Page 2

RIOT

Ever since I found out my brother was out here killing the nasty ass niggas that used to mess with kids in our Pop’s sex ring, I was all in.

No hesitation. Shit felt right. Like I was finally doing something that counted—wiping scum off the earth.

I did a lot of grimy shit in my life, but this?

This made me feel like I could look God in the face and not flinch.

I understood why Creed kept doing it. Killing men like that? It’s not murder—it’s cleanup.

Then Raz’s cousin opened his mouth, talkin’ about Boaz Haim.

Said his daddy was on some sick shit too.

Holding girls captive like pets, doing god-knows-what to ‘em in that big ass compound he got out in upstate New York. Talkin’ about girls locked in cages like animals. Nah. That don’t sit right with me.

I had to see it for myself.

I don’t move off rumors. I need proof. And I needed to see what kind of security Boaz had, how deep his protection ran. Dude wasn’t no corner dealer—he was a whole damn operation. Guards, gates, cameras, loyal killers. That type of setup don’t fall easy. It takes precision. Patience. Planning.

Lucky for me, the twisted asshole wanted a white tiger cub.

I had one. And that was my in. I wasn’t just droppin’ off no damn animal—I was scoping the place out.

Taking mental notes. Who posted up where.

How many eyes. What kind of heat they carried.

How long the guards rotated. I was prepping for war.

Freeing those girls? That was the mission. But first? I had to get close enough to make it happen without dying on entry. Boaz don’t know it yet, but he invited death into his front door. And death came smiling.

The ride through Upstate felt like therapy for niggas with bodies on their conscience.

One hand on the wheel, the other flickin’ ash out the window, I let the silence work on me.

Most folks would call it creepy—too quiet, too still.

But me? I liked it. No sirens. No folks arguing through thin-ass walls.

Just trees, thick and tall like guards on both sides, keeping the world out and my thoughts in.

Out here, ain’t nobody checking tags or asking what you got stashed in the back.

You could drive through the sticks with a cage full of death and nobody would blink twice.

I had business on my mind. But like always, he found a way to creep in.

That nigga. My Pops.

The man we once looked up to like a king, only to find out he was the devil wearing a tailored suit.

We used to follow his lead. Then we found out what he really was—a monster who built his kingdom off kids.

Selling them. Passing them around like party favors.

We were just boys when he started molding us into soldiers, telling us we were the future. But the whole time, he was a disease.

Creed couldn’t pull the trigger. I could. I did .

As soon as I found out who he really was, I hated him and decided then and there he didn’t deserve to draw another breath.

He ran international rings, made deals with devils, and smiled in our faces like he was proud.

And I couldn’t live with the lie another second.

Creed took over the company after that—King Security & Logistics.

He made it shine. Cleaned up the image, shook hands with feds and foreign presidents, played the game like he was born for it.

Me? I stayed in the mud. That’s where I’m most comfortable.

I handle what can’t be traced or cleaned up with PR.

I do what needs to be done. But even that was startin’ to wear on me.

I ain’t soft—I just got tired of waking up to blood on my boots and ghosts in my chest. So I bought some land.

Started a vineyard. Called it The King’s Vine.

Grew something real. Something I could pass down that wasn’t soaked in violence.

I wasn’t out of the life completely, but I could see the exit clearly.

Behind me, there was a tiger cub that let out a low, groggy sound. It brought me back to the moment as I pulled up to Boaz’s estate.

The gates were tall as hell, and the surroundings were quiet like they had secrets. That rich-people quiet. Cypress trees hid everything from view. Cameras clocked every move I made, like the place had eyes in the sky. When the gates opened, they did it slowly.

Gravel crunched under the tires. The cub shifted again, sensing the shift in energy.

Even sedated, she felt the evil in the air.

I rolled to a stop and barely cut the engine before two guards stepped out the shadows.

Tight formation. Hands on steel. Eyes cold.

Trained killers, just like me. Yeah, it was going to be tough to break those girls out if they were really down there.

I cracked the window and let my joint fly, smoke curling out like a middle finger. “Y’all got a problem?” I asked, voice calm but ready.

