Page 26 of Riot

When I woke up in the hotel bed, my shirt was soaked through with sweat, clinging to me like a second skin. My fists were balled so tight my knuckles ached. My throat was dry. My heart still beating like it hadn’t come down from the nightmare yet.

I didn’t move. Didn’t reach for water. Didn’t check the time. I just laid there, staring up at the ceiling, begging the memory to stay buried where I left it. But that night had changed me. Hollowed something out that never really filled back in.

And the worst part?

Sometimes I wonder if I even want it to.

Chapter 7

ALLURE

“Virgin?! Come here!”

Boaz’s voice rasped down the hall like a broken commandment. Groggy. Throaty. Still sharp enough to raise the hairs on the back of my neck. I gritted my teeth, holding in the sigh that built in my chest like a stormcloud.

I adjusted my hijab and wrapped my robe tighter around me, feet moving out of muscle memory. His room was on the east side of the compound, past the marble archway and the gaudy oil painting of himself. Each step down the hallway made me feel heavier. Like I was walking into something I wouldn’t come back from.

When I opened the door, the air hit me first—stale, warm, and slightly sour, like the room hadn’t been cleaned or opened in days. Boaz sat propped up in bed, shirt open, chest damp with sweat. His skin, normally flushed with color and bravado, looked pale and blotchy. There was a hollowness under his eyes I hadn’t seen before.

Something was off.

He reached for a glass of water, his hand trembling as he brought it to his mouth. He sipped, coughed, and set it down with a shaking breath.

“I need to see Dr. Fuchs. In Lucerne,” he said, voice dry and strained. “Pack your things. You’re coming with me.”

My brows lifted. “Me? Why?”

“I need someone clean,” he croaked. “Someone I trust. You’ll help with food, travel arrangements, personal care. The others aren’t… suitable.”

I took a step closer, watching him carefully. “What about the girls?” I asked. “Who’s going to care for them while we’re gone?”

He looked at me like I’d just asked what color the sky was.

“You mean mypets?” He smirked, coughing again. “They’re being put down.”

My stomach turned. “What?”

“I’ve already given the order,” he said, like he was confirming a room service charge. “I’m bored with them. They’ve lost their charm. I’ll get new ones when we return.”

I stared at him, mouth parted, unable to believe what I was hearing.

The girls. Gone. Just like that.

He was planning to kill them like they were expired toys. Like they hadn’t breathed and cried andlivedin this house with me. Like I hadn’t held their hair back when they vomited. Like I hadn’t wiped their tears, changed their bandages, bathed their trembling bodies night after night, trying to convince them there was still some reason to keep going.

All of them. Erased.

Boaz took another sip of water and coughed harder this time. His chest convulsed, and the glass slipped from his hand, shattering on the floor. He clutched at his throat, eyes wide, gasping like he was trying to force air into lungs that wouldn’tcooperate. His legs twitched. He lurched sideways and tumbled off the bed, landing with a sickening thud.

He started convulsing—mouth foaming, limbs jerking violently, the silk fabric of his pajamas bunching under his flailing legs.

I froze.

And for a split second… I didn’t move.

I just watched.

Watched him flail. Watched him seize. Watched his body struggle under the weight of whatever disease had finally decided to collect its debt.

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