Page 58

ALLURE

I stood near the window looking outside as the sun was beginning to rise. I hadn’t gotten much sleep last night because I was so worried about Riot. So much had happened and I wondered when would we be finally free of it all.

I had on one of his oversized hoodies and a pair of his sweatpants. Something about wearing his clothes made me feel closer to him. My phone was in my palm, screen dim, call long ended. But his voice wouldn’t stop echoing in my head.

He told me about Madeira being found dead. About watching Havoc shoot his mother in the head. About his father had touched Havoc and made him into this monster he was.

He told me all about Mimi, Havoc and their son, Jason.

A baby born out of bitterness. A child conceived in revenge. Riot had spoken it all over the phone like his throat was made of broken glass.

Mimi was Malia’s sister.

That part hit me hardest.

It made everything make sense and made everything hurt more. Malia wasn’t just some girl Riot had once loved and lost. She was the beginning of his undoing. And now her bloodline had looped back around to finish what she started.

I stared out the window, watching the early dawn try to paint the world soft again. But softness didn’t live here anymore. Not after this. Not after tonight.

I wanted to cry. For him. For them. For what was coming.

But I couldn’t afford to. He needed something solid to come home to, and right now, that had to be me.

When the door finally creaked open, it was so quiet I almost didn’t hear it. I turned, slow. Heart already in my throat.

And there he was.

My baby, but he wasn’t the man who had left.

He looked like a ghost of himself. Same walk. Same eyes. But they were glassy, haunted. His shoulders sagged like he was holding up the sky.

He stepped inside, closed the door behind him, and just stood there, hands hanging at his sides, chest heaving like he’d been running for miles. Or years.

I stood too, legs shaking, but I held my ground.

I didn’t say a word.

I just opened my arms.

And when he collapsed into me, it was like watching a skyscraper crumble in slow motion.

Riot, who never bowed, never broke, dropped to his knees and shattered against me. His sobs were guttural, raw, terrifying. The sound of a man grieving too many things all at once. His mother. His cousin. His past. His future.

I cradled his head to my chest, rocking him like I imagined his mother might’ve when he was small. Stroking the nape of his neck, whispering things I didn’t even know I was saying.

“I got you,” I murmured. “Let it out. Just let it out.”

My hoodie was soaked through by the time he pulled away. He wiped his face with the back of his hand, jaw hardening again like he was stitching himself back together with rage.

And then he said it.

“Yo, if you tell anyone that I was crying, I will kill you.” We both erupted into laughter

“What the fuck. I ain’t cried since the doctor slapped my ass. In fact, Mama used to tell the story that he had to hit me more than once to get me holler.”

“Your secret is safe with me.”

“It better be,” he replied.

“I’m so sorry about it all. But it’s over. We can put the pieces back together now.”

“This shit ain’t over. I gotta kill Mimi and that baby.”

“What?” I asked. I was shocked that he would say something like that. Would he really do that?

He got to his feet, pacing now, the floor groaning beneath his boots.

“If I don’t handle it now, he’ll grow up and try to get revenge.

Mimi ain’t gon stop. When I killed Malia, Mimi was only about 8 or 9 years old.

She’s harbored this hatred for this long.

Her son will too. If I kill him now… I stop the cycle. ”

“No,” I said. “Not this time. We don’t take a child’s life to punish their parents. He can be redeemed.”

His lips parted to protest, but I cut him off.

“We can raise him. Together. And we can teach him differently.”

His brows knitted. “You don’t understand?—”

“I do,” I said, louder now. “But the violence has to end. And right now he’s an innocent baby. Please think about it.”

He stared at me like I was asking him to hold fire with bare hands.

Then he broke.

Again.

Not into tears this time but into silence. That dangerous kind of silence where thoughts war with instincts and you don’t know which one’s gonna win.

“I don’t know if I can do that,” he whispered. “I don’t know if I got that in me.”

I stepped in close, took his hand, and laid it flat over my chest again. Let him feel the steady beat beneath my ribs.

“You don’t have to do it alone.”

He didn’t say yes.

He didn’t say no.

But he didn’t walk away.

And for Riot King, that was everything.

Because maybe, just maybe, the legacy didn’t have to end in blood.

Maybe this time, it could begin in love.