Page 50

ALLURE

I hadn’t slept.

I’d curled up on the edge of my aunt’s pullout couch, wrapped in a blanket that smelled like lavender and nostalgia, trying to quiet the war in my chest. But nothing dulled the ache.

Not the darkness.

Not the silence.

Not even the way my mother gently rubbed my back until I dozed off for maybe an hour, if that.

I was hollow. Not empty. Just cracked wide open in places I hadn’t known could split.

Riot killed my father.

It didn’t matter that I hadn’t seen him in years. It didn’t matter that he had secrets and shadows and sins I hadn’t fully uncovered. He was still mine. My blood. My origin story. And Riot had put a bullet in his head like he was just another problem to solve.

The worst part?

It had happened before I ever met him. Before I ever looked into his eyes and saw something I thought was mine. Which meant everything we’d built—all the trust, the protection, the possessive way he claimed me—had been a house built on bones.

And I couldn’t stop loving him.

That was the sickness of it. The humiliation of it.

I hated what he did. But I couldn’t unfeel what I felt.

And now I was stuck between two men I didn’t fully know. One buried. One burning.

When the morning sun finally cut through the blinds and my mother called out, “Baby, coffee’s hot,” I peeled myself out of the blanket like a ghost learning how to move again.

The kitchen smelled like comfort. Pancakes, bacon, eggs cooked just right. My aunt always had a way of making food feel like medicine. I slid into the seat at the small round table, grateful for something solid beneath me.

“You look tired,” my aunt said, pouring syrup onto the pancakes.

I shrugged. “Didn’t sleep much.”

“You want to talk about it?” my mom asked.

“No.”

She nodded like she expected that.

We ate in silence for a bit. Them filling their plates, chatting softly about what was on television, and what new hairstyles they were thinking of getting next. I barely touched my food. The room felt too loud and too soft at the same time. Like a lullaby with teeth.

And then I saw it.

A thick leather-bound photo album sitting on the bookshelf near the window. It hadn’t been there the night before. Or maybe it had, and I just hadn’t noticed. But something about it called to me.

I stood, walked over slowly, and pulled it down.

The cover was worn, the corners slightly frayed. I sat back down and opened it carefully, page by page. My mother and aunt watched, but didn’t say a word.

There were pictures of cookouts and birthdays. My father holding a plate of ribs in one, smiling wide, his gold tooth catching the sun. My brother Carmelo standing next to him in another, arms crossed, teenage defiance written all over his face.

And then I turned to a page that stopped my heart cold.

There he was.

The man who’d been dying at the vineyard. The one who’d whispered my name with blood in his mouth and fear in his eyes.

His arm was slung around Carmelo in the photo. They were younger, both wearing matching fitted caps and t-shirts that screamed some forgotten crew name. His smile was lopsided. That same scar on his cheek. That same haunted look in his eyes, even back then.

I blinked, leaned closer.

Keontay.

In a flash the memories came back to me. That was my brother’s best friend before I was kidnapped. Years of living in that basement made me forget all about him.

And now he was dead. On Riot’s land. After trying to kill him.

Then it hit me. My brother knew I was there because he had something to do with the shooting.

“Oh my God,” I whispered.

I closed the album, chest tight.

It wasn’t Boaz.

It was my brother .

The vineyard attack—the flanking, the timing, the shooters, the way it felt like it came from within the community rather than some foreign hit squad… it all made sense now. Boaz didn’t hire those men.

Carmelo did.

That’s how he knew I was there.

He sent his people into Riot’s home turf like it was war. Probably because he knows that Riot killed our father. How did he know?

I sat back, my hands trembling as the weight of it hit me.

My brother had orchestrated the hit.

“You okay, baby?” my mother asked.

I nodded too quickly. “Yeah. Just… memories.”

But my hands wouldn’t stop shaking. I got up, walked into the hallway, and closed the door behind me.

I pressed my back to the wall and slid down to the floor.

I didn’t know what to do.

Carmelo was blood. He’d been there before Riot. He was family.

