“I wanted to apologize,” she said quietly. “For how I acted that night. At the club. I was drunk and stupid, and those guys… I shouldn’t have been with them. I shouldn’t have put you in that position.”
I leaned against the doorframe. “You’re right. You shouldn’t have.”
“Thank you for saving me. Seriously. I don’t know what would’ve happened if you hadn’t been there.”
“Nothing good.”
“I know.” She looked up at me with those big eyes that she knew how to use. “But you didn’t have to throw me in the trunk though. That was excessive.”
“Shit, I warned you.” I shrugged.
“Can I ask you something?” she asked.
“Depends on what it is.”
“Let me decorate this place.” She gestured around at the empty apartment. “You’ve been here for weeks and you still don’t have furniture. Let me help. I’m actually good at it.”
“Farah—”
“Look.” She pulled out her phone, opening Instagram. “This is my portfolio. I’ve done three condos and two houses in the last year. I’m trying to build my business.”
I took her phone, scrolling through the images. She wasn’t lying, the work was impressive. Clean lines, rich colors, spaces that looked expensive but livable.
“I’ll think about it.”
Her face lit up. “Really?”
“I said I’ll think about it. Don’t make me regret it.”
“I won’t. I promise.” She stepped closer, then stood on her toes and kissed my cheek. “Thank you, Prime. For everything.”
Before I could respond, she asked the question I knew was coming. “Would you want to go out sometime? Like, on an actual date?”
“No.”
“I’m gonna wear you down one of these days,” she said as she walked away.
I waited until I heard the door close before I moved, walking to the window that overlooked the city. My reflection stared back at me, hard eyes, harder expression, a man who’d learned early that softness got you killed.
But I hadn’t always been this way.
I wasthirteen years old and terrified, even if I’d never admit it. Being tried as an adult. Held in jail. Vivica wouldn’t even post bail. The corrections officer had looked at me like I was already dead.
“You’re small. You’re young. You’re fresh meat.” He leaned in close, his breath smelling like coffee and cigarettes. “Keep your head down. Don’t make eye contact. Don’t accept gifts. And boy, you betta pray.”
The first week was hell. I’d killed Tre with my bare hands, but that was rage, adrenaline, a moment of violence I couldn’t take back. This was different. This was survival every single day. Grown men looking at me like I was prey. Testing me. Pushing me.
The second week, one of them made his move.
His name was Big Sauce. Six-foot-five, three hundred pounds, awaiting sentencing for multiple homicide. He cornered me in the shower room when I thought it was empty.
“Hey, pretty boy.” His voice echoed off the tiles. “You know what you gotta do to survive in here?”
I’d backed up until I hit the wall, my heart hammering. “L-leave me alone.”
The stutter was thick as ever. The fat was still there, though I was losing it from stress. I was nothing. Nobody. A thirteen-year-old kid who’d thought killing one bully would make him strong, but who was about to learn what real predators looked like.
“Aw, he stutters. That’s cute.” Big Sauce advanced, unbuckling his pants. “Don’t worry, baby. I won’t be gentle.”
