#oc: Lorelei | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

kendsleyauthor · 5 days

Note

#11 anon here again! glad to hear you’re still taking prompts. i love your and mary’s works ❤️ im shy so i stay on anon, but seriously, so much love to you guys! anyway, if youre so inclined, might i suggest prompt #1? keeping it simple. #11->1 lol. all your characters are awesome — i don’t think andreas and lorelei have been prompted yet, so maybe this can be a vote for them? but also, id love to hear more about the godlike trio; they’re so fun! what is their origin story?!! again, dealers choice, and thank you kindly !💕❤️

LIVING NIGHTMARE

TW: Drowning, fearplay stemming from genuine anger

Print / Trinket Universe (Andres and Lorelei)

~1800 words

G/t dialogue prompt list

Thank you so much for the prompt and the love, beautiful! I know it's been a long time, but I am determined to catch up as much as I can!! As far as the Godlike trio, it would be sooo fun to explore their origin story one day! It is dense, but it essentially involves human sacrifice, trickery, and immature nature god politics 😋

As for THIS story-- reader, if you're new to the trinket universe, this interaction may be startling lol. The TL;DR for this particular situation is that Lorelei must live in secret for her and Andres' safety 👀

@marydublinauthor 🌸

Drowning.

Whiskey stings her eyes, blinding her. She can’t blink it away—it’s all around her. Immense pressure sits on her torso. Does it count as drowning if she wouldn’t be able to draw a full breath anyway? Her heels slide against the bottom of the glass, tractionless. She claws at the finger pinning her down.

Each swipe weakens.

The pain begins to fade. It’s almost peaceful.

She hears that’s what happens right before you die from suffocation.

Calm.

Quiet.

Free.

But a peaceful death is too much to ask for.

The finger relinquishes pressure, and she is wracked with agony. She draws in a lungful of whiskey and thrashes. Although she wants nothing more than to fade away, to kiss this hell goodbye, her body fights to survive.

She pops up to stand on trembling legs, leaning hard against an ice cube. The coldness burns. She coughs raggedly. Laughter rumbles from above. Her recovering vision registers the giants around her as nothing more than massive blurs of color.

The shape of a hand hovers over the glass before descending upon her again. She manages a single, pleading whimper before she’s forced onto her back, pinned to the bottom of the glass.

Drowning.

Whiskey stings her eyes, blinding her. She can’t blink it away—it’s all around her.

Immense pressure—

“Lorelei!”

The voice was familiar. Loud, but not at all the same as the booming laughter.

She flinched awake, gripping fistfuls of blanket as she gasped for air. Each breath was a painfully overwhelming gift. She squinted in the lamplight which cast the sprawling living room with warmth. The high windows gave view to an overcast night sky.

Safe.

“Lorelei.”

Blinking, she made sense of Andres’ form leaning over her on the side table. To her confusion, there was no softness in his voice, no suggestion that he intended to soothe her from the nightmare. No, he wanted her attention, and anything else she might feel was secondary.

“Andres,” she said groggily.

“What is wrong with you?” He sounded like he was making a great deal of effort not to shout. She shrank away from the bite in his voice. “What were you thinking?”

Frowning, she sat up slowly. She couldn’t relinquish her grip on the blanket—not with the way he was looking at her. She felt like a child using her covers as a shield against the boogeyman. This had to still be a nightmare. There was no reality where Andres would glower at her like that anymore. If he was especially bitter about losing a game, perhaps—but even then, he scowled with a glint of admiration in his eyes.

For the life of her, she couldn’t figure out what she could have done in her sleep to piss him off.

“Were my screams of terror too loud?” she managed to croak. “Sorry, I’ll try to keep it down.”

He didn’t seem to register nor care what she said at all. “Madison Jones,” he said flatly.

Her heart climbed into her throat. Now she really wished she was dreaming.

“H-how…” But she knew at once. She must have forgotten to log out of the alias account. She wet her lips. “Let me explain—”

“How?” he snapped, voice rising. “There is no explanation that makes this any less idiotic! You are smarter than this, Lorelei!”

Heat flashed through her, vicious and all-consuming. “It’s idiotic to want to check up on old friends?”

“Wanting is one thing.” The ice in his voice threatened to douse her fire. “Doing… Doing this is…” His jaw worked as though he was too angry to speak.

He brandished his phone in her direction, the screen aglow. She turned her head. She didn’t need to look. He had gone through the chat logs of her alias and found every incriminating conversation of the past six months. Her hands shook on the blanket.

“I’ve been careful,” she said, softer. “They have no idea who I really am. They think I’m an aspiring player, new to the scene. A long-distance friend that they will never, ever meet.”

Tears pricked her eyes. God, she was pathetic.

And Andres wasn’t helping. He shook his head. “This ends now.”

“Please—”

“No. I cannot allow you to put us in danger like this. How could you be so stupid?”

The wildfire ignited again. She stood, shoving her blanket aside. She didn’t care that she had to crane her neck to meet his frostbitten glare. “So that’s it? You’re ordering me to happily isolate myself from the rest of the world—even with a solution right in front of our damn faces?”

“Zorra,” he cursed—a particular insult he’d never once aimed at her. “Your solution is going to get us investigated and caught.”

Her voice came out like a fist was squeezing her throat. “I miss my friends!”

He scoffed. “Am I not enough for you now?”

“You’re fucking kidding me, right?” She staggered two steps back, wondering how this could be the same person who cared for her, protected her. Sinking to her knees, she clasped her hands in front of her. “Should I be like this day and night? Thank you so much for being the only person in the world I can talk to for the rest of my life.”

For a single second, he looked hurt. “Stand up,” he gritted out. “I will not talk to you like this.”

But she was just as hurt and every bit as vicious, and she had to stop now before she said something she couldn’t apologize for. Rising to her feet, she turned her back on him and started for the makeshift stairway that would lead her to the floor. Throwing a pity party under a cabinet or sofa for the night would do her good.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“To be alone,” she threw over her shoulder. “I can’t be around you right now.”

The last thing she expected was for him to deny her. Instead of sulking away or simply lapsing into disappointed silence, his voice lashed like a whip and made her flinch. “You are not going anywhere,” he said. “You are staying here. And talking.”

“About what?” She didn’t turn back, placing her hand on the railing. “Delete the profile yourself if it pisses you off so much.”

Silence. She thought that was the end of it, but no. “Come back,” he said through gritted teeth.

She said nothing, starting down the stairs.

A sudden tug at the back of her nightgown made her breath catch. She instinctively tried to wrench herself free, even if it would send her tumbling down the steps. In an instant, she was whisked off her feet. She gave a choked shriek as air whipped past her, and she found herself dangling in front of Andres’ infuriated face.

