Chapter 15 Prime
PRIME
The electric guitar hummed under my fingers, distortion bleeding through the amp in my living room. I’d been playing for the past hour, letting muscle memory take over while my mind wandered places it shouldn’t.
Zahara.
Her face when I’d held her on the highway. The way she’d broken down in my arms. The sound of her voice when she called me out for my bullshit. The way she looked at me like she could see past all the armor I’d built.
I hit a wrong chord, the sound jarring and ugly.
“Fuck.”
I set the guitar down on its stand and rubbed my face. I needed to get her out of my head. This was supposed to be a favor for Rashid. Nothing more. But every time I closed my eyes, I saw her. Every time I tried to focus on something else, my thoughts circled back.
I couldn’t afford this. Couldn’t afford to care about someone who had secrets stacked on secrets. Someone who was clearly running from something. Someone who looked at me like I might be the answer when I was just as fucked up as she was.
My phone buzzed. Grandma Rita. Serenity had taught her how to use the voice memo feature.
You better not be thinking about standing me up, boy.
I smiled despite myself and replied back: On my way.
I’d promised her I’d be more present. That I’d stop disappearing for months at a time. And taking her to the farmers market on Sunday mornings was her favorite thing.
So that’s what I was doing.
I grabbed my keys and headed out.
Grandma Rita was waiting on her front porch when I pulled up, dressed in a flowing African print dress and a wool shawl that made her look like she was going to a party instead of a farmers market.
“You’re late,” she called out as I got out of the car.
“Only five minutes.”
“Which means you’re late. I said be here at nine. It’s 9:05.”
“I had to drive here, Grandma. I can’t teleport.”
“Excuses.” She stood, grabbing her cane even though I knew she barely needed it. It was more of a weapon than an aid. “And don’t think I forgot about next week. You promised you’d come to church with me.”
“I got you unless I have to work—”
“Work, work, work. That’s all you ever say. What kind of work you doing that you can’t take two hours on a Sunday morning to sit in the Lord’s house?”
“The kind that pays for this house.”
“Boy, I bought this house before you were even born. Don’t play with me.” But she was smiling as she said it, reaching up to cup my face. “Let me see you.”
I bent down so she could trace my features with her fingers, the way she always did now that her sight was mostly gone.
“Still handsome,” she declared. “Still look just like your daddy. Still breaking hearts, I’m sure.”
“Grandma—”
“Don’t ‘Grandma’ me. When you gonna settle down? Give me some great-grandbabies?”
“Storie and Dream are your great-grandbabies.”
“Two’s not enough. I want a whole pack of them running around before I die.”
“You’re not dying.”
“I’m eighty-three years old and going blind. I’m on my way out, baby. Gotta make peace with it.”
“Stop talking like that.”
“Why? It’s the truth. Now help me to the car before I change my mind about this whole trip.”
I offered her my arm and she took it, gripping tighter than necessary as we walked to my Bentley.
“How much was this car,” she complained as she settled into the passenger seat.
“I worked hard for it.”
“All that money. You boys buy these cars as an extension of your dick, to show how much you workin’ with.”
I choked on air. “Grandma!”
“What? You think because I’m old I don’t know what men do? Your grandfather had a sports car, too. Bright red. Thought he was hot shit.” She clicked her seatbelt. “I made him sell it after a year. Kept hitting his head getting in and out. Looked like a fool.”
I was still laughing as I pulled out of her driveway. “You’re something else, you know that?”
“I’m honest. There’s a difference.” She settled back in her seat, turning her face toward the window even though she couldn’t see much through it anymore. “Now tell me what’s really going on with you.”
“Nothing’s going on.”
“Liar. I can feel it. Something’s different. You’re wound up tighter than usual.”
“I’m fine, Grandma.”
“You haven’t been fine since you were a kid. Don’t insult my intelligence.”
I didn’t respond. Didn’t know how to explain that she was right without getting into things I couldn’t talk about.
