Chapter Text
—Now—
“Get the fuck off m—”
Blood splattered across Katsuki’s cheek before he could finish the snarl, before the glinting tip of the knife aimed at his eyeball could deliver on its promise. Time warped into slow motion as the scumbag above him began to slump forward, and Katsuki’s brain caught the fucker’s final expression in a brutal little snapshot. His pupils were blown wide with wild excitement. A mad grin stretched over dry, cracked lips. Sweat trailed down his grimy face.
The knife slipped from the fucker’s slackening hand and tumbled to the floor, clattering too close to Katsuki’s ear, ripping an involuntary wince out of him. The bastard followed, collapsing on top of him like dead weight, and Katsuki shuddered in repulsion, fighting the nauseating urge to dry heave at the rancid stench of cigarettes, booze, and a total lack of hygiene. The same stink he’d been breathing since he ended up in this shithole.
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of the bastard’s head. Fuck, his temple was completely busted, the last of his neurons leaking out like something from a well-directed gore flick. Hot blood pooled beneath him, soaking the back of Katsuki’s head and his torn T-shirt. He turned his head to the side, only to go rigid as his traitorous heart skipped two beats.
Lethal, violent, pretty fucking devil.
You blew on the silencer’s muzzle, dispersing the lingering smoke. Your feline gaze leveled him, your demeanor calm and collected, but Katsuki sensed how you sizzled inside.
Vertigo overtook his senses for reasons that had nothing to do with the fresh corpse bleeding out on him.
“I see you got yourself in a little pinch, Katsuki,” you teased, your voice rousing the darkest parts of him. His imagination immediately flooded with perverted images of pinning you to the nearest wall by the throat and making that voice of yours climb and drop at his every whim. Dominating you the same way you dominated the room.
“Fuck off.”
You strode toward his pathetic, chained-up self, devilish chuckles spilling from your lips, covered in the lipstick shade he’d personally bought as a gift disguised as one of his filthy wishes. Your heeled boots struck the floor like a ticking clock, counting down to his next mistake, one he was thrilled to make like the goddamn junkie that he was.
You kicked the dead man off him, loosened the thick belt holding your comically oversized coat together, and crouched, your dress riding up the thighs he’d marked with his teeth hours before his kidnapping.
“Quite suicidal, your kidnappers. Every inch of this place is doused in gasoline, even upstairs. Can you imagine? One tiny spark and boom.” You took in the dank basement, humming a tune he never recognized, but was always on your lips whenever you observed, assessed, planned the next bad thing to throw yourself in. With a grimace, you returned your gaze to his. “Reinforced titanium chains and gloved handcuffs. Bastards.”
He wanted to twist away, to escape the violent storm brewing in the depths of your eyes and deny you the deplorable sight of him like this. But it was that very turbulence that captivated him. It was… magnetic.
“I’m sorry my father’s dogs came after you. I should’ve seen it coming.” The silencer of your gun traced his cheek, still hot from the bullet you’d buried deep in the fucker’s brain. Katsuki felt sick, despising the look in your eyes now. So adoring. So reverent. As if he were the god you’d pledged your rotten soul to. “I’m kind of having a fight with the old bastard.”
“Don’t care.” He moved his head away from the metal’s touch. “The hell am I bein’ involved in your crap for, huh?”
You pressed the side of the gun to your temple, tapping it to a slow tempo. “He’s trying to marry me off to some loser.”
Like a straight punch to the gut. Marry you? You?! To some other guy?
The growl building in his chest sounded like a wild animal’s as he strained against the restraints designed specifically to hold him down. Something vile fueled the blaze of white-hot rage in his veins. His muscles burned and bulged, but the gloved cuffs and chains coiled like snakes around his body didn’t budge. They’d been his cage, the two things keeping him from beating the shit out of his captors. He didn’t need his Quirk for that.
“You refused?” he asked through gritted teeth, hating himself for it.
“Are you serious right now? Of course I refused.” You scoffed, visibly offended by the audacity of his question, your gaze lingering on the show his squirming body put on for a minute too long. “I’d never agree to something like that. I’m not goods for sale. Besides, I need the freedom to have fun with you whenever I want.” A heavy sigh left your mouth. “It seems my father knows.”
“Knows what? About us?”
Your hand slipped into your cleavage and pulled out a small card. “Looks like it.” Then you held it against the cuffs, unlocking them.
