His expression shifted. Hardened.
“Yeah. I went to prison.”
“When? For what?”
He stared at me for a long moment. Then he moved to the couch and sat, his legs parted as he leaned back.
“I was thirteen,” he said finally. “Seventh grade. There was this boy, Tre. He used to run his mouth. Talk shit about everybody. About me. About my stutter. About my weight.”
I stayed quiet. Letting him talk.
“Vivica blamed me. No sympathy. Told me to man up. I’d get beat, and she’d beat me worse when I got home. One day, after Vivica had smacked me around again for not fighting back, I finally snapped. I lost it. I beat him with a padlock in a sock. Didn’t stop until he wasn’t moving anymore.”
My heart stopped.
“He died?” I whispered.
“Yeah. And Vivica pushed for them to try me as an adult. Testified against me. Said I was dangerous. Uncontrollable. That I needed to be locked up for everyone’s safety.”
“She’s your mother?—”
“In biology only.” His voice was cold. Flat. “She wanted me gone. The trial was her chance to get rid of me legally.”
“How long were you in?”
“I got out when I was about twenty. Rashid made that happen. He got me a good lawyer and helped me get a reduced sentence based on new evidence and the fact that I was a child.”
Seven years. He’d spent seven years locked up for something that happened when he was a child.
“So, that’s where you met Rashid,” I said, piecing it together.
“Yeah. He saved me. Taught me how to fight. How to control the rage. How to survive.” He looked up at me. “I owe him my life, Zahara. Everything I am, everything I have—it’s because of him.”
“That’s why you need me to testify at Meech’s hearing,” I said quietly. “Because you owe Rashid.”
“Yeah.”
Silence stretched between us.
“Has Meech ever hurt you?” Prime asked suddenly. “Touched you? Threatened you?”
“No.” And it was true. Meech had never done anything to me personally. “Never.”
“Then why are you scared of him?”
Because it wasn’t Meech I was scared of. It was what Meech knew.
But I couldn’t tell Prime that.
“I’m just nervous,” I said instead. “About testifying. About being in a courtroom.”
He stood and crossed to me. Cupped my face in his hands.
“I’ll be right there with you. You understand? You won’t be alone.”
“Okay.”
“Say it again.”
