Page 60

ALLURE

The scent of rosemary and roasted garlic hung heavy in the air, dancing with the sound of Beyonce’s Renaissance album and Irina’s laughter. It was the first time I’d heard her laugh since her birthday night before I ran off.

We were sitting cross-legged on the plush rug, wine glasses in hand, bowls of pasta cooling in our laps. Candlelight shimmered off the rim of her glass as she wiped her cheek with the back of her hand.

“He’s alive,” she whispered again, like the words alone were a prayer. “Rollo’s alive.”

Her voice broke, and she dropped her head into her hands, letting the sobs come this time. No shame, no apology. Just raw, grateful weeping.

“I thought he was dead,” she choked out. “He was down there, Allure. In that fucking basement. Thank God Havoc didn’t finish the job.”

I leaned in, my hand resting on her thigh, squeezing gently. “He’s in the hospital now. Safe. Healing. I’m so glad they found him.”

She nodded, eyes shining, face flushed from the wine and emotion. “I just… I needed one good thing. One person I didn’t lose. I was about to be all alone.”

We sat like that a while, letting the warmth of the food and each other settle in. She finished her bowl, wiped her face clean, and stood.

“I’m going to him,” she said, grabbing her coat and sliding her phone into her pocket. “I need to see him with my own eyes.”

“Do you want me to come with you,” I offered.

“No,” she smiled softly. “I want this to be just me. Just us.”

I nodded. “Text me when you’re there.”

She blew me a kiss and disappeared into the hallway, the door clicking shut behind her.

I cleaned up slowly, the quiet settling over the brownstone like a thick blanket. My body moved on autopilot, rinsing dishes, wiping counters, folding the blanket Irina had been wrapped in. But my mind was back with Riot. Wondering if he was okay. How was Jason?

It was past midnight when I heard the door open. I didn’t even realize I was holding my breath until it rushed out of me like steam from a kettle.

Riot stepped in, looking like he hadn’t slept in three days. His jaw was tight, his shoulders tense, but his eyes found mine immediately. And in his arms, clutching a lion by the ear, was Jasir.

Alive.

Safe.

His curls were tousled. His eyes sticky with sleep. He looked up at me, eyes wide, unsure.

I dropped everything and walked over slowly, crouching in front of them.

“Hi, baby,” I said softly. “You hungry?”

He nodded. Riot handed him over like he weighed the world, and I scooped him into my arms, holding him close. His little hand rested against my chest like he belonged there.

“You did it,” I said, looking up at Riot.

He ran a hand down his face, voice gravel. “Yeah.”

“I’m proud of you.”

His eyes glistened, just a flash, and he looked away.

I warmed up leftovers and fed Jasir spoonfuls of pasta while he clumsily sipped from a water bottle.

Then I gave him a bath, the bathroom echoing with soft splashes and the scent of lavender soap.

He barely made it through towel-drying before crashing into the bed I’d made for him in the guest room.

I kissed his forehead, tucked in his lion beside him, and turned off the light.

I didn’t know much about taking care of kids but I had taken care of the women in Boaz’s basement. I was willing to learn and show this baby boy all the love he wasn’t going to receive from two bitter parents.

I knew that the decision to keep Havoc and Mimi’s son alive was hard for Riot. But I was glad he made the right choice. He was growing as a man and I was proud to be apart of that grow with him.

When I came back out, Riot was standing at the window, shirt off, city lights casting shadows over the scars on his back.I didn’t say anything. Just walked up behind him, wrapped my arms around his waist, and pressed my cheek to his spine.

He turned slowly, curling around me like I was the only thing keeping him from falling apart. He kissed me, slow, deep, and searching. Like he needed to taste something real.

His nose brushed my cheek, then he inhaled deeply against my neck.

“I knew it,” he whispered.

I pulled back, brows furrowed. “Knew what?”

“You’re pregnant.”

I froze.

“What?”

