Page 1 of Riot

Chapter One

Calvin

“I’m heading out, Mom,” I hollered from the kitchen. The dishes from lunch were rinsed and sitting in the sink. I’d deal with them when I got home from work. The late-morning humidity already had the house feeling sticky. The kind of heat that crawled under your clothes and stayed there. Hopefully there was a breeze outside, or I was gonna melt into a puddle by the time I made it to work.

Halfway down the hall I caught my toe on my shoes and stumbled into the wall with a curse. The sneakers I’d kicked off yesterday still sat right in the middle of the floor like a trap set specifically for me. I shoved them aside with my foot and kept going, already dreading the ten-minute walk to the laundromat.

Maybe I should’ve grabbed a bottle of water before leaving.

Too late now.

“I’m leaving too.”

My mom stepped out of the hallway tying the belt on her housekeeping uniform, her second job cleaning motel rooms out on Route 9. Her purse hung off one shoulder, her black hair twisted into a tight bun. She wore just enough makeup to make her look less exhausted than she probably felt.

I hated that she worked two jobs.

But she was determined to keep the house. The one she and my dad had bought when I was five with a thirty-year mortgage. My dad had died with ten years still left on it, and my mom acted like losing the place would somehow mean losing him too.

“You figure out how we’re paying for the plumber?” I asked. “Bathroom sink’s getting worse.”

“Working on it,” she said automatically. “Always working on something.”

We walked into the living room together, and I stopped so fast my shoulder bumped hers.

Ramos stood just inside the front door with his arms folded over his chest and a grin stretched across his face. For just a second, I saw the brother he used to be, before everything fell apart, and almost ran to him.

But I stopped myself when I remembered how much he had changed, and not for the better.

“Hey, Mom,” he said like this was some happy family reunion instead of him appearing out of nowhere after being locked up.

She looked as stunned as I felt. Six years in prison had changed Ramos from a skinny idiot with anger problems into a muscular idiot with anger problems. He looked so much older, rougher around the edges, as if prison had aged him beyond his twenty-six years.

“How are you here?” she asked. “You still have two years left.”

Ramos shrugged, his grin never slipping, though I clocked the caution in his eyes. “Released early. Place is overcrowded, so they booted me out.” His gaze moved around the living room. “Glad I still got my room here.”

“You’re staying here?”

Mom sounded shocked. I couldn’t blame her. Life had settled after he went away. No parties. No screaming matches. No cops parked outside with flashing lights turning the neighbors into nosy curtain twitchers because Ramos had made another reckless decision.

“Where else would I stay, Mama?” He uncrossed his arms like this was obvious. Like he’d been gone a week instead of spending those six years in prison for armed robbery.

“Heading to my room,” Ramos announced, brushing past us. “Prison is exhausting.”

Exhausting? It wasn’t as if he’d pulled a few doubles. What did that even mean? I wanted to ask, but I was still too stunned to speak. Then again, did I really want to know?

My mom looked at me, her lips pressed tight. “I have to get to work.”

“He can’t stay here,” I whispered, flapping my hand toward the hallway.

She let out a long breath. “He has nowhere else to go. He’s family, regardless of what he’s done.”

“He held up a convenience store,” I reminded her. “With an actual gun.”

“He didn’t kill anyone.”

She said it fast. Defensively, like she needed to convince herself as much as me.