Her eyes traveled over us. Taking in Prime’s slightly disheveled appearance. The way my legs were still unsteady. The flush that probably hadn’t left my face yet.
Prime zipped his pants slowly. Deliberately. Held her gaze the entire time.
Then he took my hand and we walked past her.
Didn’t say a word. Didn’t acknowledge her at all.
Just left her standing there with rage written all over her face.
And somehow, that felt more dangerous than anything else that had happened tonight.
34
PRIME
Monday morning and I was sitting in my car across from the Ritz-Carlton in Georgetown, watching a building like my life depended on it.
Because it did.
Two days I’d been on Dante’s ass. Following him around DC like I was some hired PI instead of a man launching my own empire. Watching his boring-ass lunch meetings. Sitting outside his gym. Tracking his movements like a damn stalker. This was the kind of work I did when I was hitman, waiting on the perfect time to hit my mark.
But this was all because Vivica had me by the throat.
My phone buzzed. Her name on the screen made my jaw clench.
Vivica:I need those photos by tonight. Meeting with my divorce attorney tomorrow at 9 AM. No more delays.
Me:I’m working on it.
Vivica:Work faster. Or I make that call to the DA about Rashid. Your choice.
I stared at the message. Felt my grip tighten on the phone until the case cracked slightly under my thumb.
This bitch.
This cold, calculating bitch was really threatening the only father I’d ever had because she wanted ammunition for a divorce from a man she’d chosen to marry.
I had until tonight. Which meant Dante’s ass better show up soon.
I tossed the phone in the passenger seat and went back to watching the hotel entrance.
Hour three.
My phone kept buzzing. I’d been ignoring it. But the messages kept coming.
I finally checked.
Quest:Yo, need you at the distillery to sign some papers making you official in the casino.
Justice:Casino permits still stuck? What’s goin’on with the Vivica shit.
Zahara:Yusef came home from school quiet again. Won’t talk to me. I’m worried about him.
Each message was another person needing me. Another fire I couldn’t put out because I was stuck in this fucking car doing Vivica’s dirty work.
I texted back quick responses. Told Quest I’ll be there tomorrow. Told Justice I was working on it right now. Told Zahara I’d check on Yusef tomorrow.
But it sat wrong in my chest. Heavy.
