“Prime.” Her voice was sharp. “Don’t kill him. Not yet. I want to be there. I want to look him in the eyes when it happens. Please.”
I paused at the door. Looked back at her, my Goddess, my future wife, the mother of my children. Chained to a hospital bed but still trying to claim what was hers.
“You’ll get your shot,” I said. “I promise you that.”
Something dark flickered in Zainab’s eyes. Satisfaction, maybe. Or anticipation.
“I love you,” she said.
“I love you too. All three of you.” I looked at the twins one more time—my daughter sleeping peacefully, my son already awake and staring at nothing with those unfocused newborn eyes. My eyes. Oceanic orbs looking around. “Get some rest. Camille’s gonna get you out of here.”
I stepped into the hallway and pulled the door closed behind me.
The guard was still standing there, clutching his five hundred dollars, looking like he wasn’t sure if he should arrest me or thank me.
I walked down that hallway, pulling out my phone, already dialing Justice’s number.
A nigga just wanted to go home and be with my family. Hold my babies. Sleep next to my woman. Live that quiet life I’d been building toward for years.
But first, I had work to do.
And Thad was about to find out what happened when you crossed the wrong family.
41
THAD
Mehar was crying again. I sat on the edge of her bed, rubbing her back in slow circles, making all the right sounds—“It’s gonna be okay, baby” and “I’m here for you” and “your sister is strong, she’ll get through this”—while internally I was counting down the seconds until I could get the fuck out of here.
Why didn’t this bitch just go to LA?
That’s all I kept thinking. When she got that call about Zainab being arrested again, I was ready. Had my supportive boyfriend speech locked and loaded. “Go be with your family, baby. I’ll hold things down here. The bakery can wait.” I practically packed her bags myself.
But nah. She stayed. Because Prime told her to run the bakery. Because Zainab would want her to keep the dream alive. Because family loyalty or whatever the fuck.
So now I was stuck here, playing nursemaid to a woman I was getting real tired of pretending to love.
Don’t get me wrong—Mehar was fine as hell. That body, that face, the way she looked at me like I hung the moon. And the sex was good. Real good. She was eager to please in a way that told me Ahmad had trained her well, even if she didn’t realize it.
But the emotional shit? The crying? The constant need for reassurance?
Exhausting.
I was tired of faking like I cared.
“I just keep thinking about her in that cell,” Mehar sniffled, wiping her nose with a tissue. “Alone. Scared. Eight months pregnant and?—”
“I know, baby. I know.” I kept my voice soft. Sympathetic. “But she’s tough. And Prime’s got the best lawyers money can buy. She’s gonna be okay.”
She looked up at me with those big brown eyes, all wet and grateful. “What would I do without you, Thad? You’re always so patient with me.”
I smiled. Kissed her forehead. “That’s what I’m here for.”
Internally, I was screaming.
She’d been like this all night. Ever since she came back from wherever she’d gone, looking pale and shaky, talking about how the phone went dead and she heard Zainab screaming. Then she’d thrown up twice—some stomach bug she must’ve picked up—and now she was curled up in bed feeling sorry for herself.
Great. A sick, crying girlfriend. Exactly what I needed.
