Page 42 of Riot

“Prosecco,” I said. “Two.”

He popped the cork with a crisp crack and poured us both a glass.

I handed hers to her, our fingers brushing.

Her eyes lifted to mine again, softer this time. She looked up at me as if she had something to say but didn’t feel comfortable enough to say it.

“You wanna get some fresh air?” I asked.

She nodded again, and I led her through the open doors to the patio—where the night waited for just us.The night air wrapped around us as we stepped onto the patio, cooler than inside, but not cold. Just enough breeze to kiss the skin. The music from the club was muffled behind the doors, the bass low like a pulse underfoot. Out here, it felt like we were the only ones left in the world.

Allure stood at the railing, one hand wrapped around her glass, the other tucked beneath her arm. Her posture was loose, but her eyes stayed sharp. Guarded. Always looking past me. Like she expected something—or someone—to come snatch her back.

I leaned against the ledge beside her, sipping my drink. "You always this tense at a party?"

She looked away, but I caught the small smile tugging at her mouth.

“I’m just not used to crowds,” she replied.

“You were calm as hell when I saw you inside. Like you owned the room.”

“That wasn’t calm. That was survival.”

There it was.

The crack in the mask.

She said it casually, but her fingers had started to tremble around her glass. I could feel it—something was wrong. Not the obvious wrong like a broken heel or a weird ex in the room. Deeper. Older. Like she was running from something and barely holding it together.

"What’s going on?” I asked, keeping my tone easy, but my attention locked on her face.

She hesitated.

Then sipped her Prosecco.

“I’m not supposed to be here,” she said finally, voice soft. “I… snuck out. Just for the night. I'm supposed to go back.”

“To Boaz?” I inquired.

She looked at me, with sadness in her eyes. “Unfortunately…”

“Something felt off about you and him when I was at his estate a few days ago delivering the tiger. I’ve heard that he keeps women caged in the basement. Are you one of them?”

Her face stiffened. The way she inhaled—it was like the mere mention of that place pulled the air from her lungs.

“Yes. He’s been holding me captive… kidnapped me when I was 16. I’ve been there for ten years. This is my first time I’ve been away from the compound since I arrived,” she spilled.

“Fuck. That confirms it then.” I needed to help her. I don’t know why I felt so compelled to help this woman who was a mere stranger, but I needed to. There was something about her that was different. Something about her tugged at me. And I’d been thinking about her since the moment my eyes laid on her.

"Yeah… the stories I could tell.”

“How the fuck did you get out?”

“Well, he’s in the hospital…”

“Cancer?” I asked.

“How did you know?” she replied.

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