“Forgive me for not being better company,” he said venomously. “But I am trying to keep us both alive.”

Alive.

She was helpless.

She was drowning again.

“Stop!” she howled, half expecting precious air bubbles to rise from her lips. Her voice pitched into a scream that she only ever heard in her nightmares. “I’m sorry! I-I’m sorry!”

As quickly as it happened, it was over. She only caught a glimpse of Andres’ astonished expression before he lowered her into his waiting palm and released her. She scrabbled back, bumping against his fingers and burying her face in her knees.

“Lorelei?” he whispered.

He touched her shoulder, and she screamed. The air whirled again, and she dared to peek out. His hand rested on the side table beside her bed, offering escape. She jolted out of her fetal position, falling to hands and knees in her desperation to get away. Stumbling to her bed, she pulled her blanket tightly over herself, shaking too hard to make it to a better hiding place. She didn’t care how childish it was—she needed to reduce her world to a small space of darkness.

“Lorelei.” His voice was reverent, dripping with regret.

“I’m sorry,” she said again, her wail reduced to a whimper.

“No. No, I am.” His voice cracked. Another gentle touch brushed her back through the blanket, pausing to gauge her reaction. She didn’t scream again, dreading that he was about to pull the sheet off of her. But he didn’t. He kept stroking, his breathing unsteady. “Please come out. I never meant to scare you like that. I…” Silence dragged for several seconds, and the touch of his finger pulled away. “Did I hurt you?”

She quietly assessed herself. “No.”

Another pause.

“Can you show me?” His words were a plea, not an order.

Hesitantly, she sat up and pulled the blanket off her head, letting it fall to her shoulders. His dark eyes searched her intensely for any sign that his rough handling left a mark. Even when he seemed sure that she was unhurt, he stayed close, staring into her eyes.

She broke the silence floating between them. “I couldn’t help it,” she admitted, looking down in shame. “I… I can’t just pretend I didn’t have another life. I miss my friends. My family.”

For a moment, she worried his anger would rise up again. But he looked almost as exhausted as she felt. Glancing at his phone, he pursed his lips. “Your family is not in the chat logs,” he noted.

“I…” She sniffled. “I picked people I wasn’t especially close to.”

“Why?”

She managed the smallest laugh. “I know you think I’m an impulsive idiot. And you’re right, I can be. So I gave myself limits.” Her shoulders slumped. “I knew if I reached out to my family, I wouldn’t be able to keep the secret up. Sooner or later, I’d spill everything just so they wouldn’t have to live another day wondering if I was alive or dead or swimming in someone’s drink.”

He regarded her with raised eyebrows like something was dawning on him. “You were tangled in the sheets when I came in,” he said slowly. His expression fell, and she dropped her gaze. She’d opened up about the nature ofher recurring nightmares before. “It was a bad one. I should have noticed I should have waited.” He sighed heavily, and his finger returned to stroke her hair down. “Are you alright?”

She pursed her lips and shook her head.

His finger paused. “Do you want me to leave?” he murmured.

She could tell that her hesitation hurt him more than anything. But ultimately, she shook her head again. Raising her hand, she found his finger and guided it to her side. She leaned against the warmth of his skin.

“Lorelei…” His eyes flicked up and down, drinking her in with fondness steeped in loving fear. She braced herself for the inevitable—the gentle but firm order to never pull something like this again. But he was full of surprises tonight. “I trust you. Please—give me another chance to be the kind of man you are not afraid to keep secrets from.”

Her tears spilled over, and she pressed a kiss to his knuckle. “I think I can do that.”

(A/N: I've had this on the backburner for so long, I'm glad to finally post it! I'm sorry that my first short story in a while is a gut punch lol 💞)

#gt #g/t #gt writing #g/t writing #gt story #g/t story #gt fandom #g/t fandom #giant tiny #gt fearplay #g/t fearplay #my writing #print universe #trinket universe #print universe story #trinket universe story #oc: andres #oc: lorelei

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kendsleyauthor · 1 year

Text

Starstruck

~8700 words

Warning: Dehumanization, fearplay

Summary: When Lorelei stows away in Andres’ bag with a drunken wish of seeing Micah Tate, her dream of meeting her favorite rockstar quickly morphs into a nightmare. She finds herself at the mercy of a hotel bar, and then in the hands of Micah himself. But is he really the monster that he appears to be?

A Christmas gift for the beautiful lovely amazing @marydublinauthor 🌸 We had an idea about Lorelei being a fan of Micah, and what it would be like if she had the chance to meet him. Here is the result of those thoughts 😘

Read more Print/Trinket Universe stories here.

“You know, you kinda look like a disappointed dad right now. Would you be mad if I say that’s kinda hot?” Lorelei peeked up and tried a sheepish smile, but Andres was far from smiling back.

He sat at the table with his arms crossed over his chest, glaring down at her. She would have been scared out of her mind if he ever gave her that look before she really knew him. Even now, knowing that he’d never lift a finger to hurt her, he looked downright terrifying.

She flinched when his irked voice finally rumbled out. “What were you thinking?”

“I… I had a few too many drinks, okay? And your bag was open. So I didn’t really think. I just did it.” Lorelei pouted and played with the hem of her silky nightgown, hoping to score some cute points—not that it ever worked with Andres. “You know, how in a game when there’s a perfect move right in front of you, and you just have to take it?” She reached out as if trying to grab something invisible, just out of reach. “Like it’ll disappear if you wait a moment too long? That’s what it felt like.”

“This is nothing like that, Lore,” he growled. “How do you expect me to keep you safe when you do something like this? You could have been crushed or seen, and for what?”

“To be fair, you didn’t have to tell me that Micah Tate was staying at the same hotel as your winter tournament. This is his first time playing in Argentina—and who knows when he’d come again?”

He dragged a hand down his face. “Did you think you were going to meet him?”

Her face flushed. She felt stupid enough as it was without that derisive tone in his voice. “I was drunk, Andres. I told you—I didn’t think anything.”

“Why do you like him at all? You know what he does to trinkets.” He grabbed his phone and typed furiously.

Lorelei pursed her lips and turned away, knowing what he was searching for. They’d had this argument more than once. But it had always been hypothetical. Now, it was painfully, horribly real.

Sure enough, he pulled up several articles showing how Micah treated the trinkets that were served with his drinks. Even if it made her sick to her stomach, she took a glance. There was an image of him dangling a trinket helplessly over his mouth, and another of him raising a glass with a trinket clinging to the rim. He wore a devilish smile on his face that made Lorelei’s throat tighten.

“You don’t get it,” she said meekly.

