Page 62 of Riot

The idea that maybe no one was still searching.

I wiped my face with the back of my hand and opened the laptop again. My fingers moved faster now, more certain. I searched Carmelo again, this time with different keywords. Variations of his name. Street names he used to go by. I checked police blotters, mugshots, Instagram tags. Nothing stuck.

He was either underground… or laying low on purpose.

Either way, I’d find him.

Because I wasn’t about to mourn two people in one night.

I wasn’t about to let another piece of my soul slip through my fingers.

Chapter 18

RIOT

Allure ran through my mind the entire drive back to the city. No matter how hard I tried to shift focus—traffic, music, the sound of the engine—it always came back to her. The curve of her mouth when she smiled. The way her eyes dropped when she got shy. The strength it must’ve taken to survive what she did.

Ten years. Ten fucking years.

That’s how long she was held in that gilded prison.

I couldn’t wrap my mind around it. Being kidnapped for a week would’ve been a nightmare—ten years? That shit was unthinkable. If it had been me, I would’ve slit Boaz’s throat in his sleep and accepted whatever came after. But she wasn’t me. She was a woman—young, outnumbered, and watched constantly.

She played it smart. Patient. Waiting for her moment. Hoping for a miracle.

And when it came, she ran like hell.

I hated that I wasn’t the one to rescue her. That I hadn’t stormed that compound and carried her out like some fuckingavenger. But she didn’t need a hero. She needed an opening—and when she saw it, she took it. Brave as hell.

Still, I was grateful I’d been there to meet her on the other side. To offer her shelter. To give her the space to breathe without fear for the first time in a decade.

But none of that meant the danger was over.

The real work was just beginning.

Boaz was still alive. Barely, but alive. Sick, twisted, and dangerous even on his last leg. And he wouldn’t stop looking for her. Not out of love—but because he’d rather see her dead than free. His pride couldn’t take it. The Virgin, his prized possession, had escaped.

That was blood in the water for a man like him.

So now it was on me to make sure he never got the chance to come sniffing around again.

I had to kill Boaz. Not wait for the cancer to finish him off. Not let the courts play their game. I had to do it myself.

Before he could lay a single finger on her again.

Before he reminded her what it felt like to be afraid.

And before I reminded myself what it felt like to lose something that never really belonged to me—but I wanted anyway.

Bad.

It was just after noon when I pulled into the underground lot of the boutique in SoHo. The city was awake—buzzing with that too-fast, too-loud, too-much energy it was famous for. I should’ve hated it. The traffic. The noise. The cameras. But today it felt good to move. Gave me something to do while my mind ran in circles about Allure.

I found Abra already waiting inside, leaning against one of the marble columns in the store like she ran the place. She had on dark sunglasses and a slick high ponytail, scrolling on herphone as she waited for me. As soon as she saw me, she pushed off the column and crossed her arms.

“About damn time,” she said.

I gave her a chin nod. “Traffic.”

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