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RIOT

I used to wake up bracing for blood. Now I wake up to a kid drooling on my chest and a woman curled around my future.

For the past few weeks, my mornings started with ghosts; Silas, Havoc, my mother, Madeira.

Blood on the floor. Regret in my throat.

Violence still echoing in the bones I hadn't stopped breaking since I was fifteen.

But not today.

Today, I woke up with a toddler snoring on my chest and a woman curled into my side with my name still soft on her lips.

Jasir’s little fist was balled up right under my jaw, his curls wild and tangled like he fought dragons in his sleep.

And Allure—my fucking miracle—was still knocked out beside me, hand resting on the place where my child was growing inside her.

My child.

Man, I used to think I didn’t deserve shit but blood and bruises. But here I am. Breathing easier. Not whole, but healing. Trying.

Yesterday, I buried my mother and Madeira.

Carried the caskets with Creed and other family members.

Lowered them down with my own hands. Said words I didn’t know I had in me.

My mother, flawed as hell, fierce as hell, deserved to go out with dignity.

Madeira? She died protectin’ what mattered to me.

My aunt was lovely. She was more than a house manager.

She was family. I owed her more than flowers.

I still ain’t cried for real. Not since the day I broke down in front Allure. That shit will never happen again. It was like my body put all that grief on layaway. Said, later, nigga. You got shit to do now.

And that’s true. I got Jasir now. A baby who don’t know the world he was born into, who’s seen more in one year than most people do in a lifetime. He needs peace. Love. Stability.

And I got a baby on the way. Mine and Allure’s.

When she told me I was right, that she really was pregnant, I didn’t even feel panic. I felt… clear. Like for the first time, I knew exactly what the fuck I wanted. A family. A future. I didn’t want to kill or hunt or bleed for anything anymore. I just wanted to build.

We got a long road ahead, no doubt. Trauma don’t just disappear. But we both clawed our way out of hell. And we made it to each other.

Now I just gotta stay free long enough to enjoy it.

I pulled myself out of bed quietly, careful not to wake either of them.

Made a bottle for Jasir just in case. Threw on some black slacks, a crisp shirt, gold watch.

Something about wearing a suit to your mother’s will reading feels biblical.

Like you’re walking into a room to receive commandments from the dead.

Creed texted me:

“On the way. You good?”

I stared at the screen for a second.

“Yeah.”

That was all I could say.

We were meeting the lawyer at 9:00am. Some old family friend my mother trusted with her secrets and her money. Mama had a will since we were little. She’s always been meticulous, especially because she couldn’t trust our father.

I looked around the brownstone. Toys scattered. Dishes in the sink. A new bassinet Creed had ordered sitting half-assembled in the corner. This wasn’t the life I expected, but it was the life I wanted. I felt it in my chest. In my bones.

And that scared the fuck outta me.

Because good things don’t stick around long when you come from where I come from.

You get five minutes of sunlight, then the storm returns twice as hard.

So yeah, I’m happy. But I’m also waiting.

For the other shoe. For the next betrayal.

For the universe to snatch this joy back like it always does.

But I’ll fight for it this time.

I’ll fight for Allure. For our kid. For Jasir. For myself.

Creed buzzed me from the street. I grabbed my keys, kissed Allure on the forehead, whispered, “I’ll be back,” and walked out to meet him.

We pulled up to a brownstone-turned-law office in Midtown. Quiet. Unassuming. But I felt the weight of it before we even got out the car. Creed killed the engine. Neither of us moved.

“You ready?” he asked.

“No,” I said honestly. “But let’s go.”

The hallway inside smelled like old books and new money. Everything was polished, mahogany trim, stained glass transoms, brass fixtures that didn’t even have fingerprints. This was the kind of office you brought family business to when you didn’t trust family.

The lawyer, an older Black woman named Denise Langston, greeted us with a soft smile and open arms.

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” she said, her voice smooth like warm tea. “Your mother loved you boys something fierce. Said it every time we met.”

Her hug was solid, grounding, like a bridge back to Mama.

