By the time we got back to my house, I was trembling with irritation, heat, and exhaustion.
I pointed toward the downstairs guest bathroom. “Wash up. Then come find me.”
He nodded obediently and disappeared inside.
The door had barely shut before the floating comments exploded into view again.
She really just picked up the final boss off the street.
Technically he’s not fully grown into the ultimate villain yet, but his danger level is already almost maxed out.
I’m crying. Twisted villainess plus greedy murderous future big bad? Match made in heaven.
Maybe if she trains him right, he’ll become a loyal guard dog instead.
I arched a brow.
So not only had I randomly picked up a stranger, I had apparently picked up some future catastrophe.
Fine.
I had bigger problems.
My skin was crawling by then. Every inch of me felt too tight, too hot, too aware. I walked to the bathroom door and knocked against it with the toe of my heel.
“You done?”
The door opened immediately.
And for a second, I forgot how to breathe.
His hair was still wet, curling around his forehead and neck. Water ran in thin lines down his throat and collarbone. A single towel was wrapped low around his waist.
I had done that on purpose.
I hadn’t given him any clothes.
“Sis,” he said softly.
The word came out damp and sweet and dangerous.
I stepped forward and wrapped my arms around him without a trace of hesitation. My hands slid over his back, his waist, the sharp movement of his shoulder blades. I pressed my cheek against his chest and let out a shaky breath of relief.
Warm.
Clean.
Bare skin.
God, it felt good.
He froze for a moment, then slowly lifted a hand as if unsure whether he was allowed to touch me. His fingertips brushed my shoulder through the thin fabric of my dress, tentative and light. That tiny contact sent a shiver through me.
“Take me upstairs,” I murmured.
He obeyed instantly.
He picked me up with more strength than I had expected, and I hung from him like I had been made to. By the time we reached my bedroom, his breathing had turned uneven.
He set me down at the edge of the bed, but I didn’t let go.
Instead I shifted into his lap, wound one arm around his neck, and asked, “Sleep with me.”
He went still beneath me.
Color rushed to his face so fast it was almost endearing. He tried to look away, but his arm tightened around my waist anyway.
I smiled and rubbed my forehead beneath his chin. “Let’s make a deal. Help me get through this, and I’ll pay you.”
He looked at me carefully. “You mean… like keeping me?”
“Yes,” I said. “Exactly like that.”
On the drive home, I’d already had someone look into him.
His name was Evan York. Nineteen years old. College entrance just ahead of him. A gambler for a father. A little sister still in middle school. He had moved out early to take care of her, working part-time jobs to keep them both alive.
Tonight, his father had found their apartment, stolen the tuition money Evan had saved, gambled it away, then gone back and nearly beaten Evan’s little sister to death.
Evan had rushed home to find her lying in blood.
The blood on his shirt wasn’t his.
He had nearly killed his father on the spot.
The landlord had panicked and called the police.
Evan had run.
Now he was here, sitting on my bed in a towel, with my arms around his neck and hate still burning under his skin.
I cupped his chin. “I can help you,” I whispered. “I can even make him disappear.”
His pupils widened.
For the first time, the softness in his expression cracked. Something much darker flashed beneath it—something furious and starving and sharp enough to cut.
His grip on my waist tightened so hard it hurt.
I frowned at once.
He startled and let go. “Sorry,” he said immediately, voice turning soft again. “I’m sorry, sis.”
He lowered his head and rubbed it against my shoulder in a way that felt almost instinctive, almost animal.
Then he said quietly, “I do need money. My sister was taken to the hospital. I don’t know if she’ll live.” He paused. “As for him… don’t dirty your hands for me. I’ll do it myself.”
The comments flashed again.
She isn’t his downfall. She’s his salvation.
If she hadn’t found him tonight, his sister would die, he’d lose school, he’d become a fugitive, and he’d blacken completely.
Don’t forget he’s still the future villain.
Maybe. But look at his life. What choice did he ever have?
I looked back at him.
“What do I need you to do?” he asked, eyes damp and wide and obedient.
I pushed him down onto the bed and climbed over him, settling on his lower stomach. My red nails tapped lightly over the hard planes of his chest.
“Three rules,” I said. “You come when I call. You do what I say. And you do not refuse me.”
He swallowed.
Then he nodded. “Okay.”
My phone started ringing.
Special ringtone.
Shen Yili.
I held out a hand. “Pass me the phone.”
Evan picked it up for me. I answered, turned on speaker, and dropped the phone on his chest while my hand continued sliding absently over his abdomen.
Shen Yili’s voice came through low and controlled. “Chloe. Didn’t you say you were coming? Where are you?”
I glanced at the time. Nearly midnight.
Beneath me, Evan’s breath caught. Then his body jerked faintly as if he was enduring something difficult in silence.
I understood instantly.
Young. Healthy. Barely dressed. Under me.
Of course.
Shen Yili’s voice sharpened. “What are you doing? Is it one of your episodes tonight?”
He knew.
He knew exactly what tonight was.
“Where are you?” he demanded. “I’ll come help you.”
How nice.
Usually I was the one begging him.
I looked down at Evan. His jaw was clenched. He was trying so hard not to make a sound that it almost made me laugh.
So I leaned close to his ear and whispered, “Don’t.”
Then, louder, into the phone, I said, “No need, Uncle.”
I put extra emphasis on the last word.
“I found something more interesting on the side of the road,” I said. “A dog.”
Evan did not object to being called that.
In fact, he nuzzled my palm when I touched his face, his lips brushing the center of my hand by accident.
My heart kicked.
I forgot all about Shen Yili.
I lifted my hand to Evan’s mouth and said, “Kiss me.”
On the other end of the line, Shen Yili’s voice turned frantic. “Chloe Prescott, don’t you dare—”
Evan caught my hand in both of his and pressed a series of soft, careful kisses over my knuckles, my palm, my wrist. His lips were warm. Reverent.
“Good dog,” I murmured.
Then I hung up.
Half an hour later, my body finally settled enough for me to breathe. I curled against Evan, ran my fingers lazily through his damp hair, and said, “You’re allowed to go take care of yourself in the bathroom after I fall asleep.”
He held me gently and stroked my back with surprising patience.
“Thank you, sis,” he whispered, sounding almost cheerful now. “But before you wake up, I’ll be back beside you.”
“Good.”
I closed my eyes.
The last thing I saw before sleep took me was a storm of frantic comments.
How are you sleeping at a time like this?
He is suffering so bad and she just knocked out. I’m screaming.
That dog is absolutely not innocent.
I smiled into his chest and drifted off.