Freed from his cage, he jumped to his feet and yanked you up, shoving you toward the musty concrete wall. The stench of gasoline invaded his nostrils, coating his tongue. Disgusting. The chains loosened, dragging and trailing behind him with each determined step as his body hunted yours. He tore them off along with the bloody, filthy T-shirt and flung them aside.
With your back to the wall, he boxed you in like a threat.
“How?” He went for your exposed throat, mouthing hungrily at your perfumed skin as his fingers crept over yours on the gun. He took it. Flicked the safety on. Threw it in a random direction.
“I don’t know yet, but I’ll find out.” You exhaled shakily, angling your head to offer him your pulse, asking to be marked. “We should probably get out of here, but do I want to?”
“You don’t.”
“You’re right. I don’t. My men are upstairs anyway.” Your hand combed through his soaked hair, nails dragging over his bloodstained scalp. Moments later, your fingertips smeared that blood across his chest. “You need to get in trouble more often, hero.”
His teeth closed around your earlobe and tugged. “Why?”
“Because I kind of like this look on you. It makes me feel some type of way.” Those same bloody fingertips glided over his abs, teasing the muscles he’d worked his ass off to keep ripped. They flexed in response. “Fuck me?”
Two words that worked their magic, possessed him like a mind-controlling spell.
Lifting his head, he gripped your jaw and devoured your lips, kissing you the way he’d never kiss anyone else. Brutal. Ferocious. Unrestrained. You fell into him, meeting the assault on your mouth like no one else ever would. Your hands were in his hair again, fisting the strands and twisting, making him grunt. Hurt, but hurt good. The pain sent blood rushing into his cock.
His tongue traced your bottom lip, and you opened for it, letting him reclaim what was his, moaning into his mouth as if his taste alone were enough to get you off. Katsuki groaned at the sweetness of your mouth and pressed harder into you, his hands seeking your body, needing to feel your curves under his palms, in his hold.
He hated you. You were everything he stood against, his morals revolting at the crimes you wore like jewelry. That hatred consumed him in the same masochistic way he got drunk on even the simplest things, as long as they were tied to you.
Damn villain.
Too good an actress. Worthy of the biggest fucking awards.
Those easy smiles you wore for the cameras, that delicate personality you put on for everyone, when in reality, you were a wild thing, ruthless to the core. Nothing about you was good.
Nothing.
“Did they hurt you? Torture you?” you whispered, biting at his bottom lip.
“Does it matter?” He locked eyes with you. “Not like they’re gonna get punished for this. You killed ’em.”
You licked the spot where your teeth had been, smiling impishly. “Actually, they’re outside. On their knees. Held at gunpoint. What happens to them is up to you.” Your nose nuzzled his. “I only lost control with the one on top of you. Sorry.”
“You ain’t fuckin’ sorry.”
“Mm, true. I’m not.”
A snarl rumbled in his chest as his hand flew to your throat, forcing a gasp from you. “You should be. Killin’ ain’t right, you goddamn devil.”
Your laughter sounded like mockery reserved exclusively for his principles. “No shit,” you said, tugging him closer by the waistband. “You’re so adorable, Katsu. Preaching morality when you’re moments away from being balls deep in me.”
You palmed him through his sweats, your thumb slowly circling the tip, his hard cock proving exactly what you both knew. His morals deserved the mockery for how quickly they dipped out of sight in your presence. To add insult to injury, your touch sent his blood to a full boil, the pressure mounting in his lower gut until it became an uncontrollable need to fuck you.
“Isn’t it about time you accepted how messed up we truly are?” you asked.
Katsuki had, the second he’d allowed himself a piece of you and let it fester into inevitable rot. He’d been fucked long before he could slap a name on whatever had poisoned him.
But he’d never tell you that. You didn’t need to know.
“You talk too much,” he sneered, yanking your dress up your thighs and shoving his hand between your legs. Your flimsy panties suffered under his impatience as he ripped them clean off your body.
Fuck your expensive lingerie.
This pussy was leaving the basement bare and dripping with his cum.
You yelped as he hoisted you up and hooked his arms under your knees, nearly folding your lower body in half. Your arms wrapped around his neck for dear life, a flicker of surprise softening your features. It enraged him. It was always, always in those rare, misplaced glimpses that he caught sides of you that were off-limits. He refused to reach for them, but fuck if they didn’t mess him up good.
