Page 7

RIOT

I’d been meaning to reach out to Havoc and apologize for how I handled shit at the tailor’s, but my pride wouldn’t let me. That nigga should’ve never talked sideways about my mother. Period. I don’t care how hurt you are—there’s a line. And he crossed it.

I’ll deal with him later. For now there was work, and figuring out how to infiltrate Boaz’s compound.

It was Monday morning, and I was at the company’s office in Midtown. The white artless walls made the place feel too sterile for my taste, but whatever. It’s only been in the recent few months that I’ve been spending so much time here. It used to be that I was out in the field.

I leaned back in my leather chair, a stack of reports spread out in front of me as I combed through the latest financials from the vineyard. The numbers looked solid, but solid wasn’t enough. I wanted the vineyard to be everywhere.

My vision? A summer jazz and wine festival. Big. Elegant. Loud in all the right ways. Something that screamed Black luxury and legacy. But before I could make that happen, I needed to start building the buzz—get some restaurants involved, pull in sponsorships, get the press out to see the property.

First step? An open house.

I was just mapping out some details when the door opened.

Creed stepped in, followed by our cousin Abra.

Abra was technically my mother’s assistant—but that was just the surface.

She ran our acquisitions department like a sniper.

Quiet. Precise. Unshakable. She was the kind of woman who got shit done before you even finished the sentence.

Without her, half of King Logistics and Security would be floating in chaos.

With my mother being out of commission right now, Abra had really stepped up and fulfilled her roll with communicating with the entire board.

Unfortunately she didn’t have a seat on the board yet, but one day we’ll give her a spot.

Creed nodded at me, arms folded across his chest. “You talk to Havoc yet?”

I didn’t look up. “No.”

“You need to.”

“He disrespected Ma.”

Creed sighed, stepping closer to the desk. “I know. But you cracked his jaw in front of everybody. He’s still your brother.”

I gave him a look. “He’s been bitter ever since we took Pops out.”

“And Pops was the most toxic part of this family,” Creed snapped. “He’s gone now. We don’t need to keep carrying his poison. We need unity. A stable front. Especially with how much shit we’re juggling.”

I didn’t say anything. Just nodded once. Creed knew how to push the right pressure points, and unfortunately, he was right.

“Aye, when you get a moment, we need to talk about Boaz. That shit that his son told us about?”

“Yeah, let’s set up a meeting about that shit.

They haven’t found that body yet?” He asked.

We eventually did a clean up and dropped those bodies in the river.

We could’ve disappeared them but I wanted Boaz to feel the sting of losing his perverted ass son and nephew.

I wanted him to crumble before we finally took him out.

“Nope,” I replied.

“Aight. Well fix that shit with Havoc first and we’ll make a move.”He clapped my shoulder and turned to leave.

He walked out, leaving Abra behind.

She raised an eyebrow. “You gonna fix it?”

I exhaled. “Eventually. Let’s talk about the vineyard.”

That shifted her energy instantly. She pulled her phone out, ready to work. “What’s the plan?”

“I want to do a summer jazz and wine festival. Something clean but fly. High-end restaurants, local chefs, press, maybe even some art installations.”

Abra’s eyes lit up. “That’s a smart move. I’ll start tapping into my contacts. We’ll need wine buyers, PR, a few influencers with clean reputations…”

“Yeah. Let’s start with an open house first. Small, selective. I want buzz, not chaos.”

“I got you,” she said, already typing away.

A second later, her phone buzzed. She smiled at the screen, and I raised an eyebrow.

“What? That from a man?”

She laughed. “No. My friend Irina. She’s throwing a party at The Gilded Cage.”

I looked up. “Irina?”

“She’s dating Rollo.”

I smirked. “I know the type of bitches he bags. Can she read? The last bitch had to sound out strawberry on the menu last time.”

“Shut up. She’s cool. Anyway, she’s doing something for her birthday. It’s lowkey. Want to come?” She laughed.

I leaned back. “Only if there’s bitches there.”

