Page 152 of Riot

I ran my hand over my face. “Been a minute. Shit’s just been… crazy, bro. I was waitin’ for the right time to—” I waved a vague hand like that explained anything. “You know. Say somethin’. I just been trying to keep things on the low since shit been wild ever since Silas originally went missing.”

It was a sloppy lie. Too rushed, and made no fuckin’ sense. And I knew Rollo. Knew he’d clock it.

He frowned, eyes narrowing as they skimmed over Mimi again, then the kid. “That’s crazy! I always thought Creed would’ve been the first one to have kids but here you are. Um, it was nice meeting you,” he said with his eyes lasered in on her.

Mimi narrowed her eyes, heat radiating off her. “I’ll be back,” she muttered, sharp and cold, and stalked down the sidewalk with our son. I knew she was agitated and I felt bad. I was letting them both down. I prayed she would come back so that we could talk it through. I watched her go, jaw tight, heart low.

Her anger echoed in the slap of her feet against concrete, like her fury needed everyone in Harlem to feel it.

Rollo whistled low. “She always that sweet?”

I forced a chuckle, but it cracked around the edges. “Like a sour patch kid.”

He stared at me for a beat too long. His body was still, but his eyes were busy—scanning. Reading me like a book he already knew the ending to.

“So what’s up, bro?” he asked. “You buggin’ out about somethin’? You got that twitchy look again. You fucked up with security but we took care of Boaz. We know he was behind the shooting at the winery. Watch gon be doing now that you’re fired,” he laughed.

I forced a shrug, hoping to look nonchalant while sweat glued my shirt to my back. “I’m still figuring it out. Might just move out the country to a spot like Thailand. Weed is legal there. I might just grow it there. Aye, you want a drink or somethin’? Come inside. You ain’t never seen my spot before and we never get to connect.”

He hesitated. Just a flicker. But it was there.

Then he nodded. “Yeah, fuck it. Let’s toast to your secret family or whatever.”

Every cell in my body screamed not to let him in.

But I opened the door anyway.

He stepped in first, eyes scanning like always. “Yo, this spot look like a damn bunker. You movin’ or somethin’?”

“Something like that.”

My hand hovered near the waistband of my jeans.

He turned to face me, eyebrows raised like he was about to ask something else and I didn’t give him the chance.

I pulled the gun.

His expression barely had time to shift. No fear, no begging. Just a flicker of surprise.

One shot. Then another.

The sound echoed off the walls like judgment. Rollo dropped fast, like the floor yanked him down. Blood fanned out from under him like a flower blooming in reverse, red and wrong and permanent.

My hand was still up, shaking. The gun felt welded to my fingers. My ears rang, but I couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

He was dead.

Just like that.

I didn’t hate him. Not even a little. But he knew too much. Saw too much. And I couldn’t afford doubt. Not now. Not when everything was splintering and the only thing holding me together was desperation.

If he lived, he’d talk. He’d go to Riot. Maybe even Creed. And then it was game over. My bones in a bag. My name in past tense. They would start asking questions and I couldn’t have that. I had to protect Mimi and Jasir.

So I did it.

And now I had to live with it.

The door creaked open behind me.

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