I froze.
Prime didn’t.
He grabbed me around the waist and threw us both to the ground, his body covering mine as the car barreled past, missing us by inches. I felt the rush of air, smelled burning rubber, heard the sickening crunch of metal as the sedan plowed into a brick building about thirty feet away.
For a moment, there was silence. Complete, shocked silence.
Then the screaming started.
But all I could focus on was Prime. He was on top of me, his body pressed against mine, one hand cradling my head, the other braced on the ground beside me. His chest heaved against mine. His face was inches from mine, his eyes wild with adrenaline and something else—something darker, more intense.
“You okay?” His voice was rough.
I couldn’t speak. Could only nod.
His eyes dropped to my lips for half a second before moving back to my eyes. “Zahara?—”
Reality crashed back in. I pushed at his chest. “Get off me.”
“Wait—”
“I said get off.”
He moved immediately, helping me to my feet. My legs were shaking. My hands were trembling. But I stepped away from him, putting distance between us, trying to ignore the fact that my body was still humming from the contact.
“Are you hurt?” he asked, his hands hovering like he wanted to touch me but knew better.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re shaking.”
“I’m fine,” I repeated, harder this time. I couldn’t have him on top of me, making me feel these things. I couldn’t let any man get close to me because if I did, they could discover the truth. And the truth could ruin me.
Prime’s attention shifted to the crashed car. Smoke was starting to pour from the hood. People were gathering around but keeping their distance, unsure if it was safe.
“Stay here,” Prime ordered.
“Prime, wait?—”
But he was already moving toward the wreckage with that same lethal purpose. He reached the driver’s side door and yanked it open. A man tumbled out—middle-aged, disheveled, reeking of alcohol even from where I stood.
The man could barely stand. He was mumbling something incoherent, trying to push Prime away.
“You fuckin’ drunk?” Prime’s voice carried across the market. “You coulda killed someone!”
“I’m… I’m fine, man. Car just?—”
Prime grabbed him by the collar and slammed him against the side of the car. Hard. The sound echoed.
“You’re fine? You drove through a fucking farmers market full of families and kids and you’re fine?”
“It was… it was an accident?—”
Prime drew back his fist and I saw what was about to happen.
I ran.
“Prime, don’t!”
