Chapter 27
ZAHARA
Today was one of those days where I only worked the morning shift.
Therefore, I got home in time to work on some marketing for Sweet Zin.
I posted photos on Instagram and responded to DM’s.
My popularity was expanding and I knew that I would sell out again at the next farmers market.
And if the mayor’s gala went well, I knew that I could expect more orders.
I really needed a commercial kitchen because sneaking to bake at Grits was not sustainable.
As I continued working on my business my thoughts drifted to Prime, remembering his hands all over my body in that kitchen.
I had broken my damn rule. Not to let anyone in.
But, he was so irresistible. Those eyes, those lips, those hands and that dick.
The way he cares for me. But I was lying to him.
I was hiding a dark secret and if he knew the truth, would he be able to accept it?
This is why I wasn’t supposed to get close.
I’m supposed to keep my head down and focus on raising Yusef.
Lost and confused, I pulled out my phone and texted my sister.
“I’m falling for him and I don’t know what to do.” Just as I hit send, I heard Yusef’s key in the lock. The door opened and there he was. Another bruise blooming across his cheek. His glasses were cracked across one lens. His lip split. Again.
“Yu…” My voice came out broken.
“I’m fine.” He walked past me, heading straight for his room.
“You’re not fine. Your face—”
“I said I’m fine!” He whirled on me, tears streaming down his face even as he tried to look tough. “Just leave me alone!”
“Baby, please. Tell me who’s doing this. Tell me so I can—”
“So you can what? Go to the school? Talk to the principal? That’ll just make it worse!” His voice cracked. “You don’t understand. You don’t get it.”
“Then help me understand.”
“I tried to fight back today,” he said, his hands shaking. “I tried to do what Prime taught me. But I’m not strong enough. I’m not fast enough. I’m just—I’m weak!”
“You’re not weak—”
“Yes, I am! And going to the school, getting adults involved, that’s just gonna make me look weaker. I have to handle this myself. Like a man.”
The words hit me like a slap. Like a man. He was twelve years old and already carrying weight no child should carry.
“Yusef, that’s ridiculous. You’re a kid. You shouldn’t have to—”
“I’m not a kid!” he shouted. “I’m the man of this house! And I have to handle my own problems!”
He stormed into his room and slammed the door.
I stood there in the hallway, my heart breaking into a thousand pieces.
This couldn’t keep happening. I couldn’t keep watching him come home beaten and broken. Couldn’t keep feeling helpless while someone tortured my child.
I knocked on his door. “Yu?”
“Go away.”
“I’m not going to the school. I promise. But we’re leaving. After this school year, we’re moving. Somewhere better. Somewhere safe.”
Silence.
“You hear me?”
“Yeah,” came his muffled voice. “I hear you.”
I pressed my forehead against the door, fighting tears. “I love you, baby.”
“I love you too.”
But it didn’t feel like enough. Love wasn’t stopping the beatings. Love wasn’t keeping him safe.
I needed to make more money. Needed to get us out of this neighborhood, away from whatever was happening at that school. Which meant I needed to bake more. Sell more. Build Sweet Zin faster.
At 11 PM, I stood in my kitchen, staring at my phone.
I needed to go to Grits. Had to bake. The demand was there.
I just needed to keep up with it. But Prime had made it clear the other night that he didn’t want me going there alone at night.
Had insisted on taking me. On making sure I was safe.
I looked at his contact in my phone. My thumb hovered over the call button.
It was late. He’d already done so much for me.
For Yusef. I couldn’t keep asking him for things.
Couldn’t keep being a burden. I could handle this one night on my own.
Just get in, bake, get out. Simple. I pocketed my phone and grabbed my keys.
At 11:30, I let myself in through the back entrance of Grits, flipping on the lights.
As soon as I stepped in, I was overcome with what we did in this kitchen.
The memory made heat flood through me. His hands.
His mouth. The way he’d bent me over this very counter.
I shook my head, trying to focus. I had work to do.
I got to work, my hands moving through the familiar motions. Mixing. Kneading. Rolling. Letting my mind go blank so I wouldn’t think about Yusef’s face. Wouldn’t think about how I was failing him.
I’d just put the first batch in the oven when I heard the door open.
My heart jumped. Then immediately sank with guilt.
Prime. Of course he’d shown up. He probably had some sixth sense about me being here. And now I’d have to explain why I’d come without telling him. Why I’d deliberately gone behind his back after he’d been so clear about wanting to keep me safe.
“I’m sorry,” I called out, not looking up from the dough I was rolling. My voice was apologetic, already preparing my excuse. “I know you said you wanted to bring me, but it was late and I didn’t want to bother you. I figured I could just handle one night on my own and—”
Footsteps. Slower than Prime’s usual confident stride.
Something felt off.
“I promise I was going to text you when I got here,” I continued, nervous energy making me ramble. “I just didn’t want to wake you up or make you feel like you had to come all the way out here just for me. You’ve already done so much and I—”
“I always knew you were sneaking in here.”
My blood went cold.
That wasn’t Prime’s voice.
I spun around and there he was. Larry. Standing in the doorway, blocking my exit, a smile on his face that made my skin crawl.