In those flashing moments, you looked nothing like the cold-blooded villain he knew you were and everything like the woman he would’ve chased to the ends of the earth to have.
“When I’m done, you better deal with the mess.” Glaring, he freed himself and nudged your clit with his tip, pretending he wouldn’t bust a load if he so much as looked down. “Got that?”
You served him, on a platter of sin and seduction, a perverse smirk. “Does that include licking your cock clean?”
His heart raced faster than his sports car on the highway as he lined himself up, gulping down a mouthful of stale basement air and your provocative scent. Would fucking you ever grow stale? Boring? Three years, and his nerves still jittered. Goosebumps still broke over his skin at that first hot, wet contact.
“No.” But the thought of you on your knees after he’d filled you up real nice and proper had him suppressing a nasty shudder.
“Are you sure?” You leaned in, lips puffy from his kiss, ghosting over his open mouth. “I really, really miss your taste—”
He slammed home in one slick, easy thrust, stealing your breath. You threw your head back against the wall.
As always, Katsuki gave your pussy zero seconds to adjust. He withdrew to the tip, then rammed back in, feeling your whole body shudder. Stunning fucking thing. He tolerated you best like this, melting in his arms, taking his cock.
The violent pace of his hips mirrored the true nature of your relationship.
Forbidden.
Toxic.
Obsessive.
“You’re the fuckin’ worst. Hate you,” he forced out through restrained grunts. Each strike of his pelvis punctuated his disdain. “So much.” He bit down on your dress, dragging as much fabric as he could into his mouth to gag the stupid sounds fighting to get out.
“Don’t have to l-love someone to fuck them,” you rasped, moaning so heavenly his teeth itched to tear through the fabric between them. “Sex is sex. Fuck, Katsuki.” Your nails hooked into his shoulders, raking his sweaty skin like dull blades. “Your cock really is the best.”
He would’ve laughed and ridiculed your desperation for his hero dick if he weren’t so close to combusting. His balls ached for release, helpless against how unfairly your goddamn pussy took both his girth and length, made specifically for him as some cruel joke of a cursed fate.
There was no one else who compared, and there couldn’t be.
Sex was sex, though his experience said otherwise. Fucking you devoured his sanity. Reduced him to a creature without conscience, rutting like his sole purpose for existing was to ruin and worship you in the same savage plunge. The worst part? His own personal damnation? How in tune he was with your body. Rhythm, speed, angle, he knew them instinctively. You weren’t the only woman he’d had in his bed, yet somehow, it felt like you were.
He was too aware of what every tightening of your pussy meant, why the pulsations grew more frequent, more intense. He read the signals of your pleasure in the shifts of your breathing, the pounding of your heart, the neediness with which you clung to him, scratching, clawing, sometimes drawing blood.
You loved mauling his back most. That was why he did everything he could to make sure you faced him right before you came all over his cock. And he loved watching you drown in the euphoria he caused, the sight attached to the sound a drug for his mind.
Katsuki was going to be sick.
“Don’t stop,” you damn near whimpered, your thighs trembling. Your arms coiled around his head, smothering his face in your tits as you tried to meet him halfway.
He bit back a string of curses and praises, but not the guttural moans rolling off his tongue. Echoes of the deep-rooted lies he’d been feeding himself.
Like that. Just. Like. That.
“Come with me.” Your mouth hovered by his ear, hot breaths breaking between nips and licks. “You’re close. I can feel it.”
“Shut—the fuck up.” He took your tainted mouth in a harsh, sloppy kiss. Your teeth knocked together. His mind spiraled further, deeper and deeper. When he jerked his head back, his heart leaped at the way you chased after another kiss. Shit. His hand flew to your throat, pinning you to the wall reeking of gasoline, his thumb a deadly threat against your skittering pulse. “Fuckin’ devil. Can you even get off if it ain’t me?”
Everything was starting to get to him. The wet sounds of your sweaty bodies colliding. The intoxicating scent of sex overtaking the reek of blood and death. The smears of lipstick on your mouth and cheeks.
“No.” You bit down hard on your bottom lip as he shifted the angle of his hips, going straight for the kill. Blood beaded, and Katsuki dove for it, his tongue flicking over the damage. “That’s why it’s hard to” —another moan poured into his ears, making his dick harden even more— “care about other men. I only want y-you. Need you.”
