Chapter 30
PRIME
I sat in my whip outside Zahara’s building for a solid ten minutes after I left. Just watching her window like a hawk. Making sure she was good. Making sure nobody was coming for what’s mine.
This shit wasn’t normal. I knew it wasn’t normal.
I ain’t never caught feelings like this before. Never felt this need to body anybody who looked at her wrong. To claim territory. To handle every damn thing in her world like it was my own business.
But here I was. Sleep-deprived. Running on adrenaline and passion. And all I could think about was how to make her life easier. Safer. Better.
She needed a commercial kitchen.
I pulled out my phone and called Justice.
He answered on the third ring. “What?”
“I need a favor.”
“Man, after that shit you pulled last night… I ain’t sure I’m in the favor-giving mood.”
“You called her a bitch. What’d you expect?”
Silence. Then a sigh. “Yeah, aight. My bad. That was out of line.” He paused. “But seriously, you put your hands on me over a woman, Prime. That ain’t like you.”
“Things change.”
“Clearly.” I could hear him moving around, probably rolling another joint. “So what’s this favor?”
“Commercial real estate. You still got connects in that?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“I need a commercial kitchen.”
Another pause. Longer this time. “You about to start a caterin’ company, nigga? This is how you wanna spend your retirement?”
“It’s for her.” I shook my head at having to admit it out loud.
“Damn.” Justice laughed, but it wasn’t mean. Just surprised. “You really in it like that?”
“Yeah… she’s talented. She makes these cinnamon rolls…”
“She about to make you risk it all and make you go back to being Prime Rib,” he joked.
“Nah, never that. I’ve come too far.”
“Uh huh.” He was quiet for a moment. “You know what? Maybe this is good.”
“What?”
“You finally settling down. Someone who makes you feel something besides that cold-ass emptiness you been carrying since you were a kid.” His voice got serious. “Maybe she’s what you need to heal from all that shit with Vivica. All that mommy issue trauma. The shame of being in prison. All of it.”
I gripped the steering wheel tighter. “Don’t psychoanalyze me, J.”
“I’m not. I’m just saying… maybe having someone to care about, someone who needs you, maybe that makes you whole again. Makes you more than just the violence and the business and the survival.”
Coming from anyone else, I would’ve hung up. But Justice had lost his wife Monica to cancer. Watched her waste away. Held her hand while she took her last breath.
If anyone understood what it meant to need someone, to love someone so much it changed you, it was him.
“What about you?” I asked. “What helps you heal?”
“Man, don’t worry about me.”
“Justice—”
“I said don’t worry about it.” His voice went flat. “Some shit don’t heal, brother. Some losses you just carry. But you? You got a chance at something real. Don’t fuck it up.”
Silence stretched between us.
“Aight,” he said finally, his tone lighter. “I’ll send you what I got. Got a few spots that might work.”
“Appreciate it.”
“Yeah, well. You owe me. Again.”
“I know.”
“And Prime?”
“What?”
“Don’t choke me out no more. Next time I might have to hit back.”
I almost smiled. “She’s off limits. Remember that and we won’t have problems.”
“Noted.” He hung up.
I sat there for a second, processing. Justice was right about one thing—I was different now. Changed. And I didn’t even know how it happened.
One minute I was living my life, focused on rebuilding something, keeping my distance from anything that felt too real. The next minute, Zahara walked into my line of sight and everything shifted.
Now I was disposing bodies. Making her come on my tongue to calm her fear. Planning her business expansion like it was my own.
Yeah. I was in deep.
My phone rang. Farah.
“What’s up?”
“What’s up?” Her voice was sharp. Annoyed. “The painters are at your penthouse right now. The furniture delivery is in thirty minutes. You said you’d be there.”
Shit. I’d completely forgotten.
“My bad. I got caught up.”
“It’s fine, I can handle it if you give me your code. I’ll make sure everything’s done right.”
“Aight. Code is 0-3-1-5-8-7.”
“Got it.” A pause. “Hey, um, I was thinking… maybe we could grab dinner sometime this week?”
“Um, no. I’m busy this week, Farah.”
“Oh. Okay.” Her voice deflated slightly. “Well, maybe next week then?”
“Nah.”
“Well, will I see you at the gala?”
“Maybe,” I replied.
“I can’t wait. I’ll text you when the painters are done.”
“Cool.”
I hung up.
Didn’t think twice about it. Farah was always like that—trying to find reasons to spend time with me, suggesting dinners, wanting to “catch up.” I never encouraged it. She was Rashid’s daughter. That was it.
I had more important shit to worry about.
My phone rang again. This time, a number I recognized immediately.
Rashid.
“Brother Rashid,” I answered.
“Prentice.” His voice was calm. Steady. Like always. “How you doing, son?”
“I’m good. What’s up?”
“Just wanted to let you know I’ll be back in DC next week. Meech’s parole hearing is coming up. Thought I’d come support him. See how things turn out.”
My grip tightened on the phone. Meech’s hearing. Which meant Zahara would be stressed again.
“You think he’s got a shot at parole?”
“Hard to say. He’s done his time. Been a model prisoner. But it’s his third strike, so…” Rashid trailed off. “We’ll see. Either way, I’ll be there. And I’m looking forward to seeing you while I’m in town. Catch up.”
“Yeah. That’d be good.”
“You sound distracted. Everything alright?”
“Yeah. Just handling some things.”
“Alright. Make sure Zahara and the boy are at the hearing.”
“Of course.”
“I have some things to handle, but we’ll talk soon.”
“Aight.”
When our call ended, I thought about Zahara and how I wished I could just tell her fuck that hearing. But I owed Rashid. And no matter what happened, I’d be making sure that nigga never hurt her.
My phone buzzed with a text from Justice. A list of commercial kitchen properties. Three options, all in good locations, all available for lease with owner financing.
I scrolled through them, checking addresses, square footage, monthly payments. One stood out immediately. Northeast. Clean. Affordable. Perfect for what she needed.
I didn’t forward the list to her. Didn’t ask which one she wanted.
I was going to handle this myself. Set up the viewing. Make sure it was right. Then surprise her with it.
Because that’s what I did now. I handled everything for her. Made sure she never had to worry. Made sure she was taken care of.
Even if it meant risking everything.
Even if it meant eventually facing whatever truth she was hiding.
She was mine now.
And I didn’t let go of what was mine.