Page 64 of Riot

“Someone’s gotta do it.”

Abra was one of my closest cousins and someone Mama had taken under her wing. Mama was grooming her to take her spot in the company one day but she wasn’t there yet. She still had a lot to learn. But she was proving herself to be valuable every day.

We moved through the store together, the scent of expensive leather and soft musk trailing behind us. I let Abra take the lead, picking out clothes for Allure. She had an eye for size and style. Said she knew just by watching how a woman carried herself. And I trusted that.

“She’s curvy, huh?” Abra asked with a smirk as she pulled a silky two-piece off the rack.

“Yeah,” I murmured, thinking about Allure’s thick thighs and the way her ass filled out my sweats.

“Soft curves?” she pressed.

“Soft everything.”

Abra chuckled. “You’re already sprung. Damn. I didn’t think it’d hit you this hard.”

I didn’t answer that. “Look, I gotta go to the Apple Store and pick up a phone for her. I don’t wanna be in this girly ass store no more. Hit me when you’re done.”

“Okay,” she laughed as I walked away.

I wandered down the block and went into the Apple Store.

As we waited for one of the workers t help me, my eyes scanned the boutique’s open floor—and that’s when I saw them.

A man—mid-30s, regular build—crouched beside a toddler in pigtails. He adjusted her tiny sunglasses and wiped something off her cheek. She looked up at him like he hung the damn stars.

My chest pulled tight.

Seeing them tugged at me. There was a part of me that had a strong pull to be father and husband one day. But I wasn’t sure if that were for me. There were too many skeletons in my closet, too much blood on my hands. But watching that little girl wrap her arms around her daddy’s neck?

It gut punched me.

Would I ever get that?

Would I ever have a family? A kid that looked up to me like I was something good?

A part of me didn’t think I deserved it.

Another part wondered if it was too late to try.

I bought the newest iPhone in gold. The salesperson asked if I wanted it set up in-store. I declined. I’d do it myself. Less people in her business that way.

As I waited for the receipt to print, my eyes kept drifting back to the father and daughter. He was now carrying her on his shoulders, laughing as she clapped her hands and pointed at something outside the window. The ache in my chest spread to my throat. I cleared it and thanked the cashier as I grabbed the bag.

On the way out, I texted Abra. She said she’d had the boutique send everything to the house—four shopping bags’ worth. Dresses, sets, underwear, and some soft joggers. Even picked out a pair of designer slides and a silk bonnet.

“She’s gonna love it,” she wrote. “You owe me a spa day.”

Fair.

I then had her meet me at a café so we could discuss business before I headed home to Allure.

The café was quiet—low jazz playing in the background, just enough clatter from the espresso machine to remind you the city was still breathing outside. I slid into the corner booth where Abra was already waiting, a cappuccino in one hand and her iPad open in front of her.

We went over invoices, pending permits, and client renewals. I tried to stay focused, to keep my head in the numbers, but it was no use. Every few seconds, my mind wandered.

To her.

Was she okay?

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