Chapter Seven Prime Thomas
The low hum of expensive engines filled the air, the scent of burning rubber mixed with gasoline and money.
Dirty money. The kind that flowed through Ridge Motorsports like water, cleaned up nice before making its way into the hands of politicians, execs, and street niggas who knew how to play the game.
And I played the game better than anybody.
I leaned against the sleek hood of my blacked-out Porsche, watching as the track lights flickered across the asphalt. Deals were being made all around me—some in whispers, some in firm handshakes—but I wasn’t worried about that right now.
I had an image to uphold. A role to play. And tonight, that role was devoted husband.
The second I spotted Sayani making her way toward me, looking every bit the gullible little wife she was, I slipped my phone into my pocket and straightened up. Perfect timing.
“Damn, baby,” I grinned, reaching out to wrap an arm around her waist, pulling her into me like I’d been waiting all night to see her. “What you doin’ here? Thought you was at the house chillin’?”
Sayani smiled up at me, soft and trusting. She made this shit too damn easy.
“I wanted to surprise you,” she admitted, pressing a kiss to my cheek. “You’ve been working so much lately. I thought we could grab dinner after this?”
I forced a chuckle, rubbing my hands down her arms like I was touched by the gesture. Like I wasn’t just upstairs, moving thousands of dollars through fake accounts, making sure my pockets stayed lined.
“You always lookin’ out for me, huh?” I murmured, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “That’s why I love you.”
She melted, leaning into me like this was real. But little did she know, I had already failed her emotionally. I was busy plotting a comeback with a woman who wasn’t even mine anymore. But that’s the thing about Xalori Carson, she was still mine. Always would be.
It didn’t matter that I walked out. Didn’t matter that I ghosted her when she needed me most, didn’t matter that she buried our daughter without me.
I figured she’d be struggling by now. Still broken.
Still waiting on me to come back and fix it all.
But that wasn’t what I saw last week. What I saw was her with that nigga. Eason fucking Storm.
The thought of him touching what belonged to me had rage clawing up my chest. He didn’t know her. Didn’t know her body like I did. Didn’t know the shit we’d been through. But he was standing in my spot like he earned it.
If Xalori thought she was done with me, she had another thing coming. I don’t lose what belongs to me. And Xalori and my son were still fucking mine.
The moment Sayani turned her back, I slipped away from the crowd, stepping into my office above the track.
I poured myself a drink, the sharp burn of whiskey barely registering as I scrolled through messages on my phone.
Tino had warned me that Zeke and them were talking reckless.
And I wasn’t about to let that shit slide.
A knock sounded at the door before Tino stepped inside, his face grim. “We got a problem.”
I exhaled slowly, swirling the whiskey in my glass. “We always got a problem.”
Tino’s jaw tightened. “This one’s different. Zeke and them… they got something on you. Something solid. They’re threatening to expose it—to the cops or your enemies, whichever gets them the biggest bag.”
I went still. Zeke had been playing the long game, waiting for the perfect moment to make a move. And now he thought he had me cornered.
A slow, dangerous smirk curled at my lips as I set my drink down. “We’ll handle it.”
Tino didn’t move. “How?”
I took a slow sip before answering. “By making sure that nigga don’t live long enough to see a payday.”
Sitting in my office, I swirled the amber liquid in my glass, watching as the event unfolded below. I should’ve been focused on the money being moved, on the connections being made, but my mind was elsewhere.
I wasn’t even paying attention to my phone until it buzzed on my desk, lighting up with an alert from The Block Report, one of those viral social media pages that stayed in everybody’s business. Curious, I tapped on it. And there Xalori.
My chest tightened, my grip on my glass turning lethal as I stared at the video playing on my screen.
She was standing next to Eason, smiling, and looking the best I’d ever fucking seen her.
She was in a dress that wrapped around her curves like sin.
A dress she never would’ve worn with me.
A dress that screamed somebody was making her feel desired, wanted, and worshipped.
And that somebody wasn’t me.
Eason stood next to her like he built her. Like he owned her. His hand low on her back, eyes locked on her like she was his world. The video wasn’t long, but it was enough to make my blood pressure spike and my vision blur.
I hit replay and watched it again. And again. Until the glass in my hand felt like it was going to shatter.
She was supposed to be broken. She was supposed to miss me. Not be out here glowing like the shit I did to her didn’t still bleed in her veins. Not letting some nigga claim what I walked away from but never gave up.
Because no matter what she thought, no matter how happy she looked, I’d never let her go. And I damn sure never gave another man permission to take my place.
Eason Storm didn’t know the war he just walked into. But he was about to find out.