Chapter 40 Zahara
ZAHARA
The cab ride home was silent.
Yusef kept glancing at me, questions written all over his face, but I couldn’t talk. Couldn’t think. Could barely breathe past the anger and hurt sitting like a boulder on my chest.
Red lace panties.
Under his bed.
The same bed where he’d tied me up last night. Where he’d made me scream his name. Where he’d told me he loved me.
And this whole time, Farah had been—
I squeezed my eyes shut, forcing the images away. But was I just using that as an excuse to put distance between us? Could he have been telling the truth?
“What happened? Did you and Prime break up?” Yusef asked, with voice sounding small.
“I don’t want to talk about it right now.”
“But—”
“Yusef. Please.” My voice cracked. “Just let me think.”
He went quiet. Turned to look out the window at the city passing by.
A few minutes later, he spoke again. Softer this time.
“Does Prime know the truth now? About us?”
My heart stopped.
I turned to look at him, trying to read his face. His expression was guarded. Nervous.
“No,” I said carefully. “He doesn’t know anything.”
Yusef nodded slowly, relief flickering across his features. “Okay.”
“Leave it at that.”
He didn’t push further. Just went back to staring out the window, lost in his own thoughts.
I watched him for a moment. This little boy, carrying secrets no twelve-year-old should have to carry. And I knew he felt the weight of everything pressing down on me, too.
Prime didn’t know the truth about us.
But he would. Eventually.
And when he did, panties under the bed would be the least of our problems.
The apartment felt different when we got back.
Smaller. Darker. Like we’d outgrown it somehow.
I dropped my bag by the door and just stood there for a minute, looking around at the space I’d called home for the past year. The worn couch. The tiny kitchen. The water stain on the ceiling I’d never gotten the landlord to fix.
Twelve hours ago, I’d been in a penthouse overlooking the Potomac. Sleeping in silk sheets. Dreaming about a future I’d almost let myself believe in.
Now I was back here. Back to reality.
“You hungry?” I asked Yusef, forcing myself to move toward the kitchen.
“Not really.”
“You should eat something anyway.”
“I’m fine. I just…” He trailed off, heading toward his room. “I’m gonna practice for a bit. Clear my head.”
I let him go. We both needed space to process.
A few minutes later, the sound of piano drifted through the apartment. Something soft. Melancholy. Matching the mood perfectly.
I made myself a cup of tea I didn’t really want and sat at the kitchen table, trying to figure out what to do next.
Monday. The parole hearing.
Prime would be here at 6 AM to pick us up. Three hours in a car with a man I wasn’t sure I could trust anymore. Then facing Meech—facing my past—while everything in my present was falling apart.
And after that?
I didn’t know. Couldn’t see past Monday. Couldn’t imagine what came next.
A knock at the door made me jump.
I wasn’t expecting anyone. Wasn’t in the mood for company. But when I looked through the peephole, my stomach dropped.
Brandi.
She looked terrible. Eyes red and swollen. Hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. Wearing sweats and a hoodie like she’d just thrown on whatever was closest.
This was a woman in mourning.
I opened the door.
“Brandi.” I pulled her into a hug immediately. “I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” I felt terrible for my fakeness. Her son was making my boy’s a living hell.
She crumpled against me, sobbing. Her whole body shaking with grief.
“He’s gone,” she whispered. “My baby’s gone.”
“I know. I know.” I held her tighter, guilt twisting in my stomach. “Come inside. Come sit down.”
I guided her to the couch, got her some water, sat beside her while she cried. The piano music from Yusef’s room had stopped. He must have heard her.
A moment later, his door opened.
He stood in the hallway, frozen. His face had gone pale.
Brandi looked up, saw him, and something in her expression shifted. Softened through the grief.
“Yusef, baby.” She wiped her face, trying to compose herself. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
He walked toward her slowly. Each step looked like it took effort. Like he was forcing himself to move forward when every instinct told him to run.
“I’m…” His voice broke. Tears spilled down his cheeks. “I’m so sorry about Nigel, Miss Brandi.”
Then he was crying. Really crying. The kind of sobs that shook his whole body.
Brandi stood and pulled him into her arms, holding him the way mothers do. The way I’d held him a hundred times.
