Page 45 of Riot

I tried to act natural, like I wasn’t seconds away from running. “Hey.”

She narrowed her eyes at me and stepped closer, eyes unsteady but focused. For a second, I thought maybe she knew. Maybe she figured it out. Maybe she saw Riot talking to me and?—

“What do you think?” she asked seriously.

I blinked. “Think of what?”

She grabbed my arm and leaned in like she was about to spill government secrets. “Of Rollo, girl. He’s so cute, right?”

I exhaled—relieved, annoyed, all of it. “Yeah,” I muttered. “He’s cute.”

She squealed and twirled once, then nearly tripped over her own feet. “I knew you’d say that. I like him. Like, I really like him. But I need your opinion, ‘cause you always tell me the truth. Daddy’s gonna be so mad.”

I forced a smile. “Let’s talk after I pee, alright?”

She pointed at me, swaying slightly. “We better.”

I laughed, even though my insides were shaking. “Okay, girly.”

She disappeared back into the noise, and I was left standing there, stunned.

Irina was sweet, but clueless. She didn’t get it. She never would. She lived in a world where daddy issues were solved with AMEX Black cards and therapy she didn’t even need. Me? I was still fighting to be recognized as a human being.

She had freedom in her back pocket.

I was just trying to taste it for the first time. I hated that she talked to me about her boyfriend like we were just old besties. Right now, I could care less her. There was a part of me that felt bad that I was about to betray her. She was going to get in trouble with her father but he’d eventually forgive her. He knows she’s an airhead.

I slipped into the bathroom, clicked the lock, and exhaled slowly. The music faded behind the door. The hum of the overhead light buzzed softly.

I stepped in front of the mirror.

The woman looking back at me... didn’t feel like me.

Not the girl who bathed other women for Boaz. Not the one who cleaned and cooked for him. Not the one who’d been named, shamed, and hidden.

No, this version of me had lashes that curled like wings. A red lip that dared you to try her. A black blazer dress that hugged every curve like it was designed in her honor. The hijab was gone. For the first time, I saw myself as a woman.

I looked good.

Like, really good.

Strong. Sexy. Alive.

I touched the mirror, fingertips meeting glass. “You’re almost out,” I whispered. “Just hold on a little longer.”

I thought of my parents. My real ones. I didn’t even know if they were still alive—but if they were? I was coming for them. I was gonna hug my mother and cry in her arms and tell her I’m sorry for every day I didn’t come home.

And my father?

I didn’t care how long it had been.

I was gonna make sure he never lost me again.

A knock at the door snapped me out of my reflection.

“Allure,” a deep voice said on the other side. Riot.

My heart jumped to my throat.

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