They ain’t answer. Just kept circling, like they was tryna size me up. Maybe they’d heard stories. Maybe not. Didn’t matter. I knew they weren’t going to be bold enough to start some shit.

Then Boaz came strolling out like he was the star of his own reality show.

Some shit like Dubai Bling. His gaudy Versace shirt was unbuttoned just enough to flex multiple chains.

He sported a pair of Versace loafers to go with that loud ass shirt.

He had that smug, I-own-everything energy.

But underneath it? I could smell his vulnerability.

He grinned when he saw the tiger. That shit lit him up like Christmas.

“Back up, back up!” he called out, waving his crew off. “Y’all know who this is? This Riot King! Royalty, baby. Show some damn respect!”

Clown-ass nigga.

I stepped out the SUV and his goons backed up like to give me my space. Boaz didn’t even look at me—walked right past, pressed his greedy-ass face to the tinted glass to get a better look at the cub.

“She’s magnificent,” he whispered, like he was talking to a woman he planned to ruin. “She’ll make a perfect addition to my collection. So pure. So rare.”

I wanted to put a bullet between his eyes right then.

But not yet.

Let him feel safe.

Let him think he was still in control.

Because when I come for his kingdom?

I ain’t knocking.

I’m bringing fire.

But the way he said pure made my jaw tighten. But I didn’t blink. Just blew out a slow cloud of smoke and waited. Boaz clapped once, all theatrics.

“Come,” he said, flashing those cigar stained teeth. “Have a drink with me.”

I followed him past glass doors, down polished walkways lined with manicured shrubs and million-dollar landscaping.

The sunken pool was glowing from beneath, the water illuminated, looking tempting to jump in.

The whole place screamed excess. And beneath all the luxury, beneath the money and control, I could smell something was off. I detected something with my nose.

Faint, but unmistakable. The scent of sickness.

I’d smelled it before on my grandmother that passed away years ago.

Cancer had its own smell. Sweet and decaying.

I’d smelled it on her when she was diagnosed with stage four pancreatic cancer.

And then when I visited her at the hospice on the other people that didn’t have long.

And Boaz? That scent clung to him like a whisper.

He didn’t know it yet. But his body did.

He was dying. This changed things with my strategy of getting those girls out.

He was vulnerable and weak. Soon, the focus would be on his health and that’s when me and my people will strike.

But I’ve always had a sharp nose. Not just for danger—but for the kind of shit most folks overlook.

I could smell sickness before symptoms showed.

I knew when a woman was pregnant before she pissed on a test. And lies?

Lies had a scent too—like cheap cologne trying to cover up something rotten.

It wasn’t magic. It was instinct. Experience.

Survival. When you’ve been around enough darkness, you start to recognize the stink of it before it even opens its mouth.

Boaz waved toward one of the guards. “Bring The Virgin,” he said. “I like when she pours.”

I didn’t react, but internally something curled up and hissed. The Virgin? Like she was a thing. A relic. A ritual. A goddamn prize . Was she one of the women he was holding?

And then I smelled her.

Before got near us.

Her scent slipped into the air like a spell.

It wasn’t perfume. It wasn’t chemical. It was her .

Warm, sweet, grounded—like damask roses soaked in golden light.

Pure in a way I didn’t even think existed anymore.

I felt it wrap around me, crawl under my skin, settle in my chest. My shoulders dropped.

My jaw unclenched. For the first time in months, my body stopped bracing for war.

Then she appeared.

White robe. White hijab. Skin like polished mahogany. She moved like she’d been trained to disappear into silence. But her presence was deafening. Her eyes found mine and held. Not scared. Not shy. Just... watching.

“Hey,” I said quietly, the word slipping out before I could think.

Boaz cut in quick. “She’s not allowed to speak to any other men but me.”

She didn’t flinch. Just poured the drinks like it was routine.

But I watched her. Closely. And when she leaned forward, her sleeve slipped, just enough to show the burn scars on her forearm—textured and rough.

She caught me looking and tugged her robe back in place like she’d done it a thousand times before.

I didn’t speak. But I didn’t look away either.

She finished, turned to leave, but just before stepping back inside, she looked at me again. And this time?

There was something in it.

A spark.

A question.

A plea.

