I grabbed my phone from the cupholder and hit Prime’s contact. He picked up on the first ring.
“Goddess.”
“Someone’s following me.” I hated how shaky my voice sounded. “Black Tahoe. Tinted windows. It’s Zoo—Nigel’s father. He’s been on me since the mall.”
A pause. When Prime spoke again, his voice was ice. Controlled. The voice of a man who’d handled situations like this a hundred times before.
“Where are you now?”
“Heading east on Route 4. Just passed the—” The Tahoe surged forward and SLAMMED into our bumper. Mehar screamed. I screamed. The Acura fishtailed, tires shrieking against the asphalt, and I fought the wheel to keep us from spinning out. “HE JUST HIT US.”
“Listen to me.” Prime’s voice cut through my panic like a blade. “Breathe. You’re going to be okay. Do exactly what I say.”
“Okay. Okay.” I was gasping, hands slick with sweat on the steering wheel. “What do I do?”
“There’s a gun in the glove compartment. Glock 19. Loaded. Safety’s off.”
Mehar was already reaching for it, her hands trembling as she popped open the compartment and pulled out the black pistol. It looked huge in her small hands. Deadly.
“I know how to use this,” she said, and her voice had gone strangely calm. “Ahmad made me learn. Took me to the range every month because he was paranoid about government agents coming for him.”
Any other time, I might’ve laughed at the absurdity of a hotep conspiracy theorist accidentally teaching his abused wife theskill that might save her life. But there was nothing funny about this moment.
“Good.” Prime’s voice was still steady. “Now listen. I need you to lure him toward the Banks Reserve warehouse. You know where that is?”
“The one off Miller Road? In the middle of nowhere?”
“That’s the one. Get him on the back roads. Away from witnesses. I’m already on my way.”
The Tahoe slammed into us again. Harder this time. Metal screamed against metal. The Acura lurched forward, and I barely kept control as we careened through an intersection, running a red light, horns blaring all around us.
“HE’S TRYING TO RUN US OFF THE ROAD.”
“Then don’t let him.” Prime’s calm was infuriating and grounding all at once. “You’ve got this, Zainab. Get to Miller Road. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
“A few MINUTES?”
“Drive fast. Shoot if you have to. I love you.”
The line went dead.
“PRIME!” I threw the phone into my lap, both hands back on the wheel as the Tahoe pulled up alongside us. I could see Zoo through his window now—face twisted with rage, mouth moving like he was screaming something I couldn’t hear.
Then I saw the gun in his hand.
“GET DOWN!”
The first shot shattered the back window.
Mehar screamed, ducking low in her seat, glass raining down around us like deadly confetti. I swerved hard to the right, tires squealing, putting distance between us and the Tahoe.
But he was faster. Pulled up alongside again. Raised the gun.
The second shot took out the driver’s side mirror.
“MEHAR, SHOOT HIM!”
She was already moving. Rolling down her window, the wind whipping her hijab—the one she’d worn out of habit this morning, the last piece of her old life still clinging to her—as she leaned out with the Glock gripped in both hands.