“Larry.” My voice came out barely above a whisper. The apology I’d been preparing for Prime died in my throat. “I can explain. I was going to tell you—”
“Were you?” He moved closer, his eyes scanning the kitchen, lingering on the rolls cooling on the racks. “Because it seems like you’ve been doing this for a while now. Using my kitchen. My equipment. Making money off my resources.”
“I’m sorry. I should have asked. I’ll pay you—”
“Oh, I don’t want your money, Zahara.” He stepped closer. Too close. “I don’t mind you using the kitchen. Hell, I think it’s smart. Entrepreneurial.”
He was standing right in front of me now. Close enough that I could smell the whiskey on his breath.
“I just wish you would’ve said something. We could’ve worked out an arrangement.” His eyes traveled down my body. “A mutually beneficial arrangement.”
I stepped back. Hit the counter. Nowhere to go.
“What kind of arrangement?” I asked, though I already knew. Already felt sick.
“Well…” He reached out, his finger trailing down my arm. “If you want to use my kitchen for free, I think it’s only fair I get a taste of what you’re making.”
His meaning was clear. The innuendo thick enough to choke on.
“I’ll pay rent,” I said quickly. “Whatever you want. Just name a price.”
“I’m naming it.” His hand moved to my waist. “I always wanted some of your cinnamon roll, Zahara. And tonight, I’m finally gonna get a bite.”
I tried to dodge around him but he grabbed my arm, yanking me back.
“Don’t be like that,” he said, his voice hardening. “Don’t act like you didn’t know this was coming. Walking around here in those tight jeans. Bending over. Teasing me.”
“I never—”
“Shut up.” He pulled me against him, his other hand fisting in my coils. “You’re gonna give me what I want. Or I’m calling the cops. Reporting you for breaking and entering. Theft. You’ll lose your son while you’re sitting in jail.”
Terror flooded through me. “Please. Please don’t—” He crushed his mouth against mine. Wet. Sloppy. Tasting like whiskey and cigarettes and desperation. I tried to pull away but his grip was iron. His tongue forcing its way into my mouth while I gagged.
No. No, this wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening.
I brought my knee up hard, connecting with his baby dick.
He howled, releasing me, stumbling back.
I ran for the door.
Almost made it.
His hand caught my hoodie, yanking me back so hard I fell. Hit the floor. The air knocked out of my lungs.
“You bitch!” he snarled, grabbing me, flipping me onto my stomach. His weight came down on top of me, pinning me. “You think you can tease me for months and then kick me? Nah. I’m taking what’s mine.”
His hands were at my jeans, yanking at the button, pulling them down.
“No! Stop! Please!”
“Shut up!” One hand pressed my face into the cold tile while the other worked at his belt.
This was it. This was how it ended. Raped on a kitchen floor by a man who’d been waiting for his chance.
My hand scrabbled across the tile. Searching. Desperate.
My fingers closed around something.
The knife. The one I’d been using to cut dough.
I grabbed it and twisted, swinging blindly behind me.
The blade connected with something soft. Something that gave way with a sickening resistance.
Larry screamed. A high-pitched, inhuman sound.
His weight lifted off me and I scrambled away, turning to see him clutching his face. Blood. So much blood. Pouring between his fingers.
The knife was still in my hand. Still covered in red.
I’d stabbed him in the eye.
“You crazy bitch!” he staggered backward, his hands over his ruined eye, blood streaming down his face.
He hit the side of the counter. Hard. The sharp corner catching the back of his skull with a sickening crack.
He dropped.
Just dropped like someone had cut his strings.
Hit the floor and didn’t move.
I stood there, frozen, the knife still in my trembling hand. Watching the blood pool beneath his head. Watching it spread across the white tile like spilled wine.
“Larry?” My voice came out small. Broken. “Larry, get up.”
He didn’t move.
“Get up. Please. Just get up.”
Nothing.
The knife clattered from my hand. I backed away, hitting the counter, my legs giving out. I slid down to the floor, my eyes locked on his body.
He was dead. I’d killed him. Oh God, I’d killed him.
My breath came in short, panicked gasps. My vision tunneled. My hands shook so violently I couldn’t make them stop.
I needed help. Needed someone. Needed—
Prime.
My hand fumbled for my phone in my pocket. Pulled it out with shaking fingers. Found his contact.
Hit call.
It rang once. Twice. Three times.
“Zahara?” His voice, rough with sleep. “Baby, it’s one in the morning. You okay?”
“Prime.” I couldn’t get enough air. Couldn’t breathe. “Prime, I need you. Please. I need you to come. Right now.”
“What’s wrong? Where are you?”
“Grits. I’m at Grits and I—” My voice broke. Sobs tearing out of me. “Prime, I killed him. I killed Larry. There’s so much blood and he’s not moving and I don’t know what to do. Please. Please, you have to come. You have to—”
“I’m on my way. Don’t move. Don’t touch anything. Don’t call anyone else. You hear me? I’m coming.”
The line went dead.
I sat there on the floor, staring at Larry’s body. At the blood still spreading. At the knife lying a few feet away.
At the evidence of everything I’d just done.
And I waited for Prime to come save me from myself.