Chapter 3
Cassie
The next few days fell into a strange rhythm. No debt collectors banging on my door, no threatening phone calls. For the first time in months, I could actually get home before midnight.
Alex was still crashed on my couch when I walked in, barely lifting his head when the door clicked shut.
I dropped my backpack and pulled out the supplies I'd picked up from the campus health center—anti-inflammatory spray and some antibiotics I'd convinced the nurse I needed for a "sports injury."
"What's that?" His voice was rough from sleep.
"Something for the swelling," I said, setting the bottles on the coffee table. "And these are antibiotics. Take two every eight hours."
Alex opened his eyes fully, studying me with that same predatory focus. "You a student or something?"
"Yeah. UNLV." I tried to sound casual. "Sophomore."
"How old are you?"
"Twenty."
He started to say something, then cut himself off with a dismissive wave. "Don't care what you're studying."
"You want me to cook something? I make decent pasta." I said.
Alex just stared at me for a long moment, then closed his eyes again.
In the kitchen, I boiled water and added two eggs to the pasta, along with some jalapeños from Mrs. Rodriguez's garden. The smell filled the small space, making my stomach growl.
I left the plate on the table and retreated to my bedroom, giving him space.
Two hours later, I emerged to find the plate empty and Alex back in his resting position. He was awake though, watching me move around the kitchen.
"You got a phone I can use?" he asked as I started washing dishes.
"Mrs. Rodriguez?" I knocked on the restaurant's back door. "Can I borrow your phone for a bit?"
She looked up from prepping vegetables, concern creasing her weathered face. "You want to call that Hudson?"
Her face darkened. "That bastard can rot in a Vegas gutter for all I care."
"It's not for him," I said quickly. "And I might need it for a while."
She handed over her old flip phone with a shrug. "Take your time, sweetheart."
Back in the apartment, Alex grabbed the phone. I tried to give him privacy, but our place was too small to avoid hearing everything.
He unleashed a string of curses that could strip paint. At one point he nearly hurled the phone across the room.
"Easy there, bro," I said without thinking.
His head snapped toward me. "Who the fuck you calling 'bro'?"
I raised my hands in surrender. "Sorry. Just... you seemed upset."
"You got any cigarettes?"
"Can't afford them."
He gave me an odd look, then flopped back down, glaring at the ceiling like it owed him money.
"I got some trouble," Alex said suddenly. "Need to crash here for a couple days."
My heart jumped, but I kept my voice steady. "Sure. No problem."
'Perfect. Stay as long as you need.'
"Anyone else live here?"
"My dad, Hudson. But he's..." I paused, choosing my words carefully. "He's usually at the casinos. Doesn't come home much."
"Why not?"
"Gambling stuff, I guess."
Alex's eyes narrowed.
"You can take my room if you want," I offered. "The couch looks uncomfortable."
"Don't tell me what to fucking do."
But there was less bite in his voice than before.
The next day I was walking up from campus when I spotted them—two men in cheap suits going door to door in my building. FBI badges glinting in the afternoon sun.
I took the stairs three at a time.
"Alex!" I burst through the door. "Hide. Now. FBI."
Despite his injuries, he moved like lightning, disappearing into my bedroom closet as footsteps echoed in the hallway.
The knock was polite but firm.
"Ma'am? FBI. We're conducting routine inquiries about a recent incident."
I opened the door just wide enough to show my face, putting on my best worried student expression.
"Is everything okay?"
"Have you seen any suspicious activity in the area? Unfamiliar vehicles, strangers asking questions?"
"No sir. Just been studying for finals."
They asked a few more questions, took notes, and moved on to the next apartment.
I waited ten minutes before helping Alex out of the closet, watching him wince as he straightened up.
"Why'd you do that?" His voice was different. Calculating.
"Do what?"
"Hide me from the feds. You know who I am?"
I shook my head, probably a little too quickly.
"Then why help me dodge FBI?"
I fumbled for an excuse. "You're hurt, and you don't have ID or anything. I figured they'd ask about your injuries..."
Alex laughed, a harsh sound that turned into a cough. "You think I'm a good guy, little girl?"
The way he said it made my skin crawl.
"There's been shootings, car accidents in the news lately," he continued, watching my face. "You think maybe I was involved in some of that shit?"
Our eyes met across the small room. His were full of arrogance and challenge, daring me to call him what he was.
I looked away first, forcing my voice to stay small. "You don't seem like that kind of person."
Alex laughed again, harder this time. "You better learn to be smarter about people. World's full of wolves."
I widened my eyes, playing dumb. "I don't know what you mean."
A week passed. Alex hadn't left the couch, but his guard was definitely dropping. When I offered to help change his bandages, he didn't refuse.
Under the torn shirt, his body was all lean muscle and defined abs, crisscrossed with my amateur patchwork of bandages. The bullet hole in his side was healing, but there were signs of infection around the edges.
"You're staring," he said coldly.
"The wound looks inflamed. You should see a doctor."
"Mind your own fucking business."
But his tone had lost its edge. We barely talked, but something between us had shifted.
"Why's there no lunch?" Alex asked, watching me come home empty-handed.
"End of the month. Scholarship money's running low."
He yanked off a bracelet I'd barely noticed—white gold studded with diamonds. "Take this. Sell it."
I stared at the jewelry. It was worth more than I made in six months at the restaurant.
"I can't take this. It's too expensive. I'll just pick up extra shifts at Mrs. Rodriguez's place."
"Fuck that. Take the money and buy food."
I held the bracelet, allowing myself a small smile.
Mrs. Rodriguez lent me two hundred dollars for it, no questions asked.
I started keeping prepared meals in the fridge for Alex. He was mobile now, could get around the apartment when he needed to.
Ten days later, they found me.
I was crossing the UNLV parking lot when I spotted them—the same debt collectors who'd been terrorizing me for months. The leader was holding a camera.
"There's our little scholar," one called out, grinning.
They surrounded me before I could run, pulling me toward their car.
"Get in."
Inside the vehicle, they positioned the camera and started giving directions.
"Your daddy owes three hundred grand now," the leader said, reviewing the photos on his screen. "These pictures are worth about ten."
I sat perfectly still, face blank, letting them do what they wanted. When they finished, I calmly put my clothes back on.
"We're not done," the leader said, grabbing my shoulder as I moved to leave. His fingers traced my jawline. "How about we celebrate your finals being over? Day after tomorrow, we'll come to your place."
The others exchanged looks and started laughing.
I forced myself to smile. "Sure. I'd love to have you all over."
"You play nice, maybe we can work out a payment plan."
More laughter. More disgusting implications.
But I found myself smiling.
'Can't wait for them to meet my houseguest.'
Alex Chase, the Desert Reaper himself, was healing up nicely in my living room. And in two days, three pieces of human garbage were going to walk right into his territory.
'This is going to be fun.'