Page 68 of Riot

“What was he involved in?” I asked

“Drugs… you know the game…” she said.

“Yeah. Where was he working? I might know him.”

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” she said, softer now.

I nodded. “You don’t have to.”

Some things didn’t need unpacking. They just needed presence. And I was here—for as long as she’d let me be.

If she wanted to wait until she told me more about her life then I would be patient for her unfolding.

She sucked a bit of garlic butter off her thumb, then looked up at me with those dark, curious eyes. “What about your father?”

I stiffened a little, still chewing, but I didn’t look away. “He was a dangerous man too.”

“How dangerous?” she asked, voice low.

I didn’t answer right away. I wiped my hands slowly on a napkin, eyes focused on the flame flickering in the torch beside us.

“So dangerous that I had to I kill him,” I said.

The words didn’t shock me anymore. But I knew they’d hit her different.

Her whole body went still. “You what?”

“I shot him,” I said, steady. “Point blank. Right in the head.”

She didn’t move. Just stared. And not with judgment—but something deeper. Like she was trying to decide if she should be afraid of me… or if she already understood.

“Why?” she finally asked.

I leaned forward, elbows resting on my knees. The night air was warm, but I felt cold inside just thinking about it.

“My brother, Creed… he found out the truth about him. That our father—Silas—had been running a pedo-ring for years. He was high-level, quiet with it. Kept it buried under layers of respectability. Family business. Church donations. Handshakes and fake smiles.” I shook my head. “But he was sick. And he used his power to hurt kids.”

Allure brought a hand to her mouth, eyes wide. “Jesus.”

I nodded slowly. “We confronted him. Creed held him captive for months without telling me. He was afraid to pull the trigger. But I knew... if we didn’t kill him, he’d find a way to slip through the cracks. Men like him always do. So I did it myself.”

“You shot your own father…” she whispered, almost like she didn’t believe it.

“I had to,” I said. “And I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”

She looked down for a long time, then finally said, “That must’ve been hard.”

I tilted my head, watching her. “I’ve done harder.”

Her gaze lifted, brows pulling together. “Like what?”

I stared at her for a beat, then gave a half-shrug. “Maybe I’ll tell you one day.”

The firelight danced in her eyes, but she didn’t press.

She just nodded, like she understood that even the darkest truths need time to come to the surface. And she didn’t scare easy—not after everything she’d seen.

Not after surviving the kind of hell we both knew too well.

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