Chapter 4
Sly
I don’t know who moved first—me or Arnold Schwarzenegger—but my leg fired on instinct and found the only target in the known universe that always sends a man to his knees. A perfect, clean, history-making kick, straight to his balls.
Joey folded immediately. There was no sound at first, just air leaving his lungs in a sad, wheezy prayer. Then there was the delayed howl that shook the pretty wallpapered walls of his pretty house. He dropped, cupping the wounded future of his family tree, and pressed his forehead to the floor.
For half a second, I felt bad. Kicks like that hurt, but I snapped out of it before I could feel too much empathy and lost focus. He’s right there on the floor, man. Now’s the time to tie him up and do the villain monologue.
I moved fast and grabbed his wrists, then wrenched them behind his back before he could curl into full fetal meteor.
He bucked, but pain won the fight. There was nothing he could do in this moment.
I jammed my knee between his shoulder blades and scanned for supplies because, no, I did not bring rope. Not this time. Of course not.
“Shit,” I muttered. I couldn’t hold him like this forever. If he got up, I was dead.
He groaned and tried to rip his hands out of my grip, and I started to panic.
I shifted, but kept my knee planted, and did what any respected serial killer would’ve done, and punched him in the nuts again.
This time from behind. My fist slid right between his way-too-round cheeks, and I felt his balls, which were large just like the rest of his body, on my knuckles through my glove.
Very poetic, Sly. Gold star.
You’re not here to praise the motherfucker for how big his balls are.
Focus. Find something.
He cursed under his breath and promised to murder me, but I ignored him while I scanned the room and, blessed be, spotted a fat roll of duct tape on the TV console. Of course, there was a random roll lying around in this house. The universe truly supported me in all this.
It had to be fate. I couldn’t explain it otherwise.
“Hold still,” I said, which was funny, because why would he? “I’m not trying to hurt you. Yet.”
With one hand on his wrists, I reached for the tape with my other. After ripping the tape off, I wrapped it around his wrists once, twice, thrice for spite, then a fourth because I respect craftsmanship. He was cursing the whole time and tried a violent twist to fling me off.
“No chance, big boy.” I pushed down on him and taped his elbows together for good measure. His ankles were next, and I decorated his muscular calves with two silver belts. Fuck, his calves were majestic.
He tried to kick, but the tape didn’t give in, keeping him harmless for me.
“Fucking lunatic,” he groaned.
“I know. Stop saying it, it hurts,” I said, rolling him onto his side with all the strength I had left in me. I sat back on my heels, sweating, chest burning, hands shaking with leftover adrenaline.
“You should breathe,” I told him. “In through the nose. Out through the shame.”
I studied him for a while and adjusted my grip on reality. “Okay, give me a moment to reset here.”
He was glaring at me, his eyes watery and his face flushed. His jaw was tight, and I could see him doing the math. Rage squared, pride divided by duct tape. Result: humiliation. Ha, who’s the loser now, bitch?
“I’ll fucking kill you,” he rasped.
“You already tried,” I said cheerfully. “Terrible execution. Great arms, though. Shit, no, terrible arms. I hate your arms. And the rest of you. I’m not jealous.”
Stop rambling, idiot.
He squinted. “What?”
“Nothing.” I stood and let out a sigh, admiring—no, studying—his massive body. “How the hell do I get you onto the couch?”
I tried to lift him, but I failed multiple times because he wasn’t making it easy for me. Again: why would he? But then I found the right angle and heaved with my absolutely respectable gym body until he flopped onto the cushions. See, superstrength. Kind of.
“Sit still. Don’t try anything stupid,” I warned, then scooped up my helmet from where he’d yeeted it earlier. I brushed drywall dust off the visor and turned back to face him. “I need you to listen carefully now—”
“Go to hell,” he hissed.
“Bold of you to assume we’re not already in the waiting room,” I said, and finally did what I’d been waiting all night to do.
I slid my helmet on and clicked the strap with a crisp snap, the sound sending a shiver down my spine.
God, the weight felt right. The world narrowed into the visor’s frame, my voice echoing in my head, low and dramatic.
Yeah, that’s the vibe. Dark. Mysterious. Villainy with acoustics.
I rolled my shoulders, took my mark, and pulled out my knife to hold it up as a silent threat.
“Ahem.” I cleared my throat because a clear throat meant a clear message. And I needed my very last speech to be perfect. “Joey Elrod. You probably wonder who—”
The sound of an unlocking door caught me off guard. I stopped, once again with my speech in mid-sentence, and turned my head toward the front door, which was slowly opening.
Goddammit! This can’t be happening again. Out of pure anger and maybe a bit of stupidity, I took my helmet off and dropped it. “Again?” I whined.
I saw Joey looking at the door from the corner of my eye, and I could see him visibly relaxing.
Shit. No. Does he not live alone?
I had wondered that before, given how well-kept the exterior of his house was, with all the flowers and a cozy back porch setup. But I didn’t want to let myself believe that he actually was in a relationship.
But there was no time to panic. Whoever it was, I could easily take them down. I mean, I took down this fucking monster.
Keys chimed, and the door opened wider. Then there was a voice, warm and curious, and unaware of the crazy shit that was going on in here.
“Joey?”
My blood froze over. That was the most angelic voice I had ever heard, and the face that came into view seconds later shook me to my core in the best way possible.
