Chapter 33 Zahara
ZAHARA
“These are incredible,” the woman in the Chanel dress said, reaching for her third peach cobbler roll. “Absolutely divine. Do you have a shop? A storefront?”
“Not yet,” I said, handing her my business card. “But I have a commercial kitchen. I do custom orders, events, catering—”
“I’m hosting a brunch in two weeks. Can you do… let’s say, five dozen? Assorted flavors?”
“Absolutely.”
She pulled out her phone. “Let me get your information. This is exactly what I’ve been looking for.”
I was living a dream.
The past hour had been a blur of compliments, business cards, and booking requests. Women in designer gowns asking about wholesale options. Men in expensive suits wanting to know if I could cater their corporate events. Someone from a food magazine asking for an interview.
Sweet Zin was happening. Really happening.
But underneath the excitement was a current of unease I couldn’t shake.
Farah.
Every time I looked up, she was watching me. Not even trying to hide it. Those cold eyes following my every move, her expression somewhere between jealousy and pure hatred.
What had I done to her?
I’d been nothing but professional. Grateful for the opportunity. Friendly when we interacted.
But the way she looked at me made my skin crawl. Made me feel like I’d somehow wronged her without knowing it.
And then there was Prime.
I glanced across the room to where he stood with his brothers. Tall. Commanding. Impossible to miss even in a room full of DC’s elite.
But all I could hear was Vivica’s voice echoing in my head.
“He hasn’t been back to prison once.”
Prison.
What had he done? How long had he been locked up? And why hadn’t he told me the full story?
“Z, this lady wants to know if you do wedding cakes,” Yusef said, appearing at my elbow.
I turned to help another customer, pushing the questions to the back of my mind.
The boys had been helping all night. Yusef on one end of the table, Nigel on the other. Both greeting people, handing out samples, answering questions about flavors.
But even with all the activity, I noticed they never crossed paths. Never spoke to each other. Stayed on their separate ends like there was an invisible wall between them.
I glanced at the nearly empty trays. Almost sold out. In less than two hours.
This was everything I’d worked for. Everything I’d dreamed about since I came to DC with nothing but Yusef and my fears.
And it was happening.
But so was everything else.
The police investigating Larry’s disappearance. Mehar getting closer to finding me. Prime’s past catching up to him. Farah’s hatred burning hotter every time our eyes met.
And the biggest question of all—when should I quit Grits?
I couldn’t keep working there. Not with Mehar showing up. Not with Sweet Zin about to take off. But the way the night was going, with all these new orders, I wouldn’t have time to work at Grits.
“Goddess.”
Prime’s voice, low and close, pulled me out of my spiral.
I turned to find him standing right behind me. Close enough that I could smell his cologne. Feel the heat radiating off him.
“Come with me,” he said. Not asking. Telling.
“I’m working—”
“Boys got it.” He was already guiding me away from the table, his hand firm on my lower back. “You earned a break.”
He led me through the crowd, past the donors and politicians, past Farah who tracked our movement with those cold eyes, past Vivica who was holding court near the stage.
We slipped through a service door into a quiet corridor. Then another door. Then into a small sitting room—all velvet couches and dark wood paneling. Private. Empty.
He closed the door behind us and I felt the shift immediately. The air getting heavier. More charged.
“You’ve been avoiding me all night,” he said.
“I’ve been working.”
“Nah. You’ve been working and avoiding me. There’s a difference. Not making eye contact.” He moved closer. “What’s wrong?”
I crossed my arms. Put some distance between us, even though every part of me wanted to close it.
“Farah,” I said. “She keeps looking at me like she wants to kill me. What’s that about?”
“Nothing you need to worry about.”
“That’s not an answer, Prime.”
“It’s the only one you’re getting.” His jaw tightened. “Farah has feelings I don’t return. That’s it. Nothing has ever happened between us. Nothing ever will.”
“She doesn’t seem to think that.”
“I don’t give a fuck what she thinks. I’m telling you the truth.” He stepped closer, his voice dropping. “You’re mine, Zahara. There’s no other woman. Not Farah. Not nobody. You understand?”
I wanted to believe him. Wanted to let it go.
But there was something else sitting heavier on my chest.
“Your mother,” I said quietly. “She said you went to prison. That you haven’t been back.”
His expression shifted. Hardened.
“Yeah. I went to prison.”
“When? For what?”
He stared at me for a long moment. Then he moved to the couch and sat, his legs parted as he leaned back.
“I was thirteen,” he said finally. “Seventh grade. There was this boy, Tre. He used to run his mouth. Talk shit about everybody. About me. About my stutter. About my weight.”
I stayed quiet. Letting him talk.
“Vivica blamed me. No sympathy. Told me to man up. I’d get beat, and she’d beat me worse when I got home. One day, after Vivica had smacked me around again for not fighting back, I finally snapped. I lost it. I beat him with a padlock in a sock. Didn’t stop until he wasn’t moving anymore.”
My heart stopped.
“He died?” I whispered.
“Yeah. And Vivica pushed for them to try me as an adult. Testified against me. Said I was dangerous. Uncontrollable. That I needed to be locked up for everyone’s safety.”
“She’s your mother—”
“In biology only.” His voice was cold. Flat. “She wanted me gone. The trial was her chance to get rid of me legally.”
“How long were you in?”
“I got out when I was about twenty. Rashid made that happen. He got me a good lawyer and helped me get a reduced sentence based on new evidence and the fact that I was a child.”
Seven years. He’d spent seven years locked up for something that happened when he was a child.
“So, that’s where you met Rashid,” I said, piecing it together.
