Page 5 of Riot

She didn’t flinch. Just poured the drinks like it was routine. But I watched her. Closely. And when she leaned forward, her sleeve slipped, just enough to show the burn scars on her forearm—textured and rough. She caught me looking and tugged her robe back in place like she’d done it a thousand times before.

I didn’t speak. But I didn’t look away either.

She finished, turned to leave, but just before stepping back inside, she looked at me again. And this time?

There was something in it.

A spark.

A question.

A plea.

Boaz raised his glass. “To rare beauty,” he said. We clinked glasses then he excused himself after the toast, and strutted off toward the house.

The second he disappeared, here came Avi, one of his sons. I hated this nigga so much. I’d only been around him a few times, mostly at underground gambling clubs. He was cocky but had nothing to back it up with.

Hair slicked back like he just walked off the set of some corny mafia remake, shirt too tight, chain too loud, confidence completely unearned. He strutted up like we had something in common. Like we was boys.

He was spoiled and soft. The kind of kid who grew up with a golden spoon in his mouth and never had to work for a damn thing. Just like his bitch ass brother that I killed. They hadn’t even noticed this nigga was missing yet.

He leaned against the bar, with fake confidence. I knew he was about to start some shit with me but I was looking forward to finishing it.

“So,” he started. “I’m sorry to hear about your father.”

I didn’t respond. Just took a slow sip of the drink that girl poured earlier—The Virgin. I could feel her nearby, watchin’ from the corner, still and quiet. She ain’t blink much, but I felt her eyes.

Avi kept goin’, undeterred by my silence. “You know, my father’s got, like, twenty kids. Different countries. Different women. Sounds like your old man was the same, right? You got a bunch of siblings all over the place.” He smirked. “Must be something about men in power, huh?”

I raised an eyebrow. This boy didn’t know how close to the fire he was playin’. He needed to stop talking to me because I could already tell this was going down the wrong road.

“I mean,” Avi continued, “my dad always said Silas waslegendary. Ruthless. Brilliant. Crazy as fuck, sure, but still a boss. Guess that makes y’all legacy kids, right? Like us.”

He was babblin'. I let him talk. We were nothing alike. Silas was crazy but he bred us to be crazy too. Avi was just being propped up by the name. I was propping up the King name.

Then he hit me with some bullshit. I could smell it a mile away.

“So tell me something, Riot… how come I can’t say the’n’word?”

Time stopped.

I looked over at him slow, one eyebrow cocked like I was genuinely curious. “Who told you you couldn’t?”

He blinked, thrown for a second. “Well... everybody. Internet. Black Twitter. Rap music rules, I guess.”

I chuckled, set my glass down real gentle.

“Nah, bro. Youcansay it.” If you can handle the consequences.

He perked up like a dumb puppy.

“I can?”

I nodded. “Of course. Matter fact, let’s say it together.”

He grinned, leaned in like I was lettin’ him in on a secret handshake.

I tilted my head, real calm.

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