Chapter Twenty-Six Prime Thomas
There was something about floor-to-ceiling windows and overpriced espresso that made a nigga feel untouchable.
That’s exactly why I picked this place. Sleek, quiet, discreet.
The kind of office where dirty money got laundered in legal briefs and men like me didn’t need to explain why we wanted custody of a child we barely raised.
I leaned back in the leather chair, one leg crossed over the other, my Rolex catching the light as I lit a cigar I had no intention of finishing.
The lawyer—some slick-talking bastard named Crane with a Harvard degree and a moral compass bought off years ago—shuffled papers like we were finalizing a business acquisition instead of plotting to rip a kid out of his mother’s arms.
“Judges love optics,” he said smoothly. “The moment we establish instability in the mother’s household—especially with her past trauma and this new pregnancy—you gain leverage.
Add in your marriage to her sister-in-law, your financial stability, and…
” His smile was cold and reptilian. “It’s doable. ”
I didn’t smile back, just blew smoke and nodded once.
I didn’t want leverage. I wanted blood. Xalori was mine.
And Eason was gonna learn exactly what it felt like to lose the one thing he thought he could protect.
Let him keep playing house with my family.
I was about to burn the whole fucking dollhouse down.
“I ain’t come here for all that lawyer talk,” I cut him off, leaning forward with my elbows on the desk, eyes sharp. “I came to find out when I’ll be getting my son. I’m ready to break that bitch down, watch her fold like paper in the rain.”
My jaw flexed as I pictured it—Xalori on her knees, broken and begging, stripped of that hard-ass exterior she wore like armor. Once I had her there, once she was looking up at me like I was the only answer to her prayers, it’d be over.
She’d be mine again. And not the version she gave Eason. Not the soft, healed version. Nah, I didn’t want healed. I wanted shattered, dependent, and desperate. That way I could own every piece of her—mind, body, and soul.
And once she was back in my hands, I’d ruin her from the inside out. Wrap her around my finger while Sayani stayed in her little wife box, clueless or complicit—I didn’t give a fuck which. Either way, I was gon’ have both of my bitches exactly where I wanted ‘em.
And Eason could sit back and choke on it. Watch me playhouse with his sister and the woman he’d kill for. Watch me raise his goddamn daughter and whisper bedtime stories to a son he thought was safe in his arms.
Yeah. I was gonna make sure he felt it. All of it.
“You understand this won’t be a clean case,” he said, thumbing through the folder I slid across the table earlier. “She has primary custody, the child’s lived with her the majority of his life, and she’s currently cohabiting with a stable partner—Eason Storm, yes?”
My knuckles cracked as I flexed my fingers.
“Don’t say that nigga’s name like we cool,” I warned, my voice low and clipped. “That’s a parasite who latched onto what’s mine. I don’t give a fuck if he’s paying for field trips, cutting crusts off PB my patience dangerously thin. “Stop fucking stuttering and spit it out.”
He exhaled sharply. “The voicemail you left Xalori got traced back to you. The media has your name all over it. Prime, everyone knows it’s your voice.”
My blood ran cold.
“Wait, what the fuck are you saying?” My voice turned deadly quiet, the rage simmering beneath my skin.
“I’m saying the whole damn custody case is dead, Prime. Any leverage you had is gone. The judge saw the news reports; they’re dismissing everything and threatening charges if we don’t back off now.”
A heavy, suffocating silence filled the SUV. My chest heaved as raw, blistering rage blurred my vision.
“You gotta be shitting me,” I finally rasped, voice trembling with barely-contained violence. “You promised me this shit was airtight. You promised me results.”
My lawyer’s voice lowered, nervously. “I didn’t know you were going to leave voicemails threatening a pregnant woman. It’s over, Prime. You need to lay low before this escalates—”
“Shut the fuck up!” I roared, slamming my fist so hard against the dashboard that my knuckles cracked, skin splitting. Pain seared up my arm, but I barely registered it. “You telling me I lost my bitch? You telling me I gotta sit here and watch this nigga raise my kid?”
The lawyer’s reply was weak and pathetic. “I’m sorry, Prime. There’s nothing more I can do.”
