Page 130 of Riot

Now I sat cross-legged on the edge of Riot’s couch, wrapped in one of his hoodies that swallowed me whole. The brownstone was quiet except for the hum of the fridge and the distant whoosh of cars on the avenue. Riot was sprawled in the armchairnearby, still in the shirt he wore to the open house, sleeves rolled up, the top two buttons undone. It had been hours since the whole ordeal went down but I could still smell the violence on his skin.

It both scared me and intrigued me.

“His face is still in your head?” Riot asked, his voice low, raspy.

I nodded, my arms wrapped around myself. “His face was so familiar. I just don’t know who it was. And he knew my name.”

“You sure it wasn’t someone from Boaz’s camp?”

I frowned. “I don’t think so. Boaz had lots of men coming in and out though. Different drug dealers he supplied weapons to. I mean, he could’ve been someone I’d seen at the compound but I don’t think so.”

Riot leaned back and dragged a hand over his face. His jaw was tight. “Then he’s new. Somebody Boaz hired to do his dirty work. Which means Boaz is getting sloppy or desperate.”

I rose from the couch and sauntered over to him, each step slow, cautious. My fingertips found his shoulders. Tension radiated off him like heat from a brick wall in August. He was stiff, jaw clenched, muscles coiled like springs. I started to knead his traps gently, and for a moment, he didn’t move.

Then he exhaled, long and slow.

“People died,” he murmured. “Atmyevent. My fuckin’ vineyard. I tried to do something clean. Something elevated. I invited politicians. Business owners. Press. I had fruit trays and cello music and printed menus with grape pairings.”

I let my fingers press deeper into the knots at the base of his neck. “You were trying to show them another side of you.”

“Yeah, and Boaz painted the bitch red.” He let out a bitter laugh. “They’ll never forget that shit. King’s Vine will be the new cautionary tale. Articles already poppin’ up. ‘Urban Luxury orOrganized Crime?’ I saw a fuckin’ headline say ‘Mob Hit on the Merlot.’”

I winced. “That’s tacky.”

“It’s fuckin’ ghetto. A black man can’t do some classy shit without someone shootin’ it up. I’m cooked!”

“Baby, you can bounce back.”

“Ion about that.” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “But I def gotta make sure the next headline reads:Boaz Haim Found Dismembered in a Fuckin’ Ditch.”

His voice didn’t rise. If anything, it got calmer.Colder.

But me? My stomach twisted at the name.

Boaz.

Just hearing it made my heart stop.

I should’ve been comforted by Riot’s promise. His rage. The fact that he would burn down the world for me. But I couldn’t stop thinking about the man in the crowd.

Something about him didn’tfit.

His face wasn’t from Boaz’s compound. It was from a different era of my life. But when?

When else could I have known a man like that? Of course my father. But my father kept his lieutenants away from me. And besides, that guy was too young to have worked for my father when I was still around.

“You okay?” Riot asked, looking up at me.

I nodded. Lied. “Yeah.”

But my thoughts kept circling that face like vultures.

I leaned forward and pressed my forehead to the back of Riot’s neck, whispering a vow to myself I couldn’t say out loud.

Whoever he is… I’ll remember. I’ll figure it out. Before it’s too late.

The vibration startled me.

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