The thought of some random fucker getting his dick wet with you ignited the foulest kind of possessiveness. Drove him to crush you against the wall and pound your pussy harder. Faster. Deeper. The noise bounced shamelessly off the dirty walls, likely reaching your men upstairs.
Good.
Let them. Let them hear who fucked their menace of a boss, who turned her witty little mind to mush.
Your lewd moans pitched higher, sounding like pleas for something only he could give, and the animal in him preened with primitive satisfaction, but not the human. Never the human.
The human scrambled like the biggest idiot alive, wasting the last of his brainpower on keeping his Quirk from firing. He wouldn’t have cared if the whole place blew up with him at its center. He’d walk away with some damage.
But you were here.
With him.
His grip on your hip tightened like a shark’s jaw.
His mind numb, his control focused elsewhere, he rambled. “You like this, huh? Me ruinin’—shit—your pussy again. And again. And again. You’ll crawl back to me even if you get married.” And rambled. “You damn nightmare.”
“Y-Yes.”
Yes. Yes. Yes.
You condemned him.
Pitifully whimpered his name as you came. Your body stilled in his arms. You stopped breathing as your pussy sucked him in, then tried to shove him out. He fought it, shoving himself right back in as far as he could, riding your waves with a carnal need to ride out his own.
His cock throbbed.
His balls drew up.
“Fill me up.” You pressed your forehead to his, your chest moving again as you heaved blissed-out breaths against his face. “Need it.”
You kissed him slow and hungry and reverent. Sentenced him to a white-hot, almost painful peak. Freed his grunts, his rarely heard moans. Stamped another sin onto his already wretched soul.
And he couldn’t take it.
Katsuki escaped the kiss to hide his face like a coward against your neck. His teeth sank into your skin, his mouth sealing over the bite to bruise you with his mark, as he rocked his hips absently, chasing the last of his high.
Until you muttered, “Hurts.”
He stopped at the first pained syllable, despising himself for how knee-deep he was in this. He despised you just the same.
Still, he soothed the angry hickey he’d left on your pulse with his tongue. Traced his nose beneath your ear and drugged his lungs with the scent of your skin. Stayed inside your spent pussy to feel the two of you mixed in its heat.
He held you through the afterglow in the same clingy, forbidden, soft way you held him, ignoring the fatigue creeping in, the dead body cooling nearby, and the fact that you’d probably torn apart the city, the whole fucking country, to find him in four hours flat.
—Then—
Before finding you, the kidnapped daughter of some business guy who owned a security firm for the elite, Katsuki had read the file, done the research, even spent a few evenings watching videos of your public appearances and squinting at grainy paparazzi shots of your private outings with different people. Pictures taken by creeps with no respect for boundaries and a lust for money.
Unimpressed was an understatement.
You fit the rich-girl stereotype like a fucking glove. Wealthy, polished, a goody-two-shoes who spent her days blowing Daddy’s money on overpriced crap and luxurious vacations. Hopping between trendy spots to snap pics for your socials, showing off how good your life was compared to everyone else’s.
What he found strange was how prim as hell every post was, never too revealing. He had yet to find a single shot that didn’t reek of obnoxious elegance and perfectly rehearsed manners.
His investigation had set his expectations.
A woman terrified, crying, begging not to be hurt, trying to bargain with her captors. That was what he was supposed to find.
That, not this.
Katsuki’s boots stayed glued to the charred remains of the warehouse door he’d blasted off its hinges. “Shit,” tore out of him on a startled breath, his eyes wide, his every muscle locked.
The damsel in distress from his mission was half naked, straddling a barely conscious man, covered from the roots of her hair to her toes in blood. Fresh blood.
You reared your arm back and punched the guy with such force that a tooth flew from his mouth, rolling, rolling, rolling to a stop at Katsuki’s feet. You planted your ass on the captor’s thrashing hips, watching him sputter blood, spit, and broken screams like an angel of death weighing whether the bastard had suffered enough before you ended him.
The dirty glow of the dangling lightbulb overhead cast sinister shadows across your face and body, highlighting the damage three weeks of captivity had done. Collar-shaped bruises on your throat. Angry, swollen marks on your arms and legs. Cuts around your wrists from whatever restraints they’d used.
Spitting to the side, vibrant red against gray concrete, you wiped your brow with the heel of your hand, smearing the blood staining your forehead.