Boaz raised his glass. “To rare beauty,” he said. We clinked glasses then he excused himself after the toast, and strutted off toward the house.

The second he disappeared, here came Avi, one of his sons. I hated this nigga so much. I’d only been around him a few times, mostly at underground gambling clubs. He was cocky but had nothing to back it up with.

Hair slicked back like he just walked off the set of some corny mafia remake, shirt too tight, chain too loud, confidence completely unearned. He strutted up like we had something in common. Like we was boys.

He was spoiled and soft. The kind of kid who grew up with a golden spoon in his mouth and never had to work for a damn thing. Just like his bitch ass brother that I killed. They hadn’t even noticed this nigga was missing yet.

He leaned against the bar, with fake confidence. I knew he was about to start some shit with me but I was looking forward to finishing it.

“So,” he started. “I’m sorry to hear about your father.”

I didn’t respond. Just took a slow sip of the drink that girl poured earlier— The Virgin . I could feel her nearby, watchin’ from the corner, still and quiet. She ain’t blink much, but I felt her eyes.

Avi kept goin’, undeterred by my silence. “You know, my father’s got, like, twenty kids. Different countries. Different women. Sounds like your old man was the same, right? You got a bunch of siblings all over the place.” He smirked. “Must be something about men in power, huh?”

I raised an eyebrow. This boy didn’t know how close to the fire he was playin’. He needed to stop talking to me because I could already tell this was going down the wrong road.

“I mean,” Avi continued, “my dad always said Silas was legendary . Ruthless. Brilliant. Crazy as fuck, sure, but still a boss. Guess that makes y’all legacy kids, right? Like us.”

He was babblin'. I let him talk. We were nothing alike. Silas was crazy but he bred us to be crazy too. Avi was just being propped up by the name. I was propping up the King name.

Then he hit me with some bullshit. I could smell it a mile away.

“So tell me something, Riot… how come I can’t say the ’n’ word?”

Time stopped.

I looked over at him slow, one eyebrow cocked like I was genuinely curious. “Who told you you couldn’t?”

He blinked, thrown for a second. “Well... everybody. Internet. Black Twitter. Rap music rules, I guess.”

I chuckled, set my glass down real gentle.

“Nah, bro. You can say it.” If you can handle the consequences.

He perked up like a dumb puppy.

“I can?”

I nodded. “Of course. Matter fact, let’s say it together.”

He grinned, leaned in like I was lettin’ him in on a secret handshake.

I tilted my head, real calm.

I mouthed— Nig…

He said it out loud. Hard R and everything.

Before the second syllable even left his pink-ass lips, my fist connected with his throat.

CRACK.

He dropped like a sack of stolen money, gaspin’ and clawing at his neck, eyes wide like he’d just been jumped by karma.

The Virgin gasped—but stayed still. Smart girl. She ain’t flinch, just watched, like she’d seen worse and was curious about how far I’d go.

Guns cocked all around me. Security moved fast, weapons drawn, bodies tense. Red dots found my chest, my forehead, my heart.

I didn’t move.

Didn’t blink.

Just lit another joint.

Then, like the dramatic bastard he is, Boaz reappeared—arms wide, voice booming.

“Whoa, whoa, WHOA! Lower your fuckin’ guns!”

Everyone froze.

He jogged over, real frantic, but still lookin’ polished.

“Jesus, Avi, you goddamn idiot,” he snapped, looking down at his son gagging on the ground. “What did you do?” He knew his son deserved whatever had happened to him.

Avi wheezed, nodded, eyes watery.

Boaz groaned. “JoJo help Avi! What happened?”

“He wanted to say nigger, so I showed him what the consequences were.”

Then he turned to me, hands up in apology. “Riot, my deepest regrets. I swear, I didn’t raise him like that.”

I deadpanned, blowing smoke out the side of my mouth. “Nah, but you let him live this long, so…”

Boaz laughed too hard, like we were old friends. “Fair. Very fair.”

I looked at Avi, still gasping.

The guards finally lowered their guns.

The Virgin stepped forward, quietly collected my glass, her fingers brushing mine for just a second longer than needed.

I didn’t look at her.

But I felt her watching.

And I knew right then, I had to get her out.