Page 122 of Riot

“Uh oh. I detect something there. What was that about?” She asked about my nervousness.

“I love him but lately, I’m not completely sure of what I want.”

She didn’t flinch. Just leaned back like she’d heard this before. Probably from half the clients she coached through emotional tsunamis every week.

“I went from being locked in a house by one man, to being protected and claimed by another. Riot’s nothing like Boaz. But still…” I shrugged. “I haven’t had time to figure out who I am outside of being wanted.”

Sloane’s eyes softened. “You want sovereignty.”

“Exactly,” I whispered, relieved she got it.

“You want to stand in the room beside him, not behind him.”

I nodded. “And I do. I want him. But I also want to choose him—not just fall into him like he’s the only safe place I’ve ever known. Because he is that. But I want to feel whole, too.”

She smiled again, something proud hiding behind it. “I wish more women said that out loud. Riot’s intense. The King men—they come on hard, and they don’t let up once they’ve decided you’re theirs.”

“I noticed,” I smirked.

Sloane tilted her head, studying me for a beat. “Does he know how you feel?”

“I haven’t told him everything. I didn’t want to seem ungrateful… especially with everything going on. His mom, the open house, the danger we’re still in?—”

She held up a hand gently. “Then don’t rush it. Love doesn’t mean rushing past yourself. You can honor what you feel and still give yourself room to breathe.”

“I just don’t want him to think I’m pulling away.”

“You’re not,” she said. “You’re grounding. That’s different. Communicate your needs. But you’re right to wait. You’re stillin survival mode. Your nervous system is healing. You’re still remembering what peace feels like. Let that settle first. Let safety become your baseline.”

My eyes stung a little at that. She had a way of seeing the things I hadn’t even said out loud.

“Thanks for not making me feel like a mess.”

“You’re not a mess, Allure,” she said. “You’re just waking up from a nightmare.”

We finished our drinks and headed to SoHo to try on dresses. It was the most fun I’d had in a long time. We hit up boutiques with champagne flutes and moody lighting, flipping through gowns like we were choosing love spells. The right dress could bewitch a man. Although I knew I already had him in the palm of my hand.

I tried on a deep purple satin dress with a dangerously low back that made Sloane fan herself like we were in church. Then a deep emerald one that clung to me like a secret.

But it was the final dress—a soft peach silk that hugged my waist, dipped low at the chest, and flared at the bottom like fire licking the ground—that made us both go quiet when I stepped out.

Sloane’s eyes widened. “That’s the one.”

I looked at myself in the mirror, really looked. In that moment I knew I’d show up to that open house on Riot King’s arm not just as the girl he saved, but as the woman who could save herself.

Chapter 42

HAVOC

Today was the big day. The shit was finally going down. The morning air bit at my skin, cool and sharp making me fully alert of what I had to handle. I stood on the edge of the vacant lot behind an old boxing gym on 143rd, waiting. Fog rolled in low from the river, wrapping the broken sidewalk in steam. It was early…too early for bullshit, but I didn’t mind. I liked mornings like this. The kind that made the city feel like a secret.

It was quiet out here, but my mind wasn’t. It was already at King’s Vine, mapping out exits, entry points, chokeholds and weak spots. I had it all drawn up in my head, angles, timings, bodies. I didn’t need paper. Just memory and motivation.

And revenge? That was enough fuel for all of us.

Carmelo pulled up in a black Charger, the engine rumbling low as he killed the lights. He always moved like he was one step from disappearing. I respected that. It meant he knew how fragile this shit was. He understood how fast everything could burn.

He got out slow, hoodie up, dreads tied back. “You sure about this, man? Not that you got a choice in backing out at this point,” he said, eyes scanning the lot before locking on mine. “This ain’t no nickel-and-dime robbery. This is war.”

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