Andres practically slammed the phone face down, making the table rattle. “What, because you like his music, you’re fine with him doing this? I thought you were smarter than that, Lorelei.”

“Of course I’m not fine with it! Just… Listen. Micah stayed at my hotel a few times.” It was strange to say it that way—as if she owned the hotel instead of being enslaved to it. “There was a rumor going around with the other trinkets that he actually fakes it.”

Andres sighed, unimpressed. “Fakes it?”

“Yeah. That he’s actually with the Rebellion. Trinkets have a habit of disappearing around him.”

“Do I need to explain to you why trinkets actually disappear around him?” Andres looked at her almost pleadingly, like he was begging to not be the one to tell her Santa Claus wasn’t real.

She crossed her arms. “It was a nice thought, anyway,” she mumbled.

“He is a celebrity, Lore. A spoiled brat who only has to pay a fee when he has no trinket to return.” His expression softened somewhat. His hand slid across the table slowly, a fingertip brushing the back of her hand. “I understand—wishful thinking. You and the other trinkets… You wanted to believe that.”

“Hey.” She touched his finger and squeezed. “All my wishful thinking worked out when it came to you, right?”

He drew a deep breath and pulled away. “That was different.” Before she could argue that it wasn’t, he gave her a more serious look. “We need to go home. Now. You are lucky this tournament was local—no planes.”

“Give me some credit. I wouldn’t sneak in your bag if there was security to deal with.”

“You said yourself that you were not thinking,” he said, a colder edge to his voice. “You put yourself in danger. Do you understand that? Both of us, in danger.”

“I’m… I’m sorry.”

There was absolutely no way she could make it up to him. Had she done this months ago, she would have been genuinely wondering if he might simply leave her behind at the hotel for making such a crazy move. But he wasn’t like that. He was grumpy and intimidating, but he wouldn’t leave her—not again.

A sharp knock came at the door. Andres scooped her up without warning, cupping her close to his chest. She squirmed in alarm, only for him to hold her tighter and shush her. When it became apparent that the visitor wasn’t going to barge in, he relaxed somewhat.

“¿Señor Soto?”

“¿Que necesitas?” Andres said—Lore flinched against his chest at the sound of his voice.

“Lo siento. Su oponente está esperando.”

Andres cursed on his breath. “Dame un momento, por favor.”

The footsteps trailed off, and Andres set Lorelei back on the table. She bit her lip hard, realizing there was at least one thing she could do to make it right. Andres couldn’t miss this tournament.

“He said your opponent is ready, right?” Lorelei rested a hand on his knuckle. “Go. You have to play in the tournament. You can’t miss it because of me.” She could see he was about to argue, so she pressed on, “How would it look if you checked into the hotel and then left right before your first match? If you do that, you’ll draw attention. You have to go, Andres.”

He clenched his jaw. He knew she was right.

Still, he hesitated.

“Hey.” Lorelei forced a smile and let go of his hand. “I’ll be right here, waiting for you. Just like old times, right?”

She stayed at the table, picking at the breakfast that had been brought up for Andres. With her lack of appetite, it looked like medialuna had no more than a few crumbs scraped from it. Lorelei paced instead, feeling worse by the minute. If Andres couldn’t concentrate, it would be her fault. He always won this tournament. Anything less than first place would make people think he was losing his touch.

As a human, she had never attended this particular tournament, though it had always been on her list. If she wasn’t so agitated, she would have been fascinated by the loveliness of the hotel. Its architecture was historical, but it had all the modern upgrades that elite guests would demand—not that she could reach any of them. On the surface, it was a far cry from the overly-sleek facades of the hotel she was once imprisoned within.

Huffing, she came to a stop at the edge of the table and sat with her legs hanging over the side. She gazed out at the landscaping below. The room was high enough that she didn’t have to worry about anyone spotting her. The lawn below was decorated festively. A massive, fake pine tree had been extravagantly adorned with ornaments and tinsel. She was still getting used to the idea that winter was the hottest time of the year in Argentina. With Christmas only a few days away, it felt more like the Fourth of July should be rolling around.

Her mind wandered to Micah Tate. After tonight’s show, he’d be back home, celebrating his own green Christmas in California, probably. He was finishing out a quick winter tour in South America. She wondered what he was doing right now. For all she knew, he was wandering around the bars, getting drunk off fancy cocktails and trinkets at ten in the morning. Lorelei shivered.

In the time Andres had been gone, footsteps had trailed up and down the hallway, but she’d paid them no mind. So when someone approached the door, she didn’t think anything of it until she heard the swipe of a keycard. Even then, she didn’t move from her spot on the table. She figured Andres was coming back after his first match, and her only worry was that he might have thrown the game just so they could leave early. She would know right away if he was lying or not when she asked.

But the door didn’t shut. And he didn’t call to her. When she turned around, it wasn’t Andres in the doorway.

Her heart stuck in her throat.

There was a woman in a light blue maid’s uniform, using her cart to prop the door open. Lorelei thought there must be a mistake in the scheduling—until she spotted a door handle sign sitting on the table with her. No molestar. Andres had forgotten to put it outside before he left.

And considering Andres had just checked in, no one would be coming in at all if he hadn’t ordered food to tide her over while he was away at his matches.

There was no time to hide. The maid’s eyes landed on her as she scrambled to stand. Lorelei held her breath and trembled. It had been months since anyone other than Andres had looked at her. And to have someone look at her like an object—a piece of furniture, a trinket—made her knees buckle.

Andres excelled at making her feel tiny yet unafraid. One look from this unknown woman made her remember what it was like to always feel terrified every waking moment.

For a second, Lorelei worried that she would be noticed as an intruder immediately, but the anonymity of being a trinket saved her. Perhaps like every other establishment that offered trinkets, there was a constant turnover. Who would bother memorizing the faces of people who are going to be crushed, drowned, or swallowed from one night to the next?

The maid largely ignored her, clearing up the breakfast tray and relocating it to her cart. Lorelei had no choice but to stand meekly and act as though she belonged there. She thought she might be in the clear, but the maid returned to the table, and Lorelei was horrified to find a hand reaching for her next.

“N-no!” Lorelei stepped back and raised her arms in defense. Her heels were dangerously close to the edge—there was nowhere to go. “H-he wants me here! He wants me to stay!”

The woman frowned at her with her hand suspended halfway. Lorelei realized she probably couldn’t understand her.

“U-uh… el me quiere… a-aqui,” Lorelei said through heavy, frightened breaths. Her accent was terrible—so terrible that she wondered if the maid understood her at all.

It didn’t matter. The maid scoffed and reached for her all the way.