“I know, baby,” she murmured, rubbing his back. “I know. He was your friend. This is hard for you, too.”
I watched them embrace—my boy, crying in the arms of the mother whose child he’d killed—and felt like the worst person in the world.
“Yusef.” I kept my voice gentle. “Why don’t you go to your room, okay? Let me and Miss Brandi talk.”
He pulled back, wiping his face. Nodded. Couldn’t meet Brandi’s eyes as he turned and walked away.
His door closed with a soft click.
Brandi sank back onto the couch, exhausted.
“That boy loved Nigel,” she said quietly. “They were so close.”
I couldn’t respond. Could only nod.
“The police.” Brandi’s voice hardened slightly. “Have they talked to Yusef yet? Asked him any questions?”
“No.” I shook my head. “Not yet. But if they come by, he’ll cooperate. He’ll tell them whatever he—”
“Don’t bother.”
I blinked. “What?”
Brandi’s jaw tightened. Something dark flickered in her eyes—something I’d never seen from her before.
“I don’t want the police involved.”
“Brandi, they’re already investigating. They’re going to—”
“I don’t care what they do.” She cut me off, her voice cold. “The police ain’t gonna find who did this. They don’t care about Black boys dying in Southeast. To them, Nigel’s just another statistic. Another case file that’ll sit on somebody’s desk collecting dust.”
“That’s not—”
“Zoo’s handling it.”
The name hit me like ice water.
Zoo. Nigel’s father. The man Nigel had threatened Yusef with. The man who’d just gotten out of prison. The man who “knew people.”
“What do you mean, handling it?” I kept my voice steady even as my heart raced.
“I mean he’s gonna find out who killed his son.” Brandi’s eyes met mine, and there was no softness left in them. Only rage. Only pain. “And when he does, he’s gonna make them pay. In the worst way.”
My blood went cold.
“Brandi…”
“I know what you’re gonna say.” She held up her hand. “That violence isn’t the answer. That we should let the system work. But the system don’t work for people like us, Zahara. You know that.”
I did know that. Better than she realized.
“Zoo’s got connections,” Brandi continued. “People who owe him favors. People who know how to find out things the police never would.” Her voice dropped, thick with grief and venom. “Whoever did this to my baby—they’re gonna suffer. I’m gonna make sure of it.”
I wanted to scream. Wanted to grab her by the shoulders and tell her the truth. Tell her that her son wasn’t the victim she thought he was. That he’d been tormenting Yusef for months. That he’d stolen money, thrown punches, threatened to have me killed.
That my boy had only done what he did because he couldn’t take it anymore.
But I couldn’t say any of that.
So I just nodded. And hid the terror behind my eyes.
“I understand,” I said quietly. “You want justice for Nigel.”
“I want blood.” Brandi’s voice was barely a whisper. “And I’m gonna get it.”
Her phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen and sighed.
“That’s my mama. I gotta take this.” She stood, moving toward the door. “She’s been calling every hour. Can’t stop crying.”
“Of course. Go. Be with your family.”
Brandi paused at the door, looking back at me. For a moment, I saw my friend again. The woman who’d welcomed me when I first moved here. Who’d helped me find my footing. Who’d been there when I needed someone.
“Thank you, Zahara. For being here. For caring about my boy.”
The guilt was suffocating.
“Always,” I managed.
She disappeared into the hallway, phone pressed to her ear.
I closed the door and leaned against it, my legs suddenly weak.
Zoo was looking for Nigel’s killer.
Zoo had connections. Resources. A thirst for revenge that wouldn’t stop until someone paid.
And if he found out the truth—if he discovered that Yusef was the one who’d pulled the trigger—
I couldn’t finish the thought.
I pushed off the door and walked to the window, looking out at the neighborhood that had never really felt like home. At the yellow tape still visible in the distance. At the spot where Nigel had died.
We couldn’t stay here.
After the parole hearing on Monday, we were gone. I’d pack what we could carry, grab Yusef, and disappear. Again. The way I’d done before.
New city. New names. New life.
I’d been running for so long. Had gotten so tired of it. Had let myself believe, for just a moment, that maybe I could stop. That maybe Prime could be my safe place. That maybe we could build something real.
But that was a fantasy.
This was reality.
And reality meant running. Always running.
I just had to make it through Monday first.