“Yeah. He saved me. Taught me how to fight. How to control the rage. How to survive.” He looked up at me. “I owe him my life, Zahara. Everything I am, everything I have—it’s because of him.”
“That’s why you need me to testify at Meech’s hearing,” I said quietly. “Because you owe Rashid.”
“Yeah.”
Silence stretched between us.
“Has Meech ever hurt you?” Prime asked suddenly. “Touched you? Threatened you?”
“No.” And it was true. Meech had never done anything to me personally. “Never.”
“Then why are you scared of him?”
Because it wasn’t Meech I was scared of. It was what Meech knew.
But I couldn’t tell Prime that.
“I’m just nervous,” I said instead. “About testifying. About being in a courtroom.”
He stood and crossed to me. Cupped my face in his hands.
“I’ll be right there with you. You understand? You won’t be alone.”
“Okay.”
“Say it again.”
“I won’t be alone.”
“Good.”
He kissed me. Soft at first. Then deeper. His tongue sliding into my mouth, his hands pulling me closer until our bodies were pressed together.
I melted into him. Let the fear and the questions and the unease fade into the background. Let there be nothing but this. Him and me and the heat building between us.
“I need you,” he growled against my lips. “Right now.”
“Prime, we’re at an event—”
“I don’t give a fuck.” He was already backing me toward the door. “Been watching you all night. Watching other men look at you. Watching you smile and glow and be everything I want. And I need to be inside you. Now.”
He pulled me into the hallway. Down another corridor. Pushed open a door marked “Private.”
A bathroom. Single occupancy. Marble and gold fixtures and a massive mirror over the sink.
He locked the door behind us and was on me immediately.
His mouth claiming mine. His hands pulling at my shirt. His body pinning me against the sink.
“Turn around,” he commanded.
I obeyed, my heart racing, my pussy already wet with anticipation.
He pressed me forward until I was bent over the sink, my hands braced on the marble, my reflection staring back at me in the mirror.
“Watch yourself,” he said, unbuttoning my pants and yanking them down. “I want you to see what I do to you.”
He pulled my panties aside and slid two fingers inside me without warning.
I gasped, my eyes locking with my own reflection.
“Already so wet for me,” he growled, working his fingers in and out. “Always so ready. My nasty girl.”
“Prime, please—”
“Please what?” He added a third finger, stretching me, hitting that spot that made my legs shake. “Tell me what you want.”
“I want you inside me.”
“Yeah?” He pulled his fingers out and I heard his belt buckle. Heard his zipper. “You want this dick?”
“Yes.”
“Say it louder.”
“I need your dick, Prime. Please.”
He thrust into me in one hard stroke and we both groaned.
“Fuck,” he breathed. “You feel so good. So tight. So perfect.”
He set a brutal pace immediately. Deep, punishing strokes that made me cry out. Made me grab the sink harder. Made me watch myself come apart in the mirror.
“That’s it,” he said, one hand fisting in my hair, pulling my head back. “Watch yourself take this dick. Watch how beautiful you look when I’m inside you.”
I couldn’t look away. Could only watch as he fucked me. As my face flushed. As my mouth fell open. As pleasure twisted my features into something raw and desperate.
His other hand slid down my back. Over my ass. Between my cheeks.
“You trust me?” he asked, his thumb pressing against my other hole.
“Yes,” I breathed.
“Then relax.”
I felt him spit down my ass crack and then he pressed his thumb inside. Just the tip at first. Then deeper. The dual sensation making me gasp.
“Oh God—”
“Look at yourself,” he commanded. “Watch what I’m doing to you.”
I forced my eyes open. Forced myself to watch as he fucked me with his dick while his thumb worked my ass. The sight was obscene. Filthy. Perfect.
“You like this?” he asked. “Like being filled up by me?”
“Yes! God, yes!”
“That’s my good nasty girl. Taking everything I give you.” His thrusts got harder. Faster. His thumb pressing deeper. “You’re mine, Zahara. Every hole. Every part of you. Mine.”
“Yours,” I sobbed. “All yours.”
“Say my name.”
“Prime!”
“Louder.”
“Prime!”
“That’s right. Let everyone know who’s fucking you. Who owns this pussy.”
I was so close. The pressure building. The pleasure coiling tighter and tighter until I couldn’t breathe.
“Come for me,” he commanded. “Come all over my dick so I can fill you up.”
I shattered. My whole body convulsing. My pussy clenching around him. My eyes locked on my own reflection as I came undone.
He followed seconds later. Burying himself deep. His thumb pressing all the way in. His groan rough and primal as he filled me with his release.
We stayed like that for a moment. Both of us trembling. Both of us trying to catch our breath.
Finally, he pulled out slowly. Pulled up my pants. Turned me around to face him.
“You good?” he asked, his voice softer now.
“Yeah.” But I was still shaking. Still feeling the aftershocks.
“Come here.” He pulled me into his arms, holding me. Letting me come down from the high.
After a few minutes, we straightened ourselves. Fixed our clothes. He washed his hands. I fixed my hair. Made ourselves presentable.
Prime unlocked the door and we stepped out into the hallway.
Farah was standing right there.
Like she’d been waiting. Listening. Knowing.
Her eyes traveled over us. Taking in Prime’s slightly disheveled appearance. The way my legs were still unsteady. The flush that probably hadn’t left my face yet.
Prime zipped his pants slowly. Deliberately. Held her gaze the entire time.
Then he took my hand and we walked past her.
Didn’t say a word. Didn’t acknowledge her at all.
Just left her standing there with rage written all over her face.
And somehow, that felt more dangerous than anything else that had happened tonight.