Page 28

RIOT

By the time I got back to the compound, the storm had stopped.

I was feeling excited about the potential of King’s Vine.

I pulled into the gate, cut the engine, and sat for a second, letting the quiet settle.

My head was still buzzing from the meeting with Abra and the latest updates from Creed, but none of that mattered now.

Not once I stepped inside and saw her.

Allure met me at the door, barefoot, in one of those little fitted tank dresses that hugged every curve like it was stitched to her skin. Her hair was out, wild and full like a halo made of night. The second she saw me, she smiled like I was exactly who she needed.

Then she kissed me.

Not shy. Not tentative. She leaned into me like she’d been waiting all day. My arms went around her before I could think twice, hands sliding down to grip the round of her ass as I pulled her close. Her mouth was warm, her tongue teasing mine like she was trying to drive me crazy on purpose.

And it was working.

She broke the kiss first, her breath shaky against my lips. “I need to get out of here.”

What the fuck did she mean by that? “Out?”

She nodded, stepping back just a little. “This place… it’s beautiful, Riot. But it’s starting to feel like a prettier version of Boaz’s compound. The gates, the security, the cages, it’s all a little too familiar.”

That hit me in the gut harder than I expected. I’d brought her here thinking it would be a sanctuary. A fortress. A place where nobody could get to her. But I hadn’t stopped to think about how the structure itself might remind her of everything she’d just escaped.

“I didn’t mean to trap you,” I said quietly, guilt creeping in. “I thought I was protecting you.”

“I know,” she said. “And I’m grateful. But I need air. Streets. People. Life. Just for a bit.”

I nodded slowly, already making the shift in my mind. “What about Harlem?”

Her eyes lit up. “That sounds perfect. That’s exactly what I’m looking for. It’s the complete opposite of this.”

I smirked. “Good. I got a brownstone there. I think you’ll like it. And you’ll be in the heart of everything.”

She smile softly, her body easing just a little. “That’s exactly what I want.”

“Go pack your bags,” I told her, voice dropping. “We’ll leave in twenty.”

She didn’t need to be told twice.

I watched her disappear down the hall and turned away, jaw clenched.

I hadn’t meant to trigger her, but the truth was, I still had that soldier’s mentality.

Lock it down. Control the perimeter. Eliminate threats.

It’s how I stayed alive. But she didn’t need a bodyguard with guns anymore. She needed freedom. Healing. Breath.

And damn it, I wanted to give her all of that.

She changed into leggings and a hoodie, something soft and simple, but even that had me looking twice. Her ass swayed when she walked. Her lips were full and kissable. I had to keep checking myself, reminding my dick that now wasn’t the time to get us in trouble.

Still, the air between us stayed hot.

In the car, she fiddled with her phone, but kept glancing over at me. I could feel the heat building again, that silent tension threading through the quiet. We were damn near vibrating with it. Every touch was charged. Every glance pulled deeper.

She was soft, but she wasn’t weak.

And I was learning quickly that she could flip a switch in me like nobody else.

I wasn’t just lusting after her.

I was fucking hooked.

By the time we hit Harlem exit, I reached over and took her hand, lacing our fingers together.

She didn’t pull away. Just looked at me with those wide eyes.

There was an innocence but something more hiding behind them.

There was a fire that I wanted to stoke.

I wanted her to burn brighter than she ever did.

I hated that Boaz tried to stomp our light.

Yeah. I was in deep.

And this time, I wasn’t scared of drowning.

Finally we arrived at my brownstone. It was one of the first things I purchased when I got my own money back when I was 18.

I bought it because Malia said she always loved Brownstones and I wanted to treat her.

After what happened between us, I decided not to sell it but I never lived in it.

I rented it for a while but my last tenants just moved out.

When we walked in, I looked around and took it all in. I hadn’t put much thought into the decor in the spot. It was pretty basic. I rarely spent time here. I was either at my mansion in Jersey or in my penthouse in the city.

“This is nice but it’s not you at all,” she said as she looked around.

“I know I never lived here so it hasn’t been decorated. If you’d like, you could set it up anyway you want,” I respond.