“N-no!” Before Andres had saved her, Lorelei had gotten quite good at remaining calm and keeping the tears in. She couldn’t help but sob now. “Por favor, please listen to me—no!”

Even if she could string together something more comprehensible to explain that Andres wanted her to stay in the room, she doubted she would be listened to. This wasn’t the Onyx Citadel, her previous hotel where they had known Andres’ preference for her. Here, she was just another trinket. If he wanted her, he’d have to ask for her. Until then, she was at the mercy of the hotel bar and restaurant.

Lorelei was snatched into a hand that was none too gentle—especially when she started to struggle. Her breath left her body as she was clutched tighter, and she swore she blacked out for a second. The next thing she knew, she was being dropped into a glass case that held five other trinkets. She leaned against the wall and pulled herself up, looking around frantically. They were on the second tier of the maid’s cart—just part of last night’s dinner and this morning’s breakfast being collected and cleared away.

The cart rolled into motion. Lorelei staggered to her knees and crawled into an empty corner. She hugged herself, gagging on the scent of alcohol that hung heavy in the air. The other trinkets didn’t look at her. One of them was passed out, shivering. Lorelei covered her face and tried to catch her breath.

Don’t panic.

Everything would be fine. Andres was smart. He’d see the clear table and know what happened. He’d get her back. She would be easy to identify. Her trinket hair had been vibrant orange, but he’d helped her dye it into the darker red shade of her natural color as a human. Then, once Andres had her, no one would notice if she vanished with him, considering she didn’t belong to this hotel.

It would be fine. It would be fine.

She didn’t have to endure the cart for very long. Before she knew it, the glass case was taken downstairs and emptied into a shelf beneath the bar. The trinket area was marginally nicer than the one she was used to but no less depressing. She hurriedly found a change of clothes from a box in the corner, not wanting to draw attention to the nightgown Andres had commissioned for her. She settled for a glittery miniskirt and a crop top that didn’t reach halfway down her ribs.

Once again, she put herself in a corner and tried not to talk to the others. She’d stick out even worse if she was the only one who couldn’t fluently speak Spanish.

That was alright. It wasn’t unusual for trinkets to be silent, scared, and distant.

Nonetheless, someone approached her. She tried to ignore him, but the trinket startled her by throwing a blanket around her shivering shoulders. He knelt in front of her, and she peeked up. He had light blue hair and a kind, sad face. He sought her hand and squeezed it.

“Disculpe. ¿Eres nueva?”

Are you new?

She nodded mutely.

He gave her a grim smile. “Lo siento. Haz lo que dicen y estar segura. Buena suerte para todo.”

Lorelei blinked back tears. I’m sorry. Do what they say and be safe. Good luck.

“Gracias,” she murmured, squeezing his hand back. “Me llamo Lorelei.”

“Mateo.”

They sat in silence for what felt like hours before they were disturbed. Several trinkets were taken out and put on display at the bar. Lorelei did her best to avoid it—the less she was out, the better. If Andres requested her, she needed to be easily found. But there was little she could do when the hand overhead reached for her.

At the Onyx Citadel, they had been strict about where their trinkets went. Here, they were expected to roam freely at the bar, as long as they stayed within range and were entertaining their lunchtime guests. The others apparently knew what to do—she had missed orientation and could barely bring her legs to move. If someone liked her too much, they could easily take her back to their room.

Mateo urged her along gently, pointing out a young man who was drinking by himself at the end of the bar. Lorelei decided he looked safe enough, and she gave Mateo a silent nod of thanks.

On her way over, she stopped in her tracks.

Andres.

He was across the lobby, wearing a distant expression on his face. He hadn’t noticed she was gone yet—he had to be on his way to the next match.

Lorelei lost herself entirely. She started to run—straight past the person she had intended on entertaining, and just kept going. If Andres spotted her, everything would be alright. He was another guest, another customer. They would oblige him if he wanted to take her with him.

But before she could make it to the edge, a bartender’s hand slammed down and stopped her. She fell back and swept into a tight fist. She whimpered and struggled violently. She would have screamed if she could, but things were too tight to even take a full breath. In her despair, she could hear his voice ringing in her ears. You put yourself in danger. Both of us, in danger.

The world rattled as she was carried back. She was still encased in darkness, but she heard the phone at the bar ring. While still clutching her, the bartender answered. His muffled words were hard to discern, but she was certain she heard Señor Tate pop up several times in his professional tone.

The moment he hung up, his hand unfurled slightly. He studied Lorelei distastefully as she coughed and struggled to catch her breath. Her stomach did backflips as he grabbed a tray and set her on it. She didn’t dare move as he prepared a drink.

She trembled, looking around desperately to spot Andres again. But he was gone. She did, however, see Mateo staring at her from several guests away at the bar. They locked eyes, and he gave her a bleakly encouraging look before a massive hand swept him up. Lorelei looked away and shuddered.

The drink was set down next to her. A classic old-fashioned with a cherry. She wanted to throw up.

The bartender called over one of the servers, sweeping up the tray with Lorelei on it.

“Señor Tate,” the bartender said. Then in a lower, confiding voice, he added, “Corredora.”

Lorelei’s breath caught. Runner.

Micah Tate’s reputation preceded him. What better way to get rid of a troublemaking runner than to make sure she never returned? She could do nothing but sit there and brace herself against the whiskey glass as she was carried off. The single ice block within clinked the seconds to her doom on the way to a private seating area off the side of the hotel bar.

The overhead lights were off. Garlands, adorned with string lights and glowing ornaments wound through the room. It was a small area with booth seats lining three of the walls, tables placed in between. There were half a dozen people lounging around, drinking and speaking a mixture of English and Spanish, though Lorelei couldn’t catch a single word with the ringing in her ears. Smoke hung heavily in the air and made her nauseous.

She heard his laugh before she even spotted him—she’d heard that laugh dozens of times in interviews, but it never sounded so sinister. He lounged at the back of the room like a menacing shadow.

As the server approached, Micah Tate’s eyes zeroed in on Lorelei. She scrambled back in horror until she could go no further. The server took immediate notice and put a stop to her cowardice. In a single, smooth motion, she was lifted from the edge of the tray and dropped directly into the freezing drink. Lorelei coughed and sputtered, trying in vain to avoid contact with the ice.

The tray lowered, and a hand surrounded the glass—Micah’s. She was entirely at the gargantuan rockstar’s mercy. He lifted her to his eye level. Below, a smile curved on his lips. She leaned with her back against the glass, hyperventilating. The glass dropped, then tipped toward his mouth. She cried out and slipped against the ice painfully, though he thankfully didn’t take more than a sip.