But Riot…

Riot had loved me through my broken. He’d risked everything to keep me safe. He’d held me when I was shaking and made me feel like maybe I was worth something after all.

Betraying my family would destroy everything I came from.

But betraying Riot?

That might destroy everything I’d become.

I buried my face in my hands.

There was no winning here.

Only choosing who I was willing to lose.

And for the first time in a long time, I realized I didn’t want to be a victim of other people’s choices anymore.

I wanted to make my own.

I stayed there on the floor for what felt like forever, trying to breathe through the storm. I wasn’t crying, not yet. It was like my body was waiting for confirmation that the pain was real before it let me break.

Then I heard them.

Their voices were soft at first, barely audible through the cracked door. But something in the tone made my ears sharpen, my back go rigid.

“Anita,” my aunt said, her voice low but firm. “You need to tell her.”

“I can’t,” my mother whispered. “She’s already been through so much. I can’t put that on her too.”

“She deserves to know the truth.”

“I know but I can’t. I’m so ashamed.”

“You should be!”

“She thinks she was kidnapped…”

There was a long pause. My breath hitched.

“You and I both know that’s a lie,” my aunt snapped.

“Lionel is the reason she went missing. Him and his damn gambling problem. He owed money. He sold her. Just like that. And he never looked back. And then her brother set the whole thing up. He knew when she was leaving the school and would be walking home. Your father promised him the thrown for throwing his little sister underneath the bus. She deserves the truth.”

The silence that followed was louder than a scream.

I sat there, frozen, my hands gripping the fabric of my pajama pants like they were the only thing keeping me tethered to the floor.

Sold me?

No.

No. That couldn’t be?—

“You think I don’t carry guilt every day for letting that man near her?

” my mother said, her voice cracking. “I should’ve stopped it.

But we owe so much money and the business was crumbling.

I was too busy trying to keep the lights on and keep him from getting killed in the street.

And when she disappeared…” She choked back a sob.

“Lionel said she ran away. That Boaz took her to scare him. That she’d come back. ”

“But he knew she wouldn’t,” my aunt said softly. “Because he made the deal himself. And you eventually realized that and still stayed with that man! I was a glad when they found his bloated body for what he did to my niece!”

That was it.

I shoved the door open so fast it slammed against the wall. My mother jumped, eyes wide. My aunt’s mouth dropped open, mid-sentence.

“You lied to me,” I said, voice shaking. “All this time, you fucking lied to me.”

“Allure—baby?—”

“Don’t,” I snapped, holding up a hand. “Don’t you dare. You sat next to me, rubbed my back, made me breakfast—like you weren’t sitting on a bomb. I’ve been gone all this time! And that’s why you didn’t look for me because you let my father sell me!”

My mother’s face crumpled. “I was trying to protect you.”

I laughed, bitter and sharp. “From the truth? Or from hating him? Or from hating you ?”

Tears spilled down her cheeks. “I didn’t know how to tell you. I didn’t know how to say the man you loved—the man you cried over—put you in that hell.”

“Say it now,” I demanded. “Say it out loud.”

She looked at me, trembling. “He sold you. To cover a debt.”

I nodded slowly. The floor tilted beneath me.

“Thank you,” I said, voice cold.

And then I turned and walked out.

My aunt called after me, but I didn’t stop. I didn’t look back. I didn’t want their grief or their guilt. I didn’t want to hear any more lies. I wanted truth.

I needed to get out of that house before I tore it apart.

I stepped into the sunlit street, the morning sharp against my skin, and just stood there for a second, breathing in the air like it could cleanse me.

He sold me.

All this time I carried my father in a sacred place. My origin story. My blood.

But he was just a coward with a gambling problem and a price tag on his daughter’s life. And my family was complicit.

And Riot?

Riot ended that man.

I should’ve hated him for it.

But now?

I felt clean. Lighter.

Because maybe I hadn’t lost a father.

Maybe I’d been freed from a lie.

And for that... I owed Riot everything.

Even an apology.