She guided us into a private office with dark wood walls, fresh lilies in a vase, and a silver tray of water and tea. Everything about the space was deliberate, respectful. Reverent.

“I know this isn’t easy,” she said as we sat. “But your mother was thorough. And she wanted this done right.”

She pulled out a folder and adjusted her glasses.

“Before I give you her personal letter, I want to go over the official terms of her will.”

We nodded, bracing.

“Tessa’s shares in King Security and Logistics are to be handed over in full to Abra King.”

That made sense, since Abra was her right hand man. Or woman rather.

“She trusted her,” Denise added. “Said Abra had vision, loyalty, and no thirst for power. She wanted the company in steady hands.”

She turned another page.

“Ninety percent of her estate is being donated to charitable foundations and organizations that help abused women, foster youth, and trafficking survivors.”

She was trying to make up for the damage that Silas had caused. I didn’t care about her not leaving us any money. We had the company still and will be making more money in the future. If she had left us her cash, I would’ve donated it anyway.

“And the last ten percent,” Denise continued, her tone softening, “is going to her son, Cannon Price.”

Silence cracked open between us.

Creed’s head snapped toward her. I just stared.

“She left you both a letter,” Denise said gently, placing the thick, folded envelope on the desk. “Tessa wanted you to hear it in her words.”

“My sons,

If you're reading this, then I’m gone. And I’m trusting you both to hold what I’m about to tell you with care.

Many years ago, after your father betrayed me with one of his mistresses, I stepped out too. It wasn’t love. It was revenge. And it gave me something I didn’t expect.

A baby.

I didn’t keep him. I couldn’t. I sent you both to Atlanta for a summer, gave birth in secret, and placed him for adoption through a closed agency. I thought it was the right thing.

But life has a cruel way of circling back.

A few years ago, I found out Silas kept tabs on him. Not only that, he set him up. Had him arrested after learning he’d joined a rival crew. He used his connections to make sure he stayed locked up.

His name is Cannon Price.

He’s your brother.

And I am asking you, from the deepest part of my soul, to protect him.

Find him. Help him. He’s blood. And I need to know that you’ll take care of what I couldn’t.”

The air in the room went still.

Like the world paused. Like time folded in on itself and dumped us into another reality.

Creed sat back, that paper trembling now in his hands. “Another brother,” he whispered, more to himself than me.

I didn’t say anything right away. Couldn’t.

My mind was caught in a slow-motion slide. Mama. Silas. A baby. Given away. Buried truth under years of silence. And Cannon... locked up like an animal for something our father orchestrated?

I didn’t even know what part hurt worse, that he existed, that she didn’t tell us, or that Silas had done that to hurt her.

And somehow, I knew Mama had been holding this for years. Carrying it around like a stone in her gut. And now that she was gone, she was handing it to us. Not just to know. But to fix.

“Where is he?” I finally asked, my voice rough like gravel.

Denise reached into her drawer and handed over a manila folder.

“Greene Correctional in Maryland. Been there going on five years. In and out of solitary. Refuses most visits. Doesn’t speak much to the staff. But he’s sharp. Angry, but not reckless. Smart enough to stay alive in there.”

I flipped open the folder and saw his face.

Cannon Price.

My brother.

He looked like light skinned blue eyed version of us.

Did Mama cheat on Silas with a white man?

He looked rugged but he had familiar features.

Not just in the nose or the shape of his jaw, but in the eyes.

Same haunted stare. Same battle-born stillness.

A man who’d survived things he never asked for.

Creed leaned over and studied the file. “Where in the hell do we even begin with this?”

“We show up. We tell him who we are. And we let him tell us the rest.”

Creed turned toward me, brow furrowed. “You think he’ll want anything to do with us?”

I shrugged. “Maybe not. But Mama asked us to protect him. That’s what we’re gonna do.”

I folded the letter again, tucking it back into the envelope like it was a sacred thing.

Because in a way, it was.

This wasn’t just about blood anymore. This was about redemption. About righting what Silas poisoned. About fulfilling the last thing my mother ever asked me to do.

We’d buried her yesterday.

Today?

We dig up a brother.