Page 74 of Riot

“He was referring to my talent and ambition.”

“Ambition for what?” I my ears perked up.

“For fashion. I wanted to be a designer.”

“Do you still want that?”

“Of course.”

“Then when shit settles down, I’ll make sure I help you with that.”

“Thank you.”

Her lips parted slightly, like she wanted to say more, but then she just turned to the window. I know that thinking about her father was hard for her.

We rode in silence for a minute, the wind slipping through her curls, the scent of her lotion threading through the air, vanilla and rose floating to my nostrils.

“So,” she said suddenly, twisting to face me again. “What was your dream job?”

I gave her a look. “You mean before or after I realized I was born into organized crime?”

“Either,” she shrugged.

“I wanted to be a vet,” I said after a beat.

She blinked. “Seriously?”

“Deadass.”

She stared at me for a second, then grinned. “Let me find out big bad Riot wanted to cuddle puppies.”

“Man, I ain’t say all that. I just liked animals more than people.”

“Still do?”

“Some days.”

She hummed thoughtfully. “That’s actually kinda sweet.”

“Don’t go spreadin’ that shit. I got a reputation to maintain.”

“No promises.”

“Real talk, our father used to torture us. And when I was little I had a fear of anything with teeth. He knew that fear and once when I was about 11, he trapped m in a room with a hyena. It was chained to the wall, a mere few inches away from me. It was so close to attacking me but it helped me overcome my fear. I stared at in the eyes and it backed away. From there I knew I wanted to work with animals. But having a father like that made that impossible so I collect them now.”

“Wow, your father was a piece of shit.”

“Yep. But that’s all behind me,” I said as I continued towards my mother’s house.

I glanced at her again. She was leaning her head against the seat, watching me with those big brown eyes, and something tightened in my chest. I didn’t know what the hell this was between us—but I liked it more than I should’ve.

She reached over, turned the music up just a notch. “Okay, fine. I’ll give you points. This particular song is fire.”

Heart of the City was playing now and it was the best song on the whole damn album.

“Told you.”

We exchanged a look that was brief, electric, charged with the kind of chemistry that needed a warning label—and then she turned back to the road ahead.

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