“I think I might like that. It needs some color. I hate drab, sterile homes.”

“Yeah, I feel you. Put your magic touch on it.”

“I think I will.”

After we put our bags down, we changed clothes for dinner. I threw on a clean black tee and a fresh pair of jeans, kept it simple. Low effort, but I still looked sharp. But when Allure came out of the guest room, the air changed.

She had on low-waisted camouflage cargo pants that hugged her hips like they were designed just for her.

She wore a light green tank top that hugged her double d breasts.

Gold necklaces adorned her neck, matching the bracelets around her wrists.

Her makeup was light — lip gloss and eyeliner.

No effort. Still looked like a fuckin’ billboard.

Like Harlem royalty and rebel spirit wrapped in Rihanna's swagger.

My jaw damn near locked trying not to bite my lip.

She caught me staring and smirked like she knew exactly what she was doing.

We headed out around seven, sliding into the Harlem streets just as they started to buzz for the night.

It wasn’t the Harlem I knew as a kid but it was still full of culture and unapologetic blackness.

It was alive—music bumping from cars, old heads outside in the park arguing about the Knicks like it was '96, kids chasing each other in the street, laughter bouncing off brick walls.

We walked to Sylvia’s because I was craving soul food.

“You ever been here?” I asked her.

“Once with my parents when I was little. You know I mostly grew up on in California though. We moved out here when I was in high school.”

“So you haven’t gotten to see much of Harlem, have you?”

“Nope.”

“Well this is a staple. You’ll like this.”

“I believe you.”

Sylvia’s smelled like heaven. Like deep-fried joy.

Catfish grease, yams, cornbread, and sweet tea—it all hit the second we stepped inside.

We got a booth by the window. The hostess gave Allure the once-over like she was trying to figure out if she was famous.

And honestly? She looked like she could’ve been.

Like she should’ve been. Her deep dark skin was so perfect even without make up.

We sat close. Real close.

I leaned in, let my voice dip low. “Now that you’re free... what do you really want?”

She didn’t answer right away. Played with the corner of her napkin like she was weighing her words.

“I used to want to be a fashion designer,” she said finally.

Her voice was soft, but there was a flicker behind it—like fire under glass.

“Before I was taken… I would sketch all the time. I was gaining some momentum. Girls at my high school were asking me to design their prom dresses.” she paused, exhaling.

“Ten years in white killed all my color. But lately... I’ve been dreaming about it again. I want a fashion legacy.”

I nodded slowly. “You can have it.”

She looked up, lips curling into a soft smile. “You think so?”

“I know so.”

And I meant that shit. I could see it in the way her eyes lit up just talking about it.

After dinner, I didn’t even ask. I just took her to this art supply store a few blocks over.

The second we stepped in, her whole face changed.

Her eyes lit up like Christmas. She started scanning sketch pads, pencils, markers like they were diamonds.

I handed her a basket and told her to go crazy.

She hesitated—just for a second—then started filling it up.

Next stop was a place that sold sewing machines. I told the guy working to give me the best one they had. She tried to argue, said it was too much. I ignored her.

“Consider it an investment,” I told her even though I didn’t want anything in return.

She shook her head but her eyes were shining.

By the time we got back to the brownstone, the bags were heavy and her smile was light. I took the machine upstairs, set it in one of the spare rooms,

“This your space now. You can use it to design. Set it up anyway you’d like. Let Harlem be your inspiration.”

“This is the nicest things someone has done for me. I really do appreciate it.”

Tears welled in her eyes as she looked at everything.

“You gotta go after that shit. I wanna see your designs on the runway in Paris, Milan, NYC. I wanna see your shit all over Vogue. If you don’t pursue this, we gon have a problem,” I spoke with authority.

“Is that a threat?”

“That’s a promise.”

She giggle and nodded. “I’d like to go to that huge fabric store in Manhattan for some fabric tomorrow.”

“Cool, we’ll make it happen.”

She extended her arms for a hug and I felt my dick stiffen. I wanted her so bad but I had to keep my discipline. I couldn’t treat her like those other bitches I was used to. She was worthy of love and respect. I was gonna take my time even if it turned my balls blue.