Page 21 of Riot

“You’re filthy,” he spat. “Unsightly. You think I want to see this? You think this is acceptable in my home?”

“I—I didn’t know,” I stammered, voice small, eyes darting around for a towel or something—anything.

He raised his hand before I could move.

Crack.

The slap came fast and hard, spinning my head slightly with the force. My cheek burned instantly, my eyes stinging with hot tears I refused to let fall.

“Get out of my kitchen,” he growled. “Go clean yourself and don’t come back until you know how to carry yourself with dignity.”

I didn’t speak. Didn’t breathe. Just turned and walked as fast as I could out of the room, my face on fire, the blood between my legs now a source of shame instead of biology.

Behind me, I heard Irina’s voice rise.

“You didn’t have to hit her!”

Her heels tapped quickly against the floor, following after me.

“Allure!” she called, catching up, her voice tight with something like panic.

By the time I reached my room, my hands were shaking. I slammed the door behind me and collapsed onto the bed, cradling my stinging face, too numb to cry.

A second later, the door opened and Irina slipped inside, slamming it behind her.

“I’m sorry,” she said quickly, rushing to my side. “He’s disgusting. He’s such a fucking monster sometimes.”

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. I just stared at the floor, humiliated and exhausted.

She wrapped her arms around me and pulled me into a hug. For a second, I let myself lean into her. Just for a second.

“I swear to God, Allure,” she whispered against my shoulder. “I’m going to figure out a way to get you out of here.”

And for the first time in a long time…

I almost believed her.

Chapter 6

RIOT

I’d been meaning to reach out to Havoc and apologize for how I handled shit at the tailor’s, but my pride wouldn’t let me. That nigga should’ve never talked sideways about my mother. Period. I don’t care how hurt you are—there’s a line. And he crossed it.

I’ll deal with him later. For now there was work, and figuring out how to infiltrate Boaz’s compound.

It was Monday morning, and I was at the company’s office in Midtown. The white artless walls made the place feel too sterile for my taste, but whatever. It’s only been in the recent few months that I’ve been spending so much time here. It used to be that I was out in the field.

I leaned back in my leather chair, a stack of reports spread out in front of me as I combed through the latest financials from the vineyard. The numbers looked solid, but solid wasn’t enough. I wanted the vineyard to be everywhere.

My vision? A summer jazz and wine festival. Big. Elegant. Loud in all the right ways. Something that screamed Black luxury and legacy. But before I could make that happen,I needed to start building the buzz—get some restaurants involved, pull in sponsorships, get the press out to see the property.

First step? An open house.

I was just mapping out some details when the door opened.

Creed stepped in, followed by our cousin Abra.

Abra was technically my mother’s assistant—but that was just the surface. She ran our acquisitions department like a sniper. Quiet. Precise. Unshakable. She was the kind of woman who got shit done before you even finished the sentence. Without her, half of King Logistics and Security would be floating in chaos. With my mother being out of commission right now, Abra had really stepped up and fulfilled her roll with communicating with the entire board. Unfortunately she didn’t have a seat on the board yet, but one day we’ll give her a spot.

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