Page 42

RIOT

We got home just after midnight.

Creed and Sloane peeled off in his Benz, quiet and heavy with everything unsaid. Allure stayed close to me the whole ride, didn’t ask questions, didn’t offer false hope. She just sat there, her hand on my thigh like it was holding the pieces of me together.

I didn’t say shit when we walked in the door. Just locked it behind us, dropped my keys on the console, and pulled her into my chest.

I didn’t realize I’d been holding my breath until I felt her against me. Something in her scent smoothed out the rage in my blood.

She tilted her head, eyes searching mine.

“You okay?” she asked softly.

No. Not even close.

But I wasn’t gonna bleed all over her with words. I just needed the kind of silence only she could give me. The kind that felt like home.

I walked her backward to the bedroom without a sound. And she followed, just like that. Trusting me to lead. Trusting me to need her without having to explain how or why.

Once we were inside, I sat on the edge of the bed, hands hanging between my knees. I didn’t even take off my boots yet. My mind was still back there—Saint Michael’s, the pale look on the doc’s face, the thought of chemo and rust lining those halls.

Allure knelt between my legs without a word.

I looked down, and she was already tugging at my belt, slow, steady. Her eyes stayed locked on mine the whole time. Not a single flicker of hesitation. Just heat. Purpose.

When she freed me, I hissed. My dick was already heavy for her, half from grief, half from how she looked right now, kneeling like I was something holy and she was about to worship.

“Baby…” I started, but the words choked off when her lips wrapped around the head, tongue flicking with this soft little swirl that made my eyes roll back.

F**k.

Her mouth was wet and hot, moving slow like she was memorizing every inch. I braced a hand on the back of her head, fingers tangled in all that soft-ass hair, not forcing her down, just anchoring myself to the only thing in this godforsaken world that made sense.

Allure didn’t rush. She sucked me like she had time. Like this was how she wanted to pray.

When I finally groaned her name, she moaned back around my length, and it damn near took me out.

I pulled her up, kissed her deep, tasted myself on her tongue, and carried her to the bed.

We didn’t rip clothes off. We peeled them slow.

I laid her out like a canvas and painted every inch with my mouth—her thighs, her hips, the underside of her tits. She shivered and clutched my shoulders like she’d fall apart if I stopped.

“I love you,” I said into her skin.

She froze, then looked up at me with eyes full of something that felt like forever.

“I love you too.”

Those words cracked something open in me.

I slid into her slow, deep, until our bodies didn’t know where one ended and the other began. We moved together, no urgency, just this quiet ache between us, like we were rewriting every story our pain had ever told.

It wasn’t about coming. It wasn’t even about fucking.

It was about being seen.

Being chosen.

Being held through the storm and still wanting more.

Afterward, she curled up against me, her breath soft against my chest. I wrapped my arms around her and closed my eyes, and for the first time in a long-ass time...

I slept.

No dreams.

No ghosts.

Just her.

And that was enough.

The sunlight creeping through the blinds didn’t even faze me. I woke up before it touched the sheets. Still in that calm, rare space where my chest wasn’t tight and my fists weren’t clenched.

She’d done that. Allure.

But the peace didn’t last long.

By the time I’d made my second espresso and lit a blunt, my phone rang.

Unknown number, but I knew the area code. Saint Michael’s.

“Yeah,” I answered, already feeling my back stiffen.

“Mr. King,” a voice said, clipped and tight. “This is Dr. Weiss, we spoke briefly yesterday. I’m calling with preliminary results from your mother’s scans and bloodwork.”

I didn’t sit down. Just paced.

“Go ahead.”

“You were correct. There’s a mass in her left lung, about four centimeters. It’s malignant. The biopsy confirmed it’s late-stage adenocarcinoma. But… there’s more.”

“More?”

“There’s evidence of chronic lead poisoning in her blood. Her levels are extremely elevated, consistent with long-term exposure.”

I stopped pacing. The blunt went limp between my fingers.

“Lead?”

“Yes. We’re not sure of the source yet, but given her age and her symptoms, it’s likely environmental. Paint, water supply, possibly the soil. Has she lived in an older property long-term?”

I exhaled slow through my nose. “Yeah. Same mansion for over 20 years.”

Dr. Weiss sighed. “You may want to test the home. We’re seeing signs of neurotoxicity too. The memory lapses, paranoia, confusion, those aren’t just from the cancer. She’s been slowly poisoned, Mr. King. For years.”

Everything in me went still.

I knew that house was a coffin, but I didn’t know it was literally killing her.

“Thanks for the call,” I muttered, and hung up.

My jaw flexed hard as I stood there, phone still in my hand. Lead poisoning. Motherfucking lead. All this time I thought it was just the weight of grief and age breaking her down. But the house... the house was a silent killer. Slow, patient, cruel.

And now she had cancer on top of it.

I didn’t hesitate. I called Madeira, my house manager and aunt, and gave her the rundown.

“She can’t stay in that house another night,” I said.

“I want her moved into the north wing on my compound. Have her room prepped, sanitized, everything hypoallergenic. Get a private nurse—one that can deal with oncology. And call Von. I want the house tested—walls, pipes, paint, soil. I want a hazmat report by the end of the week. If that place is poisoning people, I need to know what else is buried in the bones of it.”

“I can’t believe my sister has cancer.” Madeira said. “But we’ll take care of everything.”

“Yeah we gotta fix this.”

“We will. I’ll call you if I need anything.”

I hung up and stared out the window, heart pounding with something bigger than rage.

This wasn’t just about my mothera being sick.

Somebody built a cage for her and painted it pretty.

And now that shit was falling apart.

But if that house did this to my mother...

I was gonna tear it down brick by goddamn brick.