Page 11 of Riot

I crushed it immediately.

Hope was a razor blade—sharp enough to slice you open from the inside out.

I can’t afford hope.

Not here.

Not yet.

Kierra’s hand trembles slightly. Without thinking, I reach out and squeeze it.

She squeezes back—a faint echo of humanity neither of us is supposed to have left.

The door to Boaz’s room swings open. He’s waiting, grinning like he just won a prize he didn’t deserve.

I hand her over like a lamb to slaughter.

The door slams shut behind her with a sound that feels too loud, too final.

The lock clicks.

I stand there for a moment longer, breathing through my teeth, fighting the urge to scream until my throat rips open.

Downstairs, the tiger cub stirs in its crate, a soft, helpless sound that vibrates through the floor.

Caged.

Trapped.

Waiting.

Just like me.

But that man—the one with the shimmering smile and the storm in his eyes?

He made a promise without speaking a single word.

One day soon, blood will be spilled in this house.

And for the first time in years...

I want to be here to see it.

Chapter 3

RIOT

I sat on the edge of the king-sized bed in the presidential suite of a five-star hotel, legs slightly parted, cigar in one hand, the other resting on the back of Shari’s head while she sucked me like she knew she was on borrowed time.

She wasn’t new. I’d been with her many times. Her body was fire, mouth even better, and she always pulled up when I hit her line. No questions. No complaints. Just loyalty disguised as lust. I knew she wanted more—always dropping hints about us “being official”, about settling down, about how good we looked together.

But I wasn’t the settling type.

Especially not with her.

Right now, she was on her knees, moaning intensely like sucking me off turned her on. Eyes heavy with want, tongue slick and practiced. She cupped my balls like she was cradling gold.

And still, I wasn’t satisfied.

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