Page 59 of Riot

I smirked. “Yeah. If you get bored while I’m out, you can chill in here. Popcorn’s in the cabinet.”

She grinned. “You’re really spoiling me.”

“Just a lil hospitality.”

She tilted her head. “Is this what you do for all the girls you rescue?”

I stepped closer, just enough to make her breath catch. “Nah. Just you.”

Her smile faded into something softer, heavier. And that tension? That shit was back. Pressing against the moment like it wanted to be kissed.

But I stepped back before it could go further.

“I gotta run some errands,” I said, breaking the spell. “Shouldn’t be gone too long.”

She nodded, eyes still locked on mine. “Okay.”

“I’ll bring you back something,” I added. “Anything you want?”

She hesitated. “Surprise me.”

I nodded, then turned to leave.

But before I reached the door, I paused and looked back.

“Allure?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t open that front gate fornobody.You hear me?”

Her expression turned serious again. “I hear you.”

And that was enough for now.

I left her standing in the glow of that theater room, surrounded by the kind of peace she was just starting to trust—and maybe… starting to believe she deserved.

Chapter 17

ALLURE

My heart stopped the moment he opened the door and walked out. The silence he left behind felt heavy and holy. This was the first time since I was sixteen that I had been left alone—truly alone—with no one watching me, no eyes monitoring my movements, no threat lingering just around the corner. It had been years since I’d had an entire house to myself, and even though I wasn’t the owner of this place, the freedom I felt inside it wrapped around me like warm silk. I could barely contain the rush of excitement and relief.

With the MacBook clutched tight to my chest, I wandered slowly through the compound, careful not to go too far, mostly keeping to the inside rooms. I passed glass walls and expensive furniture, rooms filled with books and light and things that whispered wealth. The space was beautiful—but what struck me most was the stillness. No commands barked at me. No threats lurking in the shadows. Just space. Just breath. Just me.

I avoided going too close to the animal enclosures out back. I knew the creatures were caged, and I didn’t want to lookthem in the eye. Their captivity made my skin crawl. I wasn’t comfortable with the way they were held, even if they were being fed and cared for. Exotic animals weren’t meant to be locked away like that, even in luxury. Riot treated them well, I could tell—but it still felt wrong.

I hadn’t found the right moment to say anything yet, but I knew I would. Eventually. If he listened—really listened—then I’d know he wasn’t like Boaz or Avi. Those men took pleasure in control, in shrinking anything beautiful until it begged for freedom or died inside. They caged women and animals with the same cold calculation. Stripped the shine off living things and fed off the ruin.

While I was luckier than the women Boaz kept in the basement—my cage had more windows, more privileges—I’d still lost ten years of my life. Ten whole years. That kind of theft doesn’t come with a refund. There’s no receipt, no return. You just wake up one day realizing that your youth, your momentum, your future was frozen in time while the world moved on without you.

I want those ten years back.

And if I can’t get them back, then I damn sure want to live the rest of my life louder, bolder, fuller. I want every minute to matter.

Before Boaz took me, I was putting together my portfolio for fashion design school. I’d always wanted to be a designer. Ever since I was a little girl, I’d turn my mother’s old clothes into new creations—chopping up old skirts, tying tops in strange ways, draping towels into gowns. I made dresses for my dolls out of coffee filters and grocery bags. I turned shower curtains into capes. I saw fashion in everything. If it could wrap, pin, or fold, I could make it runway-worthy.

One time, when I was maybe seven or eight, I created an entire Barbie fashion line using nothing but cotton balls, glitterglue, and leftover gift ribbon. I made my parents sit on the couch while I narrated each look like I was hosting my own version of Fashion Week. They clapped and laughed and told me I was a genius. That day, my father told me that when I got older, he’d invest in my first line.

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