Page 151 of Riot

Her arms were crossed, lip curled in disgust. “You serious right now?”

I stayed calm. “Mimi?—”

“You leaving?” she snapped. “After all this talk about takin’ what’s ours, after promising you’d make ‘em pay for Malia?”

“I can’t?—”

She stepped forward, eyes blazing. “Youcan’t? Or youwon’t?”

“Mimi, I’m telling you, Carmelo’s unstable. He’s not in this for us. He don’t care who gets caught in the crossfire, and if I stick around…”

She laughed. Cold and loud. “Nah. Don’t spin this like you’re doing it for us. You’re scared. Admit that shit. You got shook and now you’re running like a little bitch.”

I flinched but held my ground. “I’m trying to protect our son.”

“By abandoning him?” she spit. “You leave, you don’t get to see him again.”

I felt that one deep.

“Mimi…” I stepped forward, lowering my voice. “Come with me. Please. We can start over. Some place warm. Some place safe. We got money. We got time. We could be happy.”

It was a matter of time before my brother’s realized I was behind the shoot out at King’s Vine. We were on borrowed time.

She stared at me for a long second, and for a flicker of a moment, I saw her soften.

But it was gone just as fast.

“You really don’t get it, do you?” she said, voice trembling. “Riot killed my sister. Slit her throat like she was nothing. I don’t give a fuck about safety. I wantvengeance. And if you don’t, then you and I? We were never on the same side.”

I swallowed hard. “You’re gonna get yourself killed.”

“Better that than living like a coward.”

Eventually I walked out of the building to get some fresh air. She tagged behind me with our son on her hip.

We were standing in the middle of the sidewalk now, two broken people tearing each other apart in the open. And then…

“Yo…”

The voice sliced through the air like a blade made of memory and bad timing.

I froze.

Fuck.

I turned, heart already thumping against my ribs like it knew what was coming. And sure enough, there he was—Rollo. Walking up the block all casual, head tilted, grin cocked just enough to make it clear he thought whatever was happening in front of him was just another episode in my jacked-up life.

To him, I was still the fuck-up little brother who couldn’t stick a landing, the comic relief in a Greek tragedy.

He looked between me and Mimi, who was holding our son and raised a brow. I could see the questions lining up behind hissmirk. No one knew about Mimi and our son. And I prayed that he didn’t recognize Mimi as Malia’s sister.

“Yo wsup,” he muttered, hands stuffed in his hoodie. “I ain’t know you lived around here. I was on my way to pick up something from my homeboy. Who is this?”

I stepped forward, heart racing about what to do next. I needed to just admit the truth.

“Rollo… this is Mimi. And that’s my so, Jasir.”

The smirk twitched, faltered. His gaze bounced between us again. “You got a—? Since when?”

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