Katsuki sucked in a mouthful of metallic air and stepped forward, his boots crunching over the door’s debris, only to stop short. Your attention snapped to him and locked on. The nastiest jolt shot down his spine, raising the hair on the back of his neck.
You were fucking dangerous.
One wrong move, and this whole thing could go sideways. Fuck, he might have to play along with whatever fucked-up game you were playing to prevent an escalation and ensure a safe capture, despite the part of his brain still trying to rationalize what he was seeing as some kind of misunderstanding.
Breaking eye contact, he inspected the rest of the space, hoping to find the one thing that matched his expectations. Something that could turn this around for you, for him. He noted the five overturned chairs, three of them broken. The steel table resembling one found in a morgue, grimy with crusted blood, and the camera on a tripod next to it. The unlocked cage in the corner, bolted to the floor.
The open lacerations over the carotid arteries of the other corpses.
He’d seen his fair share of murder scenes, but few this clean. While yours bore the signs of a violent struggle, there was a precision to it that didn’t belong to an amateur.
You weren’t new to killing.
Hysterical laughter erupted from your split lips. “Well, fuck. They sent Dynamight to rescue poor little me?”
Even your voice confirmed the disturbing truth he’d uncovered. In front of the cameras, you spoke softly, your words eloquent, suggesting someone well-read. Interviewers often joked that your vocabulary included zero profanities, that you’d probably feel embarrassed just thinking a bad, dirty word. You’d never disputed their claims.
Ridiculous.
Here, with him, your tongue spat filth the way his did, and maybe his hearing was screwing with him, but his ears perked at your intonation, finding something lush in its confidence. Something alluring. Something terribly magnetic that made his heart jerk twice in his tense chest.
Shock. Fatigue. Probably the accumulated stress from months of working his ass off. It had to be all that messing with his head.
“I must say, I’m a bit surprised,” you said, striking the squirming guy’s temple, more precise than him. The bastard went out cold. “Why are you just standing there? Shouldn’t you... I don’t know... spring into action? Stop me? Cuff me? Something?”
You stood, and Katsuki wasn’t sure if it was meant to taunt him or if that was the way you normally moved, but your back arched enough to throw his professionalism off its axis. The saliva dried on his tongue, leaving his mouth too dry and useless to snap back. As you prowled toward him, a trail of bloody footprints following your light steps, he suffered a lapse in judgment. His eyes wandered. His fists clenched at the feline sway of your hips.
Yeah, alright, you were the complete opposite of the image you presented to the public, burning his expectations to a crisp. And yeah, alright, intrigue plucked at his insides, but he wasn’t about to acknowledge his curiosity about a... killer. What the fuck was your deal, anyway? Who were you? Why was he so affected? Your Quirk?
Shit, he’d forgotten about your Quirk. There was no intel on it in the files, but you had to have one.
Was this its effect? Some sneaky seduction shit screwing with him?
His thoughts halted when you stopped in front of him, your bare toes touching the tips of his boots. Your chest rose and fell rapidly with what he assumed were breaths fueled by adrenaline. You stared, pupils dilated, while he let his eyes drop, pretending to check for life-threatening injuries, not drinking in the morbid sight of your bloodstained tits trapped in an expensive lace bra or the tattoo blurred by the smears.
The soul remembers, inked above your heart, disintegrating into red petals over your collarbone before fading at your shoulder.
“Are you really Dynamight, or someone impersonating him?” You lifted your arm and pressed a finger dead center on his chest, poking at the crisscross on his compression shirt. “You’re way too quiet, way too... inactive. Don’t tell me. Finding me like this broke your brain? I mean, I’m sure blood, dead people, and one survivor aren’t exactly new territory for you, but still…”
You doubted he was Dynamight? Then what the hell was he supposed to think? Everything he’d read, watched, and dug up about you came nowhere close to... this. Hell, he was starting to wonder if he had the wrong damn person. You were no damsel in distress or some polished, oblivious rich girl.
He swallowed as sweat broke from his pores. “The fuck you touchin’ me for?” he snapped, mentally kicking himself for sounding anything but repulsed. The unholiest shiver licked up his sweaty spine at your foxy smirk.
“Hmm, you’re as intense as they say.” Your dirty fingertips smeared blood over his chest. Fisted the fabric and yanked him forward. His gloved hand clamped around your wrist, ready to tear your touch away and shove you back. Distance, he needed it. The manic gleam in your eyes was hauling him toward a line he knew better than to cross. “Are you as wild as they say, too, Dynamight?”
