear you.”
“Good. I know you got a soft spot for lost causes. Just remember—Zahara and her boy aren’t your responsibility. You did the favor I asked. Brought them together. The rest is on them to figure out.”
My jaw clenched. Lost causes. Like I was some bleeding heart trying to save people who didn’t want saving.
“Anything else?” I asked, keeping my voice neutral.
“Nah. Just wanted to check in. You good?”
“I’m good.”
“Alright. Talk to you soon.”
The line went dead.
I stared at the phone in my hand, Rashid’s words echoing in my head. Get that family back together the right way.
What the fuck did that mean? Force Zahara to play house with a man she clearly wanted nothing to do with? Make Yusef bond with a father who’d already shown him he wasn’t worth the effort?
Before I could spiral further, my phone rang again. This time it was Serenity, my baby sister.
“What up, sis?”
“Don’t ‘what up’ me.” Her voice was sharp but playful. “Where you been? You know Grandma been asking about you.”
Guilt twisted in my chest. “I’ve been busy.”
“Too busy for family? For Grandma?” She sucked her teeth. “You need to get your ass over here for Sunday dinner. Today. And don’t even think about making excuses.”
I glanced at the time. It was already past noon. “Seren—”
“Grandma made your favorite. Oxtails. Mac and cheese. Collards. The whole nine. And if you don’t show up, I’m telling her you said her cooking is trash.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“Try me. Be here by four. Don’t be late.”
She hung up before I could respond.
I sat there for a moment, staring at the ceiling.
The last thing I wanted was to be around family right now.
But Grandma Rita… I’d been avoiding her for months.
Couldn’t face the disappointment in her eyes when she looked at me.
Couldn’t handle her knowing what I’d become.
I felt like I wasn’t living up to my full potential or something.
Yeah, I had money but there was something missing.
But Serenity was right. I’d been gone too long.
I got up, showered, and headed back to the city.
Grandma Rita’s house was exactly as I remembered it.
A massive estate in one of DC’s most exclusive neighborhoods.
The grandiose home had a gated entrance, manicured grounds, and enough space that you could go days without seeing another person if you wanted to.
She’d bought it decades ago with the money from helping build Banks Reserve from the ground up.
My father’s business partner in everything but name, even if he’d never given her the credit she deserved.
The circular driveway was already packed with cars—Justice’s Range Rover, Quest’s Maybach, Serenity’s Tesla. I pulled up in my Bentley and killed the engine.
I could hear the noise before I even opened the door. Laughter. Music. The sound of family.
I stepped inside and was immediately hit with the smell of home cooking. My stomach growled.
The foyer alone was bigger than most people’s apartments—marble floors, a chandelier that probably cost more than a house, a grand staircase leading to the second floor.
“Well, well, well. Look who finally decided to show up.”
Justice was standing in the hallway, his daughters Storie and Dream sitting next to him, flipping through a family photo album. Storie was twelve now, and becoming a beautiful young lady. And Dream was only three. I hated that I missed so much time with them, but I was gonna make up for it.
“Uncle Prime!” she squealed, reaching for me.
I took her from Justice, letting her wrap her little arms around my neck. “Hey, princess. You been good? How’s school?”
“School is good. You know I’m getting straight ‘A’s. I’m trying to convince Daddy to let me go to a co-ed school next year,” she said, rolling her eyes.
“Nah, you need to stay at that all-girls Catholic school and away from them nappy-headed boys.” She rolled her eyes and I kissed her forehead.
“Come, here baby girl,” I called out to Dream, whom I scooped up in my arms.
“Hi, Uncle Prime,” she hugged me close.
I looked at Justice. “What’s good, bro?”
“You tell me. Ain’t seen you since your birthday party.”
“I been working.” I cut my eyes at him.
“Right. Working.” Justice didn’t believe me, but he didn’t push it. “Come on. Everyone’s in the back.”
I followed him through the house, Dream still clinging to me.
The dining room was set up like a feast—the long mahogany table covered with dish after dish of soul food.
Oxtails swimming in gravy, mac and cheese with the perfect golden crust on top, collard greens, candied yams, cornbread, fried chicken, potato salad.
Everything that made Grandma Rita’s cooking legendary.
Quest was already fixing himself a plate, while his two girlfriends, Kiki and Tione, argued about something beside him. They were both beautiful, both headstrong, and both absolutely exhausting to be around.
Serenity was sitting at the table with her husband Julius. Her best friend Ivy was there too, laughing at something Julius said. Ivy was just as much a part of this family as everyone else. She and Serenity had been best friends since they were three.
Neither my brothers nor I liked Julius, though.
We always felt like he was using our sister to advance his career.
Mama loved Serenity and would do anything she asked.
We all knew that she was her favorite child.
And if Julius needed funding, a permit approved, or a connection, all he had to do was ask my sister to ask Vivica.
And then there was Grandma Rita. Sitting at the head of the table in her favorite chair, a plate of food in front of her, her cloudy eyes staring in my general direction.
“Prime’s here!” Storie announced loudly.
Everyone turned.
“Ayy, there he is!” Quest called out, grinning. “The prodigal son returns!”
I set Dream down and made my rounds. Hugged Kiki and Tione, dapped up Julius, hugged Ivy and Serenity.
“Took you long enough,” Serenity muttered, but she was smiling.