Or if I’d helped create something far more dangerous.
31
PRIME
“You not leaving this penthouse.”
Zainab looked up at me from the couch, her sister curled up next to her holding a cup of tea she ain’t even touched. Both of them still processing what went down at Ahmad’s crib. Both wearing it different, Zainab looking like she was still processing what the fuck just happened, Mehar looking like she’d just had the best day of her life. That second part worried me more than I wanted to admit.
“Prime—”
“I ain’t asking, Goddess.” I crouched down in front of her and took her hands. “We at war now. Rashid know I’m coming for him. That means everybody connected to me got a target on they back. You, Mehar, my brothers, everybody. Until this shit is handled, you stay put. Building secure. Doorman know not to let nobody up without my say-so. You need something—food, clothes, whatever—hit my line. I’ll bring it or send Quest and ’em. Or Pharaoh.”
She searched my face, looking for something. Reassurance maybe. Or maybe just trying to memorize a nigga’s features in case this was the last time.
“Where are you going?”
“To handle Farah.”
“Be careful.”
“Always.” I kissed her forehead, then her lips. Let myself stay there a second, lingered there a while. “Keep your mind busy while I’m gone. Work on that business plan for Sweet Zin. That storefront ain’t gonna plan itself.”
Mehar perked up and turned her attention to Zainab. “We should bake. Maybe you can teach me since I’ll be working for you.”
“Bet.” I grabbed my keys off the counter. “I’ll have Pharaoh drop off whatever ingredients y’all need. Text me a list.”
Zainab nodded, but her eyes stayed on me as I walked to the elevator. Worried. Scared. But trusting me to handle my business.
The doors closed between us.
The driveto Farah’s spot gave me too much time to think.
I kept replaying what I witnessed at Ahmad’s crib. The way Mehar moved. How calm her voice was when she pulled that trigger. The smile on her face while she watched that nigga bleed out on his own floor.
That wasn’t just revenge and self-defense. That was enjoyment.
Shorty had spent years getting beat, controlled, raped by that bum-ass nigga. And now she’d had her first taste of power. Of violence. Of making somebody else feel as helpless as she’d felt all them years.
That kind of awakening don’t just disappear. It grows. Demands to be fed.
We ain’t seenthe last of Mehar’s reckless shit. Not by a long shot.
But that wasa problem for another day. Right now, I had a kidnapping to handle.
Farah’s apartmentwas in one of them luxury high-rises in Navy Yard. It was the kind of building where everybody too busy being important to notice what they neighbors doing.
Perfect for what I had planned.
Getting in was easy. The building manager should really rethink whatever electronic system they were using because I hacked it easily.
I knew her apartment would be empty when I got there. I called her office earlier, pretending to her father and asked if she would be available for dinner. They told me she had an event to go to.
I walked through the living room, past the kitchen, into what she called her “office.” Really just a room full of portfolios and mood boards for her event planning and interior design shit. The job didn’t pay enough for this lifestyle but it kept her busy. Rashid supplemented the rest as long as she stayed out of trouble.
I flipped through a few portfolios. Corporate events. Wedding receptions. Some politician’s fundraiser. Shorty was actually decent at this, I ain’t gonna lie. Had an eye for detail.
Then I saw it.
