Page 178 of Riot

I didn’t step inside. I stood in the doorway like a boundary she wasn’t welcome to cross.

“I killed him,” I said plainly.

Her hand shot up to her mouth, a gasp choking out of her throat. “No. No, baby… you didn’t?—”

“He helped Daddy sell me,” I continued, eyes locked on hers.

Her knees buckled, and she stumbled back against the wall like the truth hit her physically. “I’m so sorry Allure…”

“You should be,” I snapped.

Tears spilled from her eyes, but I didn’t move. I’ve already learned to not to mistake her crying for remorse.

“You were my mother,” I said, voice shaking now. “You were supposed to protect me. But you stood by and let him do it. You let him sell me like I was something to get rid of.”

“I didn’t know it would be for so loooong…”

“Don’t youdarelie to me again,” I hissed. “At any time you could’ve called the police on Boaz and gotten me freed. You could’ve done it anonymously. That’s what I did to free the other girls he kept. But you were too scared. Too weak. Too selfish.”

She collapsed into a chair, sobbing openly now. “I didn’t mean for any of this?—”

“I spared you,” I said. “And that’s the last kindness you’ll ever get from me.”

Her eyes widened in fear. “Please don’t shut me out?—”

“I have a family now. A man who loves me. A child sleeping soundly because he finally feels safe. And another on the way. I won’t let your guilt poison that.”

She reached for me, and I stepped back.

“Respect my boundaries,” I said, voice cold steel. “Don’t call. Don’t write. Don’t ask anyone about me. I don’t want anything from you. Not love. Not answers. Nothing.”

“Allure…”

“Goodbye.”

I turned and walked out, down those chipped stairs that had once felt like a prison. Now, every step felt like freedom.

By the time I made it back to Harlem, I was exhausted. Riot was sitting on the stoop, waiting for me. He looked up, and I nodded.

It was done.

The past was buried. And in its place, something real—something ours—was finally blooming.

Chapter 61

RIOT

I never liked this house. Not when I was a kid, and not now. It was too big, too cold, too damn dark. In this house I learned to suppress my pain while my anger took over. Silas picked it out after some big deal went through, snatched it up like a trophy he could stuff us all inside of. Marble floors. Gated drive. Imported chandeliers that made the light look expensive. But it never felt like home. It felt like a stage.

Now it was a tomb.

We were clearing it out; me, Creed, Allure, Sloane, and Abra. Packing up the last remnants of Tessa King’s life. Box by box. Memory by memory. Each room smelled like old wood and lemon oil, like the past refusing to go without a fight.

I found a box of my mom’s scarves in the sunroom and had to walk out. Didn’t expect the scent of her perfume to knock the wind outta me. That was the thing about grief, it snuck up quiet. Slipped in between your ribs when you thought you’d already cried it all out.

Allure was in the kitchen with Jasir, wiping down counters like she could scrub away everything that ever hurt. She caught my eye and gave me a soft smile. That woman grounded me without even trying.

“She would’ve hated this,” Creed muttered beside me, arms crossed as he looked around the living room.

---