Holy fuck, that wasn’t a woman walking in. That was a goddess.
“Babe, stay back,” Joey warned, and she stopped immediately as she saw what she had just walked into.
“Oh, my god!”
Babe?
I groaned, throwing my head back dramatically.
Of course, he had a “babe.” And, of course, she was gorgeous.
Great. Just great. I’ve got her dirtbag boyfriend duct-taped on the couch, mid–villain monologue, knife in hand. This was a textbook revenge. The grand finale. Last name to cross off my kill list.
And then she had the audacity to walk in, looking like an angel. I've never even believed in angels, but now I do. Because apparently, they crash murder scenes.
Holy hell. Who even looks like that?
Long, dark brown hair in loose waves, tall, but not too tall. Five-six, but she was wearing boots with about an inch of heel. Her high cheekbones and soft jaw gave her the ultimate model look, and that pale skin of hers…fuck me.
And then there were her eyes. What shade of grey was that? It had to be one of the fifty. But it wasn’t too dark or too light. Just the perfect shade of grey.
Dammit. Did a rom-com just sucker punch me in the middle of a homicide? My chest hurts. Fuck, is this what love at first sight feels like, or am I having a heart attack?
Because it sure as hell feels like a heart attack.
Oh, my god. Am I dying?
Shit. Maybe this is it.
No. Focus, Sly. Focus!
Ah, shit…I think I just fell in love.
Wait, am I crying?
Where did that tear come from?
Stop that, man! What the fuck is wrong with you?!
You don’t cry because you can’t handle your feelings.
You’re embarrassing yourself in front of her! Impress her!
“What’s going on, Joey?” she asked, her voice shaky, and her eyes glued on me.
Ha, suck it, big guy. She’s looking at me.
Her expression was full of fear and panic.
I hated seeing her like that. God, that’s so fucking corny! You just met this woman. You can’t already be in love.
While I fought to focus, confusion spread across her face.
She tilted her head to the side, studying me with that sharp, steady gaze, and the question snapped me out of my spiral. “Are you crying?”
“No.” I sniffled and wiped my nose with the back of my gloved hand, trying very hard to look dangerous while clearly leaking feelings from my face.
“You are!” Her voice almost sounded sympathetic, but her expression did not budge. She looked confused and scared, caught between common sense and whatever this was.
“I’m not fucking crying!” I whined, then instantly regretted lying to that face. “Okay, yes, I am crying. Do you have any idea how hard it is to wrestle a man like him?” I pointed my knife at Joey, who was still squirming on the couch. “He’s like a boulder.”
She did not move from the doorway. She just watched me, careful and curious. “You…you’re crying because you struggled to tie him up?”
No, silly, I’m crying because you appeared, and my chest has decided to learn new emotions on hard mode.
“I did not struggle,” I groaned, throwing my hands up and tipping my head back. “It’s just…” I looked at her again, which immediately derailed my brain. “You know what? I’m ending this topic and starting a new one.”
I turned toward Joey, ready to spit something mean, but snapped my attention back to the goddess in the doorway when she spoke again.
“Joey, what’s going on?”
He sighed. “He wants to kill me. Call the cops.”
Their calm tone irritated me. This was not a joke, but they were playing it like one.
“No no no! No cops!” I glared at him, then looked right back at her because I could not seem to stop.
“God, I’d be tying you up too if you were a guy.
” I gripped my knife harder. “Do you have to be so fucking beautiful?”
“Hey, stop fucking looking and talking to her!” Joey warned.
“I’m so confused right now,” she said with a small laugh. It wasn’t a nervous laugh. It was an amused one. On the flip side, that only confused me more. Why was she so calm when I was two seconds from combusting?
“Babe, just call the damn cops! He wants to kill me.”
She still did not look at him. Her eyes stayed on me. “You want to kill Joey? Why?”
Was she trying reverse psychology? If so, it was working. “I’m taking revenge for everything he’s done to me in the past. Your boyfriend has tormented me for years.” My jaw tightened, heat rising with the words.
She flicked her eyes to Joey and then brought them back to mine. Her expression sharpened, brows raised, arms folding across her chest as she shifted her weight to one foot. “Is that so?”
“Yes!”
“No!”
“Shut up, Joey!” I roared, the knife pointing at him while all the old rage surged. “Yes, you did, and you ruined my fucking life doing so!”
Silence pressed down on the room. For once, it felt good to say it out loud and to his face, to let the truth sit there and breathe.
“He’s a dick,” I added under my breath, because accuracy matters.
“Huh.” She kept watching me. She did not reach for her phone. She did not move at all, which made my pulse pound harder and my head clear, just a little.
“What’s your name?” she asked, catching me off guard for the hundredth time.
“What the fuck, babe?!”
I ignored Joey and answered her. Whatever this was, I wanted to see where it led. She was giving me mixed signals, all of them strangely good. Maybe I was being irrational, maybe I was delusional, but I had a feeling she knew something about his past that made this moment feel lighter to her.
“What’s your name?” she repeated, softer now.
“Sly.”
“Sly…” My name sounded better when she said it, warmer and cleaner. I wanted her to say it again, but even I knew asking would be weird. Then again, none of this qualified as normal.
Something was happening between us. I could feel it. There was a pull I could not ignore, and I sensed a weight lift off her shoulders the second she saw her boyfriend taped and contained. I could not pinpoint it. I tried, but I came up empty.