Page 66 of Riot

Chapter 19

ALLURE

Finding out my father was gone gutted me in a way I hadn’t expected. Not like this. Not after everything. I’d spent the last ten years imagining what it would be like to see him again—how I’d run into his arms, bury my face in his chest, smell the cologne he always wore and hear him call mebaby girllike he used to. I thought maybe he’d come for me, eventually. That somehow he was out there searching, that he just hadn’t found the right lead. But he wasn’t. He was dead. Dumped in a river like trash.

I curled back up in Riot’s bed, burying myself beneath the thick blankets, the MacBook still open and glowing on the dresser, a silent witness to my heartbreak. I cried hard—body-shaking, chest-aching sobs that ripped through me like I was mourning a part of myself. Because I was. My father was gone. My protector. My connection to who I was before Boaz. And now that thread was severed.

The tears kept coming, hot and fast, soaking Riot’s pillow. His scent clung to the cotton—earthy, masculine, warm in a way that made me ache for him. I pressed my face into it, wishinghe’d come through the door. Wishing he’d hold me and make all this pain disappear. I didn’t want to be alone. Not now. Not in this moment when grief felt like a weight strapped to my chest.

I’d fought so long to be free, and now that I was, I felt anything but.

The loneliness crept in fast and sharp. I didn’t know if it was because I hadn’t cried in years or because there was no one left to cry to. I needed my father. I needed answers. I needed to look him in the eye and ask why he didn’t come for me. Why he let me disappear without turning the world upside down to find me. And now, I’d never get that chance.

Someone had to pay for this. Whoever put that bullet in his head—whoever threw him in the Passaic like he was nothing—I wanted them to bleed for it. I wanted revenge in a way that startled me, burned in my gut, unfamiliar but justified.

But more than revenge… I needed comfort.

I needed Riot. I didn’t understand it, not really. We barely knew each other, but the connection was undeniable. He was the first person to see me outside of Boaz’s control. And the way he looked at me, like I wasn’t broken—like I wasn’t ruined—it made me want to believe I could actually be whole again.

Still, the doubt crept in. What if he was just like them? What if all this kindness was just another trap? Another man pretending to be my savior, only to turn into another captor?

I squeezed my eyes shut, ashamed of even thinking it. He hadn’t done anything to make me feel unsafe. If anything, he’d gone out of his way to give me space, respect, safety. And yet, the fear was there. Buried deep beneath the bruises Boaz had never left on my skin, only my mind.

I hope he’s different. I really, really hope he’s not like them. Because I was so damn tired of surviving.

And for once, I just wanted someone to stand beside me while I learned how to live.

The door creaked open behind me, but I didn’t move. I was too far gone—curled into myself, my face sticky with tears, Riot’s scent still clinging to the shirt I’d buried my grief in.

“Allure?” His voice hit me me, dragging me out of my despair.

I heard the soft thump of bags hitting the floor, followed by the quick rush of his footsteps. A second later, the mattress dipped behind me and then… his arms. Warm. Strong. Wrapping around me without hesitation.

I collapsed into him like I’d been waiting for that exact thing to happen.

“Hey. Hey. What happened?” he whispered against the crown of my head. His voice was softer than I’d ever heard it, almost tender.

I turned in his arms and met his eyes, my own bloodshot and raw. “He’s dead.”

Riot’s brows pulled together, hard. “Who?”

“My father,” I croaked. “I… I looked him up. I found a message on my mother’s page. Then I Googled him. They found his body in the Passaic River. Shot in the head.”

Riot’s face hardened with recognition, but all he said was, “I’m so sorry, baby.”

He pulled me in tighter, cradling my head against his chest. I sobbed into his shirt, soaking the cotton with everything I had left. His arms didn’t budge. He didn’t try to hush me or move away. He just held me, like I wasn’t too much. Like I wasn’t broken or inconvenient or weak.

“I thought he would come for me,” I whispered. “I thought he was out there looking. All this time, I held onto that hope. And now… he’s gone.”

He ran his hand down my back, slow and steady. “He would’ve, if he could’ve. Sounds like someone made sure he didn’t get the chance.”

“I should’ve been faster,” I said, my voice cracking. “I should’ve escaped sooner.”

“No,” Riot said firmly. “You survived. That’s all that matters.”

I looked up at him then, my eyes were puffy and wet, but something else stirring beneath it all. Need. Desire. Not just for comfort—but for escape. For heat. For something to make the pain stop, even if just for a moment.

I leaned in and kissed him. It was my first kiss since I was 16.

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