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“Zayn, your father asked you to meet me at six-thirty. It’s seven-twenty. Where are you?”

“Sorry, Ma. Shana’s car broke down, and I had to head over there and give her a jump so she could make it home.”

“And what time did Shana get off, Zayn?” I ask, pressing my hand against my forehead.

“Uh, five.”

“When did you go to her job to help her?”

“I think I made it there by five-thirty.”

“I’m sure that it didn’t take you more than twenty minutes to get her going again.”

“Well, I had to follow her to the gas station to make sure she made it, and then I just rolled home with her.”

“Why? Does she need a babysitter?"

“No, Ma,” he groans.

“Then why aren’t you here at the shop like you were supposed to be? You’ve procrastinated all month, knowing that you have the banquet tomorrow night.”

“I can easily grab something old to wear tomorrow, Ma,” he grumbles.

“That wasn’t the plan, Zayn. Besides, that has nothing to do with the fact that you didn’t call me, text me, or say anything. If I hadn’t called you, would you even be on your way?” I demand.

Before he can respond, I hear Shana in the background, “Zayn, baby, you want another slice of cake?”

“Zayn.” I moan in disbelief that he’s still not on his way yet.

“Um . . . no, Shana. I've got to go. I’m late meeting my mom.”

“Oh. Hi, Ms. Bayleigh,” I hear Shana giggling in the background.

Rolling my eyes, I say, “Hi, Shana. Zayn, it’s too late to go to the shop now. Tomorrow, you’ll just have to miss a class either in the morning or afternoon, your choice, but we’ll go tomorrow instead.”

“Okay, Ma. Thanks.”

“Zayn.”

“Yes, Ma?”

“I’m not playing with you, boy. Make sure that this is a priority tomorrow.”

“Okay,” he agrees, all too happy to end the call and get back to Shana.

Shana is a sweet girl, a little on the ditzy side, but sweet all the same. Unfortunately, she keeps our son’s head in the clouds, and lately, he’s starting to act just like her. That doesn’t bode well for an athlete.

Our All-A basketball star is starting to look like a dumb jock at times, and that worries me. Zaire says that I shouldn’t worry because he once had his head in the clouds when it came to me.

I tell him that his head is still in the clouds, to which he says, “See, that’s my point, and I’m doing just fine.”

My shop is closed for the day. I’d given the ladies the day off early since everyone had completed the projects they were working on, and I had to leave to help Zayn find a suit for his banquet tomorrow evening.

Full of frustration, I grab my keys and purse, and I lock my office door.

Grabbing my phone, I call Zaire.

“Hey, baby.”

“Hey, sweetheart. Did you hook up with Zayn yet?”

“No. His ass is over there with Shana.”

“What?”

“Yeah. He said that her car wouldn’t start, so he had to give her a jump, follow her to get gas, and then follow her home.”

“We’re gonna have to talk. Man to man. That shit ain’t cool.”

“I told you.”

“Yeah. Yeah. I know. Look, I’m getting up out of here now. I’ll pick up Zaccai on my way home. He’s at Braylyn’s house.”

“Okay, thanks, babe. Anything in particular you want for dinner?” I ask.

I walk past Georgette’s desk and flick off all the lights in my shop.

“No. You head home and relax for the evening. Zaccai and I can grab some Caribbean from the new place that opened down the street from me on the way home.”

Walking to the security panel, I input the code to set the alarm system and step out of the shop, closing the door behind me.

“Oooh. I’ve been wanting to try that place,” I say, clicking the key fob to unlock my car.

“I know. Be safe, and I’ll see you when I get there. Shouldn’t be no more than forty minutes tops.”

“Okay, Z. Love you.”

“Love you too,” he replies before I end the call.

I shove my phone into my purse just as I hear clapping behind me.

I turn and look over my shoulder, spotting a man roughly six feet even walking up behind me. Three men are walking up behind him, and for some reason, they all look familiar, at least the one clapping does.

Every nerve ending in my body vibrates and lights up with fire. Slowly, I reach my hand inside my purse, searching for my gun.

Before I can grab my gun or my cell phone, the man in front aims a gun at my forehead.

“Baby girl, I wouldn’t do that shit if I were you,” he advises.

Those cold, piercing black eyes look like they’re looking for a reason to shoot me. In fact, he looks like he’s begging me to.

“Pull your hand out of your purse right the fuck now,” he demands.

My hand isn’t in my purse yet, at least not all the way. I slowly remove my hand as he nods to the fellow to the right and slightly behind him.

The man steps forward and jerks my Hermès bag off my shoulder. Reaching inside, he removes my gun, my knife, and my pepper spray.

“Throw that shit back in there. She’s not getting that purse back,” the first man orders. He does as he says and gives my purse to another man.

Fuck!

If I play it cool, I still have the knife on the inside of my thigh that I can grab at just the right time.

“Who are you, and what the fuck do you want with me?” I ask, unable to cut the attitude out altogether.

“Details aren’t necessary, baby girl,” he states, accepting the phone from the other man’s hand.

“I’m not your baby, nor am I a girl,” I snap.

Snickering, he eyes me up and down slowly with an appreciative glance at my curves that has me vomiting in my mouth.

“Sassy mouth too. Yeah, I can see why he’s so taken with you,” he professes. “What’s your lock code?” he asks, waving the phone around.

I stare at him, refusing to say anything.

“Oh, that’s the game you want to play?”

The man standing beside me who took my purse slaps the shit out of me, causing me to stagger backward. I glare at him, but the moment that I reach my hand up to hit him back, he grabs my wrist and squeezes so tightly that tears instantly pop in my eyes.

“I’ll ask you one more time. What’s the lock code on this phone, li’l mama?”

These guys are clearly younger than Zaire and me. I can tell they’re roughly in their late twenties. That lets me know that they’re more dangerous than most. They have no respect, morals, or values.

These guys don’t come from the old streets that Zaire did. They don’t look out for their own, and definitely not for anyone else.

Sometimes, I find it difficult to control my attitude, but I suspect in this instance that I better get a handle on it, or I’ll get fucked up.

“Three. Nine. One. Eight,” I say, repeating the dates of each of my guys’ birthdays.

Unlocking the phone, he scrolls through it, and I’m sure that he’s going through my contacts. I get my confirmation moments later when he looks at one of the other guys, laughs, and states, “This shit shouldn’t be so easy.”

He places the phone to his ear just as I ask, “What do you want from me?”

“Not you, sweetheart.”

That comment scares the hell out of me. Could it be that he’s going to get rid of me as soon as he gets what he wants?

“No. Sorry, this isn’t your love. But I know where she’s at.”

The man listens for a moment, and though I can’t hear his words, I can hear Zaire’s voice through the phone.

“Zaire!” I scream.

The man scowls at me and turns his back on me, just as the man holding the gun on me pulls me close to him. The other two men move into place as a barrier between me and the man on the phone.

“No, you’re not in a position to make demands. I simply wanted a meeting with you. But you were too fucking arrogant to make that happen. Turning down my calling card wasn’t in your best interest, sir.”

He listens some more, and I try to decipher what’s being said on the other end.

“It’s too late for that. The only thing that I want now is to take you down and take over your empire.”

“Zaire!” I scream as the man ends the call, powers my phone off, and pockets it.

“Toss that bitch in the trunk,” he demands.

The man holding me lifts me and throws me over his shoulder. I fight, kick, and scream, but one of the other men moves forward and punches me in the chin.