One of the women beside him leaned over and gazed down at Lorelei as she recovered. “A redhead,” the woman crooned, reaching for her. “Me encanta—”

“No,” Micah said, yanking the glass away. For a second, his gaze sparked dangerously. Then it flooded with mischief. “Mine.”

A shadow filled Lorelei’s world overhead—Micah’s other hand. He reached in to grab her, and Lorelei let out a shriek at a volume she didn’t think she was capable of producing. Even Micah flinched and paused, gaping at her.

“D-don’t!” she screamed. “Don’t touch me!”

The nearby conversations petered out. There was soft Christmas music playing in the background. They were all staring, but Micah wasn’t looking at them. A terrible smirk grew on his face as he studied her.

“Don’t touch you?” His voice was an eerily playful purr. “How can I not touch what was made to be touched? Look at you.”

His fingers inched closer, and she screamed again. His hand came so close, she could feel his warmth, and a desperate part of her wanted to lean in to get relief from the ice. Micah took notice of her trembling and rerouted his fingers to grab the cherry instead.

“Since I can’t touch you… Guess I’ll just leave you there to freeze huh?”

Survival dug its claws into her. She couldn’t climb out on her own. If he decided to be such a sadist, he could sit back and watch the life leave her, one ice-bitten breath at a time. “N-no!”

Some frantic, animalistic instinct sent her scrambling for the very fingers that terrified her. They were already retreating, the cherry stem plucked between them. She latched onto the fruit itself, and by the time she could make sense of anything, she was dangling high above the glass, right before Micah’s amused stare.

There was no time for her to think of her next move—the stem couldn’t hold her weight with the cherry, and it was slowly snapping off. She tried to leap up and grab the stem, but the sudden movement only made the inevitable come quicker. The fruit broke away from the stem, and she was sent plummeting.

All the breath left her lungs in a single cry as she landed on her back—right in the middle of his palm. The cherry lay halfway across her middle. She started to push it off, but Micah had different plans. This time, it wasn’t his other hand that darkened her view overhead. It was his mouth.

He leaned in. His lips brushed her skin, tongue skating across her abdomen as he plucked the cherry off of her. She could only lay there in silent horror while the humans around Micah made noises of razzing approval. She gaped at the overwhelming view of him chewing and swallowing the cherry.

As she started to sit up, Lorelei realized some of the cherry juices were still on her—and Micah took notice as well. He closed in again, but she didn’t freeze up this time. Knowing that she wouldn’t be able to stop him from closing the space, she pushed herself into his depraved kiss instead. The moment he was close enough, she bit hard on his lower lip, clenching tight enough to draw blood.

A deafening shout rang out from him.

Silence, other than the music. A line of blood trickled from his lip while Lorelei breathed heavily at the sight of what she’d done.

The others stared—some of them at her with disgust, and some at him with interest at what he would do to retaliate.

When she looked directly at him again, she was sure he was going to lose his shit and crush her in his fist. Instead, his fingers closed slowly around her until she was locked in place—but he didn’t squeeze. Her head spun as he moved. She could picture him vividly rising to his feet, walking with his hands relaxed at his side, one fist clenched to keep her trapped. There were murmurs, but no one questioned him or begged him to stay.

Her heart pounded wildly. The lighting changed. There were at the bar, then the lobby, then an elevator. His pounding footsteps had to be carrying her to his private room.

Tears leaked out of her eyes, and before she could stop herself, she was sobbing.

That was the thing about Micah Tate. He was a showman. An attention seeker. A depraved rockstar who had an audience when he toyed with trinkets. But no one ever saw how he killed them.

A door opened and shut. Micah came to a stop, but he didn’t move for what felt like a full minute. His hand lifted, then lowered and opened, releasing her onto a soft surface. She squinted in the light. A pillow. He’d placed her on a pillow and was looming over her.

She could picture what would happen—he would unbuckle his belt and get a sick look of satisfaction on his face as she screamed and begged for him to stop. Maybe he’d order another drink, maybe he wouldn’t. Maybe he’d break all her bones or squeeze until the life left her eyes. All she knew was that she was going to die in this room at the whim of her favorite rockstar.

The blood had stopped dribbling, but it created a vivid line from his lip to his chin. Although he was looking at her, his gaze was a million miles away. He was probably thinking of the most painful method to do away with her after humiliating him in front of his groupies.

Something snapped inside her. She sat up and threw her arms out on either side of herself, frightened tears flowing down her face. “Make up your mind and get me, motherfucker!”

He took a step back, looking just as shocked as when she’d bitten him.

“I’m sorry,” Micah Tate croaked in a voice that was nothing like the one from the private bar room. “I’m so fucking sorry. Are you okay?”

She stared up at him in disbelief. “No!” Her voice cracked painfully. “I’m not okay! Would you be okay?”

Micah pushed a hand back through his hair and looked around helplessly, muttering under his breath. “Fuck-fuck-fuck—okay, um…” He finally seemed to settle on a decision and disappeared through a nearby door. Lorelei flinched as he came back into the room, holding a white washcloth.

“What—what’s that for?” she demanded, skittering away from his approach. “Stay away from me! Are you g-going to smother me? Because after all that, it’d be a really chickenshit way to kill me, don’t you think?”

“No—I mean, yeah, that would be chickenshit, but I’m not gonna—” He huffed. “You look cold.”

He sounded so sad, like his heart was shattering at the sight of her. His fingers dug nervously into the cloth as he regarded her. Then he sprang forward, dropped the cloth beside her, and backed up again before she could scream—as though his proximity to her should be ripped off quickly like a band-aid. It didn’t stop her from covering her face with fright. When nothing happened, she peeked through her fingers.

Micah had backed himself to the nearest wall. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m… I’m not going to hurt you. I’ll give you space. You’re safe—from me, from everybody.”

As he began to retreat, Lorelei snapped, “Wait!” He froze and locked his overwhelming stare on her. She swallowed hard and wiped her cheeks. “What the hell is happening? What are you going t-to do to me?”

“Nothing!” His volume gave her a start, so he repeated himself softer. “Nothing. I know you can’t believe me after what I put you through, but I swear, I won’t hurt you. If… if I don’t keep up appearances, I…” He looked at the floor and clenched his jaw. “I’m so sorry.”

His tone was unbelievably gentle, and that made her cry harder. She’d dealt with plenty of guests who played games before. Soft voices and tender words were meant to lull her into a foolish sense of hope before they cruelly reminded her that she was nothing more than a plaything.

“Please,” Micah started again—and she thought he was going to beg her to believe him. “Please, can you wrap yourself up? You just—you look really cold.”

