Page 15 of Riot

He looked stunned for a second. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.

“Say my mother’s name again,” I growled, stepping up on him, breathing hard. “Say it and I’ll break your fuckin’ jaw next.”

Havoc wiped the blood off his lip, eyes blazing. “Fuck you, Riot.”

He pushed off the mirror and grabbed his jacket, storming out of the shop without looking back.

The door slammed behind him.

Nobody said shit.

KC looked like he wanted to say something but thought better of it. Rollo kept sipping like nothing happened, but even he was tense. Creed exhaled through his nose and sat down in the nearest chair.

“You didn’t have to hit him,” he said quietly.

I stared at the door Havoc walked out of, chest still rising and falling.

“Yeah, I did. That nigga got disrespectful.”

“You can’t keep solving your problems like this. You gotta grow up, Riot,” Creed said as he shook his head and walked away.

I’d been so wound up, my fist flying into Havoc’s face was the first thing that loosened the knot in my chest.

Felt good. Too good.

But as Creed walked away, shaking his head like I was some wild animal he didn’t know what to do with, I felt it.

That hollow echo in my chest. The part of me that still remembered being locked in the dark with a monster five inches away. The part of me that didn’t know how to be anything but dangerous.

And even though it felt good to hit him, I knew Creed was right.

I needed to grow the fuck up.

I just didn’t know how.

Chapter 4

HAVOC

By the time I got back to my penthouse in Harlem, my jaw was throbbin’. Swollen. Every time I moved it, a sharp pain reminded me of what went down. I couldn’t believe that nigga really rocked my shit in front of everybody like that.

That shit was foul.

Straight sucker move. Ain’t no respect in swingin’ on your brother like that, especially not over some truth. But that’s the thing about Riot—he don’t got respect for nobody but Creed and maybe their mama. And nobody ever checks him, even when he’s dead wrong.

And the more I thought about it, the hotter I got. I was Silas King’s son too. Same blood. Same legacy. But they treat me like I’m some redheaded stepchild—like I just popped up and they’ve been tolerating me ever since.

Like I’m lucky to be here.

Fuck that.

One day, they gon’ see me. Really see me. And they gon’ regret every time they overlooked me. Every meeting I wasn’tinvited to. Every plan I wasn’t part of. Every decision they made without even glancin’ in my direction.

And I’ll be real… I’m still tight about how they did Pops.

That nigga wasn’t a saint, but the fact that they killed him without givin’ me a chance to look him in the eye and say what needed to be said?

That shit still eats at me.

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