Page 33 of Riot

I let a beat pass before answering.

“I won’t. I’m sorry,” I said, keeping my voice steady. “I let my mouth get reckless. I shouldn’t have said that.”

Riot clapped me on the shoulder with the kind of weight that said family, then gave me a chin nod and walked out the room.

And as soon as the door shut behind him?

I clenched my jaw until I felt my molars grind.

Sorry?

I wanted to strangle him with the word.

I wanted to take that shiny, smug-ass grill and knock it straight down his throat.

Fuck his apology.

Fuck his fake concern.

Andfuck Tessa.

He had no idea what that woman was really like. No clue how many years she went out of her way to treat me like a stray dog Silas forgot to put down. She didn’t raise me—she tolerated me. She smiled for show and turned cold when nobody was looking.

They think the poison died with Silas?

No.

Riot thought we were good now. Thought that little conversation fixed things.

All it did was light the fuse.

Because the moment I left that room, I knew the next time I saw that grill gleaming at me under some spotlight?

It wouldn’t be in celebration.

It would be in ruin.

Chapter 9

ALLURE

The scent of jasmine and rose oil hit first, soft and almost luxurious, like a hotel spa instead of the basement of a man who collects women like exotic birds. It never made the space feel gentler, only more twisted. Like he thought if he pumped sweet air into a room full of suffering, it would cancel out the sin.

It didn’t.

The air down here always felt too still. Like the walls themselves were holding their breath.

I moved down the stairs with a tray in my hands, heavy with bowls of food. Irina trailed behind me, barefoot, her heels dangling from her fingers. Her curls were tied into a loose bun, her gold earrings catching the low light from the sconces overhead. She was quiet—nervous, even. I could hear the hesitation in every step she took. She hated coming down here. She said so every time.

But today she’d insisted on following me. Claimed she wanted to see how the girls were doing. What she really wanted was probably to ease her guilt.

I didn’t blame her. Not fully. She’d grown up in this place too. She was just on the prettier side of the prison gates.

I reached the bottom step and flicked the switch. Lights buzzed overhead, bathing the space in that cold, clinical glow that made everything look more pristine than it felt. The enclosures lit up like showrooms—seven in total. Floor-to-ceiling glass. Each one spotless. Inside, the women stirred in their white robes, their faces expressionless but alert. They always knew when it was feeding time.

Kierra looked up first, her eyes searching for mine like she was waiting for some kind of reassurance I could never quite give. I bent down and slid the bowl through the hatch.

“There you go, K,” I said softly.

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