He looked down at me with a rare softness. “I can smell it. It’s familiar sweet smell. Your body’s changing. I could feel it when I kissed you.”

My heart thundered. I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe.

“Say something,” he murmured.

I blinked. “Are you sure?”

He nodded. “It’s faint, but yeah. You’re carryin’ my child.”

I had always had irregular periods because of my PCOS. I was late but I just figured all of the stress of everything was getting to me.

But just like that, everything I was holding in broke free. The fear. The hope. The impossible bloom of love that felt too dangerous to speak out loud.

I buried my face in his chest and cried.

Not from sadness.

From everything.

From the terrifying beauty of building something new… after everything that tried to destroy us.

He held me while I shook, his hands gentle on my back, fingertips tracing soothing circles. When my breathing steadied, he tilted my chin up, thumb brushing away the tears.

"You scared?" he asked, voice low.

"Terrified," I admitted.

"Me too." His confession hung between us, raw and honest. Then his mouth found mine again, hungrier this time, like he needed to claim something before the world could take it away.

I melted into him, my hands sliding up his chest, feeling every ridge of muscle, every scar that told a story I was still learning. He lifted me easily, carrying me to our bedroom, kicking the door shut behind us.

The moonlight painted silver across the sheets as he laid me down, his eyes never leaving mine. There was something different in the way he touched me now - reverent, like I was made of something precious.

"Let me see you," he whispered.

I sat up, pulling my shirt over my head, unhooking my bra. His breath caught as his gaze traveled over me, lingering on my stomach where our future was already growing.

"Beautiful," he murmured, kneeling between my legs. His lips pressed against my belly, a promise sealed with a kiss. "Both of you."

His mouth traveled lower, hands working at my jeans, peeling them away along with everything else until I was bare beneath him. The cool air kissed my skin, but his touch burned hot, fingers tracing patterns that made me arch and gasp.

"Riot," I breathed, reaching for him.

He shed the rest of his clothes, the streetlight catching the ink that decorated his skin, the muscle that rippled with every movement. When he covered my body with his, it felt like coming home.

We moved together slowly, savoring every touch, every kiss, every whispered word. His hands cradled my face as he entered me, both of us shuddering at the connection. This wasn't just sex - it was communion, a sacred thing between two people who'd walked through hell and chosen each other anyway.

"I love you," I gasped against his mouth, the words spilling out unbidden.

He stilled for a moment, eyes searching mine in the darkness. Then he kissed me deep, hips rolling in a rhythm that made stars burst behind my eyelids.

"Say it again," he commanded softly.

"I love you, Riot. I love you."

His control snapped. He gripped my hips, angling deeper, each thrust a vow, each moan a prayer. I wrapped my legs around him, nails digging into his back, holding on as we chased that edge together.

When we fell, we fell as one, my name on his lips, his name on mine, bodies trembling with the force of it.

After, we lay tangled in the sheets, his hand splayed protectively over my stomach. The city hummed outside our window, but in here, in this moment, we were the only two people in the world.

"A baby," he said quietly, wonder creeping into his voice. "Our baby."

"Are you happy?" I asked, suddenly needing to know.

He was quiet for so long I thought he might not answer. Then he pressed his lips to my shoulder.

"I never thought I'd get this," he said. "A family. Something good. Something mine." His arms tightened around me. "Yeah, baby. I'm happy. Scared as fuck, but happy."

I turned in his arms, studying his face in the dim light. For once, all his walls were down. I saw the boy he must have been before the streets claimed him, before violence became his language. I saw the man he was becoming, for me, for Jasir, for this child growing inside me.

"We're going to figure it out," I promised. "All of it."

He nodded, pulling me closer. "Together."

"Together."

We stayed awake talking in whispers about names, about the future, about fears we'd never voiced before. By the time sleep finally claimed us, the first hints of dawn were creeping across the sky, painting everything in shades of possibility.