Page 4 of Riot

Gravel crunched under the tires. The cub shifted again, sensing the shift in energy. Even sedated, she felt the evil in the air. I rolled to a stop and barely cut the engine before two guards stepped out the shadows. Tight formation. Hands on steel. Eyes cold. Trained killers, just like me. Yeah, it was going to be tough to break those girls out if they were really down there.

I cracked the window and let my joint fly, smoke curling out like a middle finger. “Y’all got a problem?” I asked, voice calm but ready.

They ain’t answer. Just kept circling, like they was tryna size me up. Maybe they’d heard stories. Maybe not. Didn’t matter. I knew they weren’t going to be bold enough to start some shit.

Then Boaz came strolling out like he was the star of his own reality show. Some shit like Dubai Bling. His gaudy Versace shirt was unbuttoned just enough to flex multiple chains. He sported a pair of Versace loafers to go with that loud ass shirt. He had that smug, I-own-everything energy. But underneath it? I could smell his vulnerability.

He grinned when he saw the tiger. That shit lit him up like Christmas.

“Back up, back up!” he called out, waving his crew off. “Y’all know who this is? This Riot King! Royalty, baby. Show some damn respect!”

Clown-ass nigga.

I stepped out the SUV and his goons backed up like to give me my space. Boaz didn’t even look at me—walked right past, pressed his greedy-ass face to the tinted glass to get a better look at the cub.

“She’s magnificent,” he whispered, like he was talking to a woman he planned to ruin. “She’ll make a perfect addition to my collection. So pure. So rare.”

I wanted to put a bullet between his eyes right then.

But not yet.

Let him feel safe.

Let him think he was still in control.

Because when I come for his kingdom?

I ain’t knocking.

I’m bringing fire.

But the way he saidpuremade my jaw tighten. But I didn’t blink. Just blew out a slow cloud of smoke and waited. Boaz clapped once, all theatrics.

“Come,” he said, flashing those cigar stained teeth. “Have a drink with me.”

I followed him past glass doors, down polished walkways lined with manicured shrubs and million-dollar landscaping.The sunken pool was glowing from beneath, the water illuminated, looking tempting to jump in. The whole place screamed excess. And beneath all the luxury, beneath the money and control, I could smell something was off. I detected something with my nose.

Faint, but unmistakable. The scent of sickness. I’d smelled it before on my grandmother that passed away years ago. Cancer had its own smell. Sweet and decaying. I’d smelled it on her when she was diagnosed with stage four pancreatic cancer. And then when I visited her at the hospice on the other people that didn’t have long. And Boaz? That scent clung to him like a whisper. He didn’t know it yet. But his body did. He was dying. This changed things with my strategy of getting those girls out. He was vulnerable and weak. Soon, the focus would be on his health and that’s when me and my people will strike.

But I’ve always had a sharp nose. Not just for danger—but for the kind of shit most folks overlook. I could smell sickness before symptoms showed. I knew when a woman was pregnant before she pissed on a test. And lies? Lies had a scent too—like cheap cologne trying to cover up something rotten. It wasn’t magic. It was instinct. Experience. Survival. When you’ve been around enough darkness, you start to recognize the stink of it before it even opens its mouth.

Boaz waved toward one of the guards. “Bring The Virgin,” he said. “I like when she pours.”

I didn’t react, but internally something curled up and hissed. The Virgin? Like she was a thing. A relic. A ritual. A goddamnprize. Was she one of the women he was holding?

And then I smelled her.

Before got near us.

Her scent slipped into the air like a spell. It wasn’t perfume. It wasn’t chemical. It washer. Warm, sweet, grounded—like damask roses soaked in golden light. Pure in a way I didn’teven think existed anymore. I felt it wrap around me, crawl under my skin, settle in my chest. My shoulders dropped. My jaw unclenched. For the first time in months, my body stopped bracing for war.

Then she appeared.

White robe. White hijab. Skin like polished mahogany. She moved like she’d been trained to disappear into silence. But her presence was deafening. Her eyes found mine and held. Not scared. Not shy. Just... watching.

“Hey,” I said quietly, the word slipping out before I could think.

Boaz cut in quick. “She’s not allowed to speak to any other men but me.”