She rolled her eyes. “You been all work since everything went down with Silas. You need to come out and breathe for once.”

I didn’t respond right away.

It was true. I hadn’t really stepped out in a while. Killing my father had done something to me. Changed how I moved. I wasn’t out for fun like I used to be. My mind had been on legacy, rebuilding, fixing all the shit Silas left behind. Partying hadn’t been on the agenda.

But The Gilded Cage was a chill spot. Grown and sexy. And if Rollo and Abra were going, it’d be good to catch up.

I nodded. “Yeah. I’ll slide.”

The rest of the day flew by in a storm of meetings, phone calls, and half-assed emails that shouldn’t have made it to my desk in the first place.

I had interns who couldn’t spell “logistics,” department heads asking questions they should’ve had answers to, and two supplier issues with the vineyard that needed to be handled yesterday.

By the time I finally leaned back in my chair and rubbed my temples, my phone buzzed again.

Message from Boaz Haim.

Him: She’s perfect. A true queen. She’s already eating raw like a champ. You got taste, my friend. I’ll need something else from you soon.

I stared at the message for a beat, jaw tight. He was talkin’ about the tiger, but my mind wasn’t on the animal.

It was on her.

The Virgin.

I hadn’t stopped thinking about her since I left that goddamn compound. The way she moved, soft but self-contained. That scent—like something sacred and pure. The way her eyes looked through me like she already knew who I was, what I’d done, and still wasn’t afraid.

She didn’t speak, but somehow she said everything.

And now? She was stuck in that house with a man who collected women like ornaments. A man who wore Versace robes and smelled like cancer and rot.

I had to see her again.

And Boaz gave me an “in”. He needs something else.

I picked up my phone and replied.

Me: What do you need?

Boaz: Am albino Capuchin.

Me: I’ll see what I can do. I need to come by again to check out your land to make sure it’ll be hospitable for them. You might have to get rid of certain plants that can be poisonous and plant new things for the monkey.

I was lying out of my teeth and I was hoping that he didn’t pick up on it. The truth is, I wanted to see much more of his compound. And also see her.

Boaz: Wonderful. I’ll be in touch about when we can make that happen.

Me: Aight.

I needed to get over there before my brother and I met. The next time he and I sat down I needed to have a plan.

My phone lit up again. This time? Shari.

I smirked before I even picked up.

“I thought you were done with me,” I said as I answered.

She sighed on the other end. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry for storming out the other day. I was just in my feelings. You embarrassed me.”

“You embarrassed yourself,” I said flatly. “But I forgive you.”

There was silence. I knew she was biting her tongue.

“I still want to see you,” she said.

“Of course you do.”

She giggled but I could tell she was tense. She loved how cocky I could be but hated how I never chased.

“Meet me at the suite,” I said, already unlocking my phone to book it. “Key’ll be at the desk.”

“And if I’m late?”

I let my voice drop.

“If you ain’t already naked on the bed when I walk in, I’ll punish you. Real simple.”

“Yes, sir,” she responded.

Two hours later, I walked into the suite.

Lights dimmed. Cold air humming. And there she was.

Naked.

On all fours at the foot of the bed like she was trying to prove her worth without words.

I didn’t say anything. Just unbuckled my belt, pulled my dick out, and let her go to work.

She crawled to me, slow and needy. Took me in her mouth like it was a gift, choking on it, loving it, eyes watery and wild. Her moans vibrated around my shaft, her hands clutching my thighs like she needed something to hold onto before I blew her whole world apart.

When I came, I grabbed the back of her head, held her still, and watched her swallow like I was the most delicious desert she’d ever tasted.

Then I pulled my pants back up.

“That’s enough,” I said. “You can go.”

She looked up at me, lips swollen, mascara running. “Seriously?”

“I got what I needed.”

She grunted under her breath, grabbed her dress from the floor, and threw it on without looking at me. Didn’t even zip it—just stormed out the suite barefoot and furious.

The door slammed.