Her teeth chattered, and she obeyed out of necessity. Never taking her eyes off him, she scooted over to the washcloth and crawled into it. She sank into the plush fabric and tugged the folds up around her. The moment she glanced down to fully situate herself, Micah began to exit again.

“Would you hang on?” Lorelei said. “Why d-do you keep trying to leave?”

“I… I can’t look at you.”

“Why?”

“Because—” He gathered himself and sighed, looking ashamed. “Because you look so scared, and the more I look, the more I want to hold you and hug you and make you feel safe, but I can’t do that because I’m a fucking monster.”

She stared. “... What?”

After that bit of supposed honesty, it was like the floodgates had opened. He leaned back against the wall and sank to a seat on the floor. “I know I have to make it look real, but what does it say about me when people really believe it? I mean—the way they were all looking at me after you bit me, it’s like they were excited to see what I would do to you. And even before that, the thing with the cherry? Who the fuck thinks of that? What the fuck is wrong with me?”

Lorelei gave him nothing when he chanced another look in her direction at the end of his ramble. Years of chess games made it easy to school her expression as she got a hold of herself. Buried beneath her unreadable mask, she was utterly bewildered by his vulnerability. If his emotion was real, her heart threatened to melt at how pitifully dramatic he was being. If it was fake, he was the world’s biggest psychopath.

“All of that back at the bar,” she said. “It’s an act?”

“Yeah, it’s… Yeah.”

Relief was on the brink of tipping through her, but she held it back desperately. If she allowed herself to believe him, she wouldn’t be able to stop herself from begging him to take her to Andres. But this could still be a sick game, and if she revealed the truth, she’d put Andres in danger.

“How do I know you’re not lying?” Lorelei said.

“It’s usually easier to prove when she’s here, but… She couldn’t come. She was supposed to, but some stupid last-minute travel restrictions popped up before the holiday season, and she wasn’t allowed.”

“She?”

“My wife.”

All at once, Lorelei couldn’t contain herself. Her jaw dropped. “Hang on—when did you get married? How do I not know that? Did I know that?” She racked her brain, but she couldn’t even think of a time when he’d had an official girlfriend, let alone been engaged to anyone.

Micah smiled a little. “We’ve kept it a secret to protect her.”

“Oh…” She sighed. “That’s so romantic.” When she noticed the tightness in her chest was beginning to loosen without her permission, she snapped out of it. “Well… what does your wife have to do with proving anything?”

Reaching into his pocket, he dug out his phone. After flicking through the screen a few times, he pushed himself to stand. For a moment, he idled by the wall and looked at Lorelei with whipped puppy dog eyes. “Can I come closer so I can show you my phone? I won’t touch you, I promise.”

It didn’t seem like they would get anywhere if she said no. She nodded jerkily, bracing herself.

His shadow fell over her once more, even though he tried to keep his distance as he sat on the edge of the bed. She focused on the screen instead of the fingers clutching his phone—the fingers that had held her captive just a few minutes prior.

She narrowed her eyes at the phone. Micah was showing her one of his selfies. He was beaming that trademark smile of his, but he wasn’t alone. A print woman was sitting cross-legged on his shoulder, smirking and looking like she was in the middle of rolling her eyes. One of her hands was braced on Micah’s neck, and though she looked annoyed, her posture was utterly relaxed. Comfortable. Safe.

“Who’s that?” Lorelei asked blankly.

“Everly. My wife. Don’t ask me how I landed the most beautiful woman on the planet—I’m still trying to figure it out.”

Lorelei’s wide-eyed gaze drifted up to Micah’s face. “That—she—what—” She all but abandoned the washcloth, crawling forward on the pillow. “You’re married to a print?”

He shut off the phone and pulled it away. She didn’t realize how much of a barrier it was between them until it was gone. She went rigid, but she didn’t flee. Not that there was anywhere to go.

“Safe to say you don’t believe me?” he said.

“Fuck no, I don’t believe you!” She laughed, but deep down, it was such an absurd claim that part of her wanted to believe it immediately. “Video-call her or something. I want to hear it from her!”

He pointed at her. “You’ll say I’m forcing her to go along with it.”

“I’m really good at reading people.”

“Oh? Why can’t you read me, then?” The challenge was accompanied by a soft smirk that didn’t have a hint of malice in it.

Lorelei shook her head. “You’re… a lot. I can’t.”

“Fair.” His face became a touch more serious, and he looked at her apologetically. “I can’t call her. It’d be too dangerous to talk about this over the phone—never know who could be watching or listening in on these things. I’m sorry. I won’t put her in danger like that.”

“How will you prove it, then?”

“Hey. If it’s between keeping her safe or making you believe I’m on your side, I pick her. I’m always going to pick her. I love her more than anything.” It should have been horrific to see his face darken like that, but somehow, it made her more inclined to believe him.

Lorelei hesitated. “What do you love about her?”

He sighed, his eyes softening to a degree she didn’t know was possible. “What don’t I love about Ev? She’s smart as fuck, for one thing. She’s a problem-solver. Anything that gets put in front of her, anything with wires or circuits, she can figure it out faster than anyone I know. She’s got this crazy good memory—she remembers lyrics to my songs even better than I can.”

He was crawling onto the bed like he didn’t even realize what he was doing. Lorelei didn’t make a peep or move a muscle. He wasn’t prowling closer to her, just reclining across the middle of the sheets like he was a teenager in love.

“The world’s been so shitty to her, but she still finds things to make her smile. She knew me before all this rockstar stuff, and I had the biggest crush on her. When my music blew up, I wanted to give her everything. But that’s not Ev—she refused to just take it. She started engineering the lights and pyro for live shows, and the stuff she thinks up is unreal.”

Throughout his speech, Lorelei climbed down from the pillow and inched toward him. His hand was resting near his head, relaxed.

“And she pretends like she doesn’t give a shit, but she does. She’s so brave when it comes down to doing what’s right, it’s like nothing shakes her. She cares so deeply and beautifully about the people she loves, and if she sees a way to help someone, she will do it in a heartbeat, no question about it. And, oh my God, the way her eyes light up when she’s figured something out or thought of something—and don’t even get me started on her laugh—it’s fucking angelic.”

“Micah?” Lorelei rested her hand on the pad of his little finger. It twitched slightly in response to her touch.

He turned his head. When he saw how close she was, he looked like he wanted to move away again. But he froze. There was nothing monstrous or conniving in his eyes. He was overwhelming, yes, but as Lorelei began to weep again, it was from crushing relief.

“I believe you,” she said with a teary smile.

“You do?” His hand shifted suddenly, finger cupping behind her. He hesitated when he saw her stiffen with alarm.

“I… I do,” she said, bravely leaning back into his grasp.

