The photographer moved on. The donors dispersed. And I finally pulled my arm free from her grip.
“What the fuck was that?” I kept my voice low. Controlled. Didn’t want to cause a scene.
“That was politics, sweetheart. You should be grateful. I just humanized you to some very important people.”
“You just told a room full of strangers that I went to prison.”
“And that you overcame it. That’s the story, Prentice. Redemption. It plays well with voters. Besides everyone already knows about you.” She adjusted my lapel like she had the right to touch me. “Now stop pouting and mingle. You’re representing the Banks name tonight.”
I started to walk away.
She grabbed my arm. Pulled me back.
“We’re not done.”
“Excuse me?”
“You’re running out of time. That information I wanted on Dante?
“I’m still working on it.”
Her eyes went cold. That maternal mask slipping to reveal the snake underneath.
“Then work faster,” she hissed. “I need dirt on him. Affairs. Financial impropriety. Something I can use.”
“These things take time.”
“Time is something you don’t have.” She stepped closer, lowering her voice. “You want your mentor to stay out of prison? You want those casino permits approved? Then uphold your end of the bargain. I gave you a job to do. Do it. Get me what I need, Prentice. Before my patience runs out.”
She walked away without waiting for a response. Back into the crowd. Back to her adoring donors. Back to playing the role of devoted public servant.
I stood there for a moment, jaw clenched so tight my teeth hurt.
This woman had abandoned me as a child. Let me get sent to prison at thirteen. Never visited. Never wrote. Never gave a fuck until I became useful to her.
And now she was using Rashid—the only real parent I’d ever had—as leverage to make me do her dirty work.
One day, I was gonna make her pay for everything she’d done.
But tonight wasn’t that night.
Movement caught my eye. Zahara, stepping away from her table, looking toward me with concern on her face.
She’d seen the exchange with Vivica. Seen me standing next to a woman who’d called me her son.
Heard about the prison.
Fuck.
Before I could go to her, a heavy hand landed on my shoulder.
“Damn, bro.” Quest’s voice, low and sympathetic. “She really just aired you out like that in front of everybody.”
I turned to find my brothers flanking me. Quest in a navy blue suit, looking like money. Justice was in all black.
“You good?” Justice asked.
“I’m straight.”