I didn’t flinch.

I sat on the edge of the bed for a minute, rolling my neck, letting the silence settle.

It didn’t hit like it used to.

Women like Shari used to be my escape. Now they felt like distractions. I was bored. Restless.

I needed a challenge.

And I already knew who that challenge was.

The Virgin.

She wasn’t mine.

But she would be.

Later that night, I collapsed into bed. I didn’t bother pulling the sheets up or checking my phone.

Didn’t think about Shari, the messages I ignored, or the stack of reports waiting on my desk.

The city buzzed faintly outside the windows, but I shut it all out.

I let the silence press down on me like a straitjacket. Heavy. Suffocating. Still.

Sleep came fast—but it didn’t come clean. It never did.

The memory slipped in the way it always did. Not like a dream. More like a film on loop. Faded in some places, too sharp in others.

I was nineteen.

Still young enough to think I had the world figured out, still arrogant enough to believe I knew who to trust. Old enough to have blood on my hands. Real blood. The kind that clings to your skin long after you wash it off.

I remember the rain first—soft but constant, tapping against the broken warehouse windows like it was trying to warn me.

The air smelled like rust and wet concrete.

My boots stuck to the floor with each step, like even they didn’t want me moving closer.

I had a pistol tucked into the back of my waistband, but I wasn’t there to use it.

I came with a knife.

She stood in front of me, trembling so hard I thought her knees might give out.

Her arms were raised slightly like she didn’t know whether to shield herself or reach for me.

Tears streamed down her face—ugly, raw, frantic.

Her chest heaved with every breath, mouth trembling as she whispered my name over and over, like it might soften me.

“Please, Riot,” she sobbed. “I’m sorry…”

Her voice cracked, and she tried to step forward, but I raised the knife and she froze, hands up, palms shaking. She was crying so hard it didn’t even sound human anymore—just gasps and gulps for air between choked-out apologies. Her body rocked with it.

“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry. Please. You don’t have to do this. We can fix it, I’ll disappear, I’ll never say anything again. Just—please—don’t do this…”

I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t.

Truth was, some small, pathetic part of me wanted to believe her. Wanted to put the knife down. Walk away. Pretend this betrayal didn’t slice through my chest like a blade sharper than the one I held.

But then I heard his voice.

And I remembered why I was there.

“Handle it. You let this slide, you’ll be a target forever. And if you don’t do it, I’ll shoot you both!”

I told myself I had to do it. That if I didn’t, I’d never be able to live with the weakness. Never be respected. Never survive.

Turns out, I couldn’t live with myself either way.

I told her to turn around.

She didn’t move.

I repeated it, quieter. Tighter.

Still nothing. She just stared at me and whispered, “You don’t have to.”

My hand trembled. My stomach twisted. But I stepped forward, grabbed her shoulder, and turned her around before I could change my mind. Her skin was warm. Alive.

I raised the blade and pulled.

One clean motion. Deep. Final.

The sound she made when I slit her throat—raw, guttural, almost like a gasp—still lives in the back of my mind. It clung to the walls of that warehouse, mixed with the wet slap of her body hitting the ground. Her blood pooled fast, seeping into the cracks in the floor, drinking her in.

I stood over her, frozen. Numb. I don’t know how long I was there. Could’ve been a minute. Could’ve been hours. I just remember the smell—metallic and thick. The weight of what I’d done pressing down on my chest like concrete.

I didn’t cry.

Didn’t scream.

Didn’t even breathe right.

I just shut down.

When I woke up in the hotel bed, my shirt was soaked through with sweat, clinging to me like a second skin. My fists were balled so tight my knuckles ached. My throat was dry. My heart still beating like it hadn’t come down from the nightmare yet.

I didn’t move. Didn’t reach for water. Didn’t check the time. I just laid there, staring up at the ceiling, begging the memory to stay buried where I left it. But that night had changed me. Hollowed something out that never really filled back in.

And the worst part?

Sometimes I wonder if I even want it to.