His touch was so warm, there was no going back the moment he scooped her up. He sat up on the bed, tipping her gently into the stretch of his palm. His gaze was intense, and though she should have felt exposed in her meager garments, she could tell he wasn’t looking at her in that way. He was searching for any sign that she would revoke the permission to hold her. When he found none, he relaxed.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Lorelei Weaver. Call me Lore.”

“Lore?” Micah’s voice jumped in disbelief. “Your name’s Lore? That’s so cool.”

She sniffled and laughed, her cheeks flushing. Micah Tate thought her name was cool. She might have fainted if not for the residual adrenaline still pumping through her veins. Even so, she felt lightheaded as she gazed up at his face without fear. It all began to sink in—this time in a dreamlike way instead of a nightmare. She was alone in a hotel room with her favorite rockstar, and all of his attention was zeroed in on her.

“Micah Tate?” she uttered.

He gave her a knowing smile that suggested he knew what she was feeling. “Lorelei Weaver?”

She bit back a squeal at the way he said her name. “I want you to know… I love your music.”

His smile widened. “Yeah?”

“I went to a few of your shows. You were… spectacular every time. You’re the best. And the lights and the pyro? You’re right. Everly’s unreal.”

His face became an odd mix of sorrowful and pleased. Sorrowful for the mention of the human life she’d lost. Pleased for the compliments that fanned his ego—and there certainly was an ego she could sense under all the kindness. At least it didn’t make him an asshole.

“Lore.” His other hand came close and cupped behind her. His thumb brushed away the last of her tear trails with a touch that suggested he’d done this before. “I’m gonna make sure you get somewhere safe. There’s a local contact that’s going to come by to collect you and any other trinkets I can get my hands on before I leave tomorrow morning. She’s gonna take you to the nearest Rebellion outpost. You’re safe now. Understand?”

Her breath caught, leaving her speechless.

“You get what I’m saying?” Micah’s hands curled slightly like he was giving her a hug with his fingers. “No one’s gonna hurt you again. How’s that for a Christmas present?”

“I knew it!” she shouted.

He flinched, fingers uncurling at her sudden volume. “What?”

“I knew you were helping the Rebellion!” She pumped her fist once in the air, feeling the same rush she got when she beat Andres at a chess game. She beamed at Micah, who was giving her a perplexed though amused look. “My friend said I was crazy for thinking that you were actually helping trinkets. He said it was just wishful thinking. But I was right!”

“Oh. One of your friends at the bar? If you tell me what he looks like, I can make sure to get him, too. Then you can gloat all the way to the base.”

“He… He’s not…” She bit her lip. “Well, there is one trinket I know at the bar. Light blue hair. His name’s Mateo. Will you make sure he’s safe?”

“Of course.” Micah was sincere, but he cocked his head at her sudden, sober attitude. “What’s wrong?”

“But the friend I was talking about. He’s not a trinket.” She shifted to hands and knees and crawled to the heel of Micah’s palm. She looked up at him pleadingly. “I have a secret too. Sort of like yours. Can I trust you?”

“Of course you can trust me,” he said readily. He frowned, trying to process what she had said. “He’s not a trinket, but you’re friends with him… Does he work at the hotel?”

“No, but he’s staying here. Look, it’s a long story but Andres saved me. He risked everything to take me away from the hotel I used to live in. He snuck me on a plane and brought me to Argentina, and I’ve been living with him ever since. I appreciate your offer to send me to a base, but…” She trailed off, wondering if Andres might try to convince her it was better that she go through with that. “I need to talk to him.”

“Hang on… You live with some guy that took you from a hotel?” Concern flooded the huge face before her, and it strangely gave her butterflies. “Does he… I mean, does he do anything to you?”

“No! No. He’s not that kind of person.”

“But he brings you with him when he travels?”

“No…”

“Then how did you get in this place, then?”

Lorelei palmed her face to hide her blush. “I snuck into his bag before he left. He didn’t know I was there until he got to his room and started unpacking. We thought I’d be safe in the room while he was away, but a maid came to clean up breakfast and took me away.”

Her attempt to plow through the events didn’t help. He still looked puzzled. “Why did you hide in his bag?”

She groaned and covered her face entirely. “You,” she mumbled.

“Huh?” He leaned in closer, brows furrowed.

“You!” She didn’t want to look at him, but that was hard to avoid when his face filled her entire field of vision. At least he had cleaned away the blood from her bite. “Andres told me you’d be staying at the same hotel as his chess tournament, I had too much to drink, and I thought it was a great idea to go along with him. So here I am.”

He was quiet for so long that she wanted to die on the spot. Then he chuckled and she wanted to die even more.

“Wow. So you’re a superfan?” Mischief glinted in his eyes—nothing the hostile kind from the bar, but it made her squirm nonetheless. “You’re not mad at me for secretly being married, are you?”

“Shut up,” she muttered. “Can you go back to groveling?”

“Sorry. Let me make it up to you.”

His warmth became more pronounced. When she lifted her eyes, she realized he was coming closer. His lips gently pressed to the top of her head and made her freeze. She forgot how to breathe or think about anything other than the fact that Micah Tate kissed her. Kissed her. With his stupidly soft lips. She felt lightheaded all over again.

He pulled back and smiled teasingly. “Better?”

A quip rose up her throat and almost made it past her lips, but when she looked up at him, all she could do was release an utterly enamored sigh. She wondered how Everly could function on a daily basis with this as her husband.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Micah said. “Let’s get you back to your friend. You said he’s in the chess tournament?”

“Huh-what?” Lorelei blinked at him and shook off her daze. “Oh—yeah! Yeah. He’s a champion. He always kills it at this tournament. Maybe you could go down and find him, but…” She shook her head. “You’re too recognizable, and he might freak out if he sees you holding me. Can’t have that.”

“I wouldn’t want you out there, either,” Micah said. “Do you know his number? I can’t risk saying anything in detail. Maybe just the room number and your name. He’s bound to notice you’re missing soon.”

She nodded. It would be cryptic, but it seemed like the safest move. All she could hope was that Andres hadn’t gone back to the room yet to find her gone.

Micah relocated them to the table, taking the washcloth with him and setting it on the surface. He put her down gently, tucking one of the folds around her shoulders. While he sent the message, she gazed around in wonder at the room. It was more luxurious and spacious than Andres’ room—intimidatingly so.

“A chess master, huh?” Micah smirked at the idea after setting down his phone. He propped his chin in his hand and gazed down at her—it still made her knees feel like jelly. “Have you picked up a thing or two from being around him?”

She smiled innocently. “Yeah. He’s taught me some pretty neat moves. How about we play while we wait for Andres? You can download an app on your phone. If you want to—of course.”

