“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.
31
ZAHARA
It had been three days since Larry died.
Three days of jumping at every sound. Three days of expecting police sirens. Three days of waiting for someone to figure out what I’d done.
But nothing happened.
Life just… continued.
I went to work at Grits like normal. Served customers. Took orders. Smiled and pretended everything was fine while my hands shook every time I walked past the kitchen.
Cookie had been running things since Larry disappeared. She was stressed but handling it, barking orders, keeping the place from falling apart. Nobody seemed too broken up about Larry being gone. A few jokes floated around about him probably running off with some woman or gambling away his money somewhere. He had up and disappeared before on a whiskey-fueled gambling bender.
But if only they knew.
The lunch rush was dying down when they walked in.
Two police officers. A man and a woman. Neither in uniform.
My heart stopped.
“We’re looking for…” the male officer checked his notepad. “Cookie Reynolds? Assistant manager?”
“That’s me,” Cookie said, wiping her hands on her apron. “What’s this about?”
“Larry Freeman. The owner. His wife filed a missing persons report this morning. Says she hasn’t heard from him in four days. Isn’t answering calls. Didn’t show up for Sunday dinner, which she says he never misses.”
Cookie shrugged. “Yeah, he ain’t been here either. We all just figured he was handling personal business or something. Wouldn’t be the first time he disappeared for a few days.”