Fuck him for tensing at the way you said his hero name. It rolled off your tongue like a shot of something strong, burning warm on the way down. “You that kidnapped chick, yeah?”
“Answer my question, and I’ll answer yours.”
“Ain’t obliged to answer shit.” His grip tightened. You seemed to like talking in circles. He hated it. “But I got every right to accuse you of tryin’ to get handsy with me. Hands off, princess.”
“Will you get physical if I refuse?”
His nostrils flared. Wrong move. Your scent filled his lungs, and his pants weren’t as comfortable anymore. “The hell’s your problem?”
“I wonder, what could my problem be? Look around.” You glanced over your shoulder, eyes narrowing on the bodies slowly drowning in pools of red. “How do you think I feel after this? I’m pissed off and high as fuck on adrenaline, so I’m in terrible need of an outlet. That’s how.”
“Huh?”
Something was wrong with your head, Katsuki could tell. You’d killed three men, nearly a fourth, and acted like this was a normal fucking Friday, like you were about to crash on your couch with a bowl of snacks and some boring movie.
And something was wrong with him, too. A couple of screws were definitely loose because he still hadn’t restrained you and dragged your guilty ass out, dumping you on the steps of the first police station he could find.
“Ah, guess I’m looking for another fight. Or maybe something better.” Your focus returned to him, wickedly sinful ideas glinting in your deranged gaze. He knew exactly what you were alluding to. “But a prideful, righteous hero like you would never entertain such an outrageous offer. Too bad. I like my men prickly. Anyway.” You jerked a thumb toward the massacre. “My father refused to give them the time of day, so they came up with a new master plan. See that?”
He looked at what you pointed at—the camera on the tripod.
“They were going to make a spectacle of me on a livestream, thinking he’d panic and hurry up with the money they demanded before the final act.”
Pieces of shit. “That why you killed ’em?”
You crossed your arms under your tits, pushing them higher. “Do you mind not making it sound like I killed them for sport rather than in self-defense?”
Katsuki scoffed. “You knocked out the fourth, so obviously you know how to do a nonlethal takedown.”
“I didn’t have a choice,” you hissed, invading his space. Your annoyingly not-bad-to-look-at face hardened into steel. “If I’d failed, they would’ve—” You cut yourself off and huffed out a frustrated breath. “Should I have let them? Would your morality have approved if you’d found me dripping with unwanted cum instead of their blood?”
Katsuki physically recoiled. Goddamn, you were blunter than him. “Listen—”
“Call it in, hero.” Your bare feet slapped against the concrete as you strode toward the exit, patting his chest on your way past. “Tell the cops exactly what you found and saw.”
He whipped around, watching you walk over the charred remains of the door as if they were a patch of freshly cut, cool grass. Never mind that the metal still smoked from his Quirk.
“It’ll get ruled as self-defense anyway,” you said, then paused at the threshold and pivoted to face him. “Oh, and don’t worry. I’ll act scared and tell your sidekicks surrounding the perimeter that you ordered me to find them quickly so they could keep me safe until the ambulance arrives. Not that I walked out on my own because their boss was too busy ogling me to do his job.”
“I didn’t—Oi! Get back here!” Katsuki sprinted after you, his fury gunning for the sky and beyond. “How do you know where my team is?”
“I know many things. Like how you heroes love playing by the book,” you said. “It makes your modus operandi boringly predictable.”
“You... heroes?” The one thing he’d searched for to contradict the reality in front of him had never existed. What he’d seen was exactly what it looked like, and the confirmation from your own lips punched through his gut like a detonation. “You’re a fuckin’ villain.”
Villains hid in plain sight, and he’d been sent to save one.
You beamed, cutely cupping your cheeks. “Don’t beat yourself up over failing to convince anyone of it. No one will believe you. My record is squeaky clean.” You sent a shameless wink his way. “But do send me a video if you beat it to me. I’ll give you my number. Promise to reward you with a little something in return.”
He had the acute urge to grab you and pin you facedown on the floor, ripping his utility belt from its loops to tie you up. The problem? You, sneaky little goddamn monster, were the embodiment of innocence out there, and he’d be the one facing the backlash, which would’ve been no big deal if it ended with you punished by the law.
You knew that. He knew that.
That didn’t mean he was about to give up. He just needed to play smart.