Micah was all too happy to oblige. It seemed he was ready to do anything to make her happy and make up for what he had done at the bar. He placed an order for lunch to be brought to the room and downloaded the app. With the phone placed between them, he started off the game with an abysmally dumb move that made her clench her jaw to keep from laughing.

She beat him in four moves.

“Huh. You’re pretty good,” he said.

They were briefly interrupted by a knock at the door. Lorelei’s heart fluttered with relief until she realized it was room service.

Micah gently scooped her off the table with the washcloth and held her hidden on his lap under the table while the server dropped off the food. A thrill of fright ran through her, but one hand stayed huddled gently around her. A fingertip stroked between her shoulder blades, calming her.

When they were alone again, he brought her back to the tabletop and murmured an apology.

“I-it’s fine,” she said, willing the color out of her cheeks. “Another game?”

By the fifth game, it became abundantly clear that she knew what she was doing—and that was when another knock came at the door. This was not the professional knock of a hotel employee, and there was no voice announcing who was there and what they wanted. As Micah started to sit up to answer it, the knock came again, even more aggressive.

Micah glanced at Lorelei with raised eyebrows. She was sitting at the edge of a plate, picking at a roll from their meal. “He’s worried,” she told him with a shrug.

There was a third round of knocking just as Micah was unlocking the door. He pulled it open and smiled charmingly. “Oh, hey. Wow, you’re not what comes to mind when I hear ‘chess player.’ You must be—”

Andres burst inside and shoved Micah in the chest with both hands. He shut the door behind him as Micah staggered back in shock.

“Andres, no!” Lorelei called.

He turned in the direction of her voice, gasping. His eyes immediately fell on her sitting on Micah’s plate, wearing little more than lingerie. She didn’t think about how that would look until rage filled his expression.

Grabbing the front of Micah’s shirt, Andres pushed him into the wall and pinned him. “She is mine.”

The shock on Micah’s face morphed into disgust. “She’s not yours.”

Completely misunderstanding what he meant, Andres raised his fist.

“Andres, stop it!” Lorelei ran to the edge of the table. “You do not punch Micah Tate! I was right! He’s with the Rebellion!”

Andres lowered his hand a fraction, still glaring and breathing heavily. “Is this true?”

Micah looked between him and Lorelei. “Does he always act like he owns you?” he said.

“He didn’t mean it that way,” Lorelei assured. “Andres, back off!”

Reluctantly, he pulled away from Micah and looked him up and down. “Rebellion,” he scoffed. “What do you want, really? Are you going to use her to bribe me? To threaten me?”

“Why don’t you relax and have a seat?” Micah gestured at the table as though he hadn’t just been one wrong word away from getting his nose broken. “No one’s threatening anyone—except you threatening me. I’m just trying to get Lore home.”

Something flashed in Andres’ eyes at the way Micah said her name so casually. But he went to the table anyway. Maybe not to do what Micah said, but to get a closer look at Lorelei. He brought his hands on either side of her—swift and gentle—and scooped her up. Though his expression was stony, his gaze bore a hint of frenzy as he looked her over for injury.

“I’m fine,” she told him, hugging his thumb with relief. “He didn’t hurt me, Andres. It told you—he saves trinkets. Isn’t that amazing?”

Andres sank to a seat and gave her one last look before turning his glare to Micah, who sat across from him.

“You’re a chess player,” Micah said with a weak laugh. “Why are you so strong?”

“You’re a musician. Why are you bad at making music?”

“Andres!” Lorelei gave Micah a mortified look. “He doesn’t mean that—he was just worried about me.”

“No, I hate his music,” Andres said matter-of-factly.

“Can’t please everyone.” Micah shrugged, looking perhaps ninety-nine percent unbothered. It was the bothered one percent that made Lorelei want to run across the table and hug him. His eyes softened on her. “You’re sure you wanna keep living with this guy?”

Andres’ hands tensed around her. “What?”

“There’s… there’s someone who’s going to take the hotel trinkets Micah rescues.” Lorelei hesitated. She felt the weight of Andres’s stare on her, but she couldn’t bring herself to look. “They’re going to a Rebellion base.”

A heavy beat of silence.

“Do you want to go?” Andres said, sounding detached.

“Do you want me to go?” she countered, finally forcing herself to look at him.

The moment they made eye contact, the answer was clear. His finger wrapped a little closer around her, and she snuggled in comfortably. Yes, she annoyed him sometimes, and yes, he could be intimidating, but the thought of leaving him made her go cold inside. She peeked over at Micah, who was watching them with silent understanding.

“I’m staying with him,” Lorelei said.

Micah nodded. “I figured.” He glanced down at the phone, which had Lorelei’s latest win still clear across the screen. “I know you’re a champion and all, but I’m sure she could give you a run for your money.”

Andres scoffed. “Of course. She is a better player than I am.”

Upon seeing Lorelei’s sheepish smile, Micah made a playfully insulted noise. “Did you hustle me?”

“Is it hustling if no money was involved?” she said.

“Right. Just my pride.” He shut off the phone screen and shook his head. “Man, that’s actually kinda a relief. I was starting to think I was just dumb.”

“You are, pelotudo.” Andres stood. Before Lorelei could demand he apologize, he sighed and looked back at Micah. “Thank you. For helping her. She is… important.”

“I know,” Micah said. “Take care of her.” He was brave enough to get within grabbing reach of her while she still stood in Andres’ hands. “I’ll save as many as I can, Lore. I promise. Okay?” He held his hand out to her.

She touched his index finger and nodded, relishing her last contact with Micah Tate. “Thank you, Micah. You’re… amazing.”

Andres was quick to pull away after that. He paused at the door to help Lorelei into his pocket. She lingered at the edge of his hand and gave him a long look.

“What?” he muttered.

“I dunno. You just…” She smiled and patted his finger. “You seemed a little jealous back there.”

“Of him?”

“Who else?” She lowered her voice even softer. “You know what’s even hotter than the disappointed dad look? Seeing you and Micah Tate fight over me.”

He shut his eyes for a second and gathered himself. “His music is banned from the house,” he decided.

“Aw, what?”

“Banned.” He took a deep breath and gave her a more soulful look—one that was so rare from him that her breath caught. “Mi reina. You scared me.”

He tipped her into his front pocket. She could feel his fingers shivering with relief as he hugged her through the fabric. She leaned into his chest, more certain than ever that she had made the right decision.

((Author’s note: What a rollercoaster for Lore! Does she have any regrets? Probably only that she didn’t get more kisses from Micah. But she’s willing to let that go now that she knows his secret 😘))

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