She let it drop. For now.
The farmers market was packed. Vendors lined the streets with their colorful tents, selling everything from fresh produce to handmade jewelry. A band was set up in the central square, playing some old-school R&B that had people swaying as they walked past.
I guided Grandma Rita through the crowd, her hand on my arm, her cane tapping ahead of us.
“Describe it to me,” she said.
“There’s a tent to your left selling strawberries. They’re huge. Probably the size of your fist.”
“Are they organic?”
“Does it matter?”
“Everything matters. Pesticides are poison.”
“Yes, Grandma. They’re organic.”
“Good. We’re getting some. And what else?”
“There’s a woman selling soap. Lavender, I think. You can probably smell it.”
“I can. Smells like my mother’s garden.” She squeezed my arm. “What about people? Who’s here?”
I scanned the crowd. Families with strollers. Couples holding hands. Vendors calling out their specials. And then—
My jaw tightened.
“Your mother’s here,” Grandma Rita said before I could say anything. “I can feel you tense up. Where is she?”
“By the main stage. Doing meet and greets.”
“Of course she is. It’s an election year. She’s probably kissing babies and shaking hands like she actually gives a damn about these people.”
I wanted to turn around. Wanted to walk in the opposite direction and pretend I hadn’t seen her.
But it was too late.
Vivica spotted me. And her entire face lit up in that practiced politician’s smile that made my stomach turn.
She was surrounded by campaign staffers and photographers, but she broke away from them, heading straight toward us with her arms outstretched.
“Prentice! Rita! What a wonderful surprise!”
Grandma Rita’s grip on my arm tightened. “Stand your ground,” she muttered under her breath.
Vivica reached us, pulling me into a hug that felt like a performance. I stood stiff, my arms at my sides, but she didn’t seem to notice—or care.
“It’s so good to see you,” she said loudly, clearly aware of the cameras pointed our way. “I’ve missed you, baby.”
The word “baby” in her mouth made me want to shove her away. But I didn’t. Didn’t want to cause a scene. Didn’t want to give her the satisfaction.
“Vivica,” Grandma Rita said coolly. “Still campaigning, I see.”
“Always working for the people.” Vivica’s smile didn’t waver. “You look wonderful, Rita.”
“I look old and I’m going blind. But thank you for lying.”
I almost laughed.
Vivica turned back to me, her smile faltering slightly. She leaned in close, her voice dropping to a whisper only I could hear.
“We need to talk. Privately.”
“Hell no.”
Her smile tightened. “Meet with me, or your mentor goes back to prison.”
My blood went cold. “What?”
“You heard me.” Her voice was still low, still sweet, but there was steel underneath. “I have enough evidence to put Rashid away for life. All it takes is one phone call.”
She pulled back, her public smile back in place, kissing my cheek like we were a happy family.
“Think about it,” she said brightly. “It was so good to see you both! We should do this more often!”
Then she was gone, swept back into her entourage, leaving me standing there with rage coursing through my veins.
“What did she say?” Grandma Rita asked quietly.
“Nothing. Just politician bullshit.”
“Liar.” But she didn’t push. Just patted my arm. “Don’t let her get to you. That’s what she wants. To make you feel small. Don’t give her that power.”
I nodded, but I wasn’t listening. My mind was already racing. Evidence against Rashid? What evidence? And how long had she been sitting on it? And what did she want in return for it?
“Come on,” Grandma Rita said. “Let’s get those strawberries before they’re all gone.”
I started to follow her, my thoughts a mess of anger and strategy and—
That’s when I saw her.
Zahara.
She was at a vendor’s table about thirty feet away, setting up trays of what looked like cinnamon rolls. Her hair was pulled back, her face focused as she arranged everything just so.
And standing next to her, looking small and vulnerable with a split lip and a black eye, was Yusef and a friend of his.
Everything else—Vivica, Rashid, the threats—faded into background noise.
All I could see was her.