I didn’t respond, I just ended the call, the plastic of the phone creaking under the strength of my grip. Everything blurred red around me, my vision swimming with fury and disbelief.
This was supposed to be my fucking moment.
My chance to reclaim everything taken from me, to put that smug-ass nigga and Xalori back in their places.
Instead, I was sitting here empty-handed and exposed, humiliated by my own voice and fucking stupidity.
But if they thought this shit was over, they were dead wrong.
My pride burned too deep; my wounds cut too raw to let this go unanswered. They took everything—my leverage, my pride, and my reputation. Now I was gon’ take something too. Starting with their peace and ending with blood.
My grip tightened on the wheel as I slammed my foot on the gas, tires screeching, the city lights streaking into blurred lines of rage.
“You think you won, Eason?” I whispered, voice dripping with venom. “You think this shit is over, Xalori?”
A sick, dark smile spread across my lips.
“You ain’t seen shit yet.”
I didn’t have a plan, I just had rage. Rage and a steering wheel. And the deeper I sank into it, the clearer one thing became, if I couldn’t get to my power back through the courts, I’d take that shit to the streets.
I rolled past Eason’s gym, but I didn’t stop. My foot stayed on the gas until I hit familiar pavement, the block where my son used to sleep and where my name used to mean something.
Xalori’s old duplex looked just like I remembered. Small and quiet, too humble for a woman who had my child and dared to act like I didn’t exist. She was supposed to be broken without me. But that bitch had healed. And it ate at me like acid.
My eyes narrowed when I saw the front door cracked. There were a few old boxes by the porch as Xalori was moving shit out alone.
Perfect.
I parked two houses down, killing the engine and stepping out slow and quietly like the predator I was.
She was bent over a box on the stoop, barefoot, wearing one of those oversized hoodies that used to drive me crazy. Her stomach, full and round. That baby in her belly wasn’t mine, but it was my rage she was carrying.
“You really out here playin’ house like I’m dead?” I muttered, loud enough to make her freeze.
Her body jerked upright. She turned, startled, eyes wide. Fear bloomed across her face before she masked it behind that fake-ass composure she always used to shield her guilt.
“Prime,” she said slowly, voice low but steady. “You’re not supposed to be here.”
I chuckled, stepping closer, letting every footfall echo with warning. “Yeah? Neither is that baby in your stomach, but here we are.”
She squared her shoulders. “Don’t do this.”
“Nah, see, you did this,” I sneered, circling her like a fucking storm. “You thought just ‘cause that nigga played hero, you could erase everything we had. You thought you could love him in front of my son and not pay the price.”
“I didn’t erase shit,” she spat, her jaw clenched. “You walked away. You left. When I needed you. When Nasir needed you.”
“Yeah?” I stepped closer, so close I could see her pulse beating in her neck. “Then why the fuck are you pregnant with another man’s baby like you just forgot our daughter ever existed?”
Her breath hitched. I saw the crack in her armor.
“You think you get to start over?” I hissed. “You think you get some fairytale ending with Nasir and Ginger and that bastard growing in your stomach?”
Her hands curled protectively over her belly.
“Say what you want about me,” she whispered, voice shaking, “but don’t you ever speak about my children like that again.”
I laughed coldly. “What you gon’ do, Xalori? Call your nigga to come save you? That man can’t protect you from everything.”
She blinked, defiance hardening her features. “Eason would bury you.”
I stepped forward, voice dropping into something low and feral. “Then let him dig his own grave too. ‘Cause if I can’t have you and gotta watch you walk around glowing and happy while my daughter’s six feet under?”
My voice cracked with venom.
“Then I’ll send you, Nasir, and that baby to go be with her.”
Her eyes widened, face pale now. She stumbled back a step, but didn’t scream. She just stared at me, like she finally saw me for what I really was, a man with nothing left to lose.
I leaned in close, my breath skating her cheek. “And don’t act surprised. I told you. If I can’t have you, nobody will.”
Then I turned and walked off like death wasn’t following me. Because it was. And I planned to drag it with me.