The Aston Martin tore through the darkness like it was trying to outrun the night itself.

Lucien sat curled tightly against the passenger-side door, wrists bound to the seatbelt latch with one of the stranger's ties.

A tie.

Expensive-looking.

Probably worth more than Lucien's monthly grocery budget.

Which somehow made the situation worse.

At first, when the man had slammed him against the wall outside the party, Lucien had shouted.

Mostly in French.

Very fast.

The stranger clearly hadn't understood a single word.

He had, however, looked deeply unimpressed.

One cold glance from those gray-blue eyes and Lucien's survival instincts immediately took over.

Now he sat silently in the passenger seat trying not to die.

Outside, empty roads stretched endlessly beneath the headlights.

Trees blurred past in black smears.

No houses. No traffic. No witnesses.

Lucien was absolutely going to be murdered.

This was how every American horror movie started.

Pretty foreign exchange student makes one financially irresponsible decision.

Gets dismembered in a warehouse.

The end.

Lucien folded further into himself.

The lamb costume did not help.

His knees were pulled tightly to his chest now, making the tiny tail sewn into the back of the outfit press awkwardly against the seat.

Every time the car hit a bump, the stupid little puffball trembled.

Humiliating.

Worse, the position dragged the shorts even higher up his thighs.

Cold air brushed exposed skin.

Lucien wanted to disappear.

Beside him, Leon kept one hand loosely on the steering wheel.

Calm.

Completely calm.

Like kidnapping counterfeit ticket sellers was just another Tuesday evening activity.

His gaze flicked sideways once.

The lamb ears were trembling.

Jesus Christ.

The kid looked terrified.

Leon looked away again.

Cute.

Unfortunately, being cute did not erase several felony-level crimes.

The police had been chasing this counterfeit ring for weeks.

Leon himself had spent half the month dealing with angry emails, fake QR code reports, and one very aggressive alumnus threatening legal action.

And now the mastermind apparently turned out to be a tiny French-speaking lamb.

Unbelievable.

The road curved sharply.

Ahead, flashing lights appeared.

Police.

Lucien straightened instantly.

Hope hit so hard it physically hurt.

Two officers waved traffic aside near a temporary barricade.

Road closure.

Construction, maybe.

Lucien's pulse skyrocketed.

This was it.

This was his chance.

He leaned forward so fast the seatbelt dug painfully into his chest.

Beside him, Leon glanced over.

Lucien immediately shrank back down.

The look in those gray-blue eyes was enough.

Cold.

Warning.

Still, his heart hammered violently while Leon stepped out of the car.

Lucien twisted desperately toward the window.

One of the officers approached the driver's side.

They started talking.

Lucien couldn't hear anything.

The Aston Martin's windows were heavily insulated.

Panic clawed higher.

He pressed both hands against the glass.

"Help," he mouthed desperately.

The officer glanced toward him.

Lucien nodded frantically.

Please. Please. Please.

The officer started walking closer.

Relief crashed through Lucien so hard he nearly cried.

Then Leon spoke.

The officer stopped.

Lucien watched helplessly as the man turned back toward Leon instead.

No.

No, no, no.

The officer laughed at something.

Leon reached up calmly and removed the wolf mask.

Even through the glass, Lucien saw the immediate change in the officer's expression.

Recognition.

Of course.

Leon Bolton.

WK's golden king.

Campus royalty.

The kind of man police officers probably asked for selfies from.

Lucien's stomach dropped.

The conversation lasted less than a minute after that.

Then the officer stepped back from the car smiling politely.

Leon got back inside.

The doors shut.

Locking Lucien back into the nightmare.

The engine roared.

The car turned sharply down another road.

And just like that, hope disappeared.

Lucien stared straight ahead.

Numb.

He was going to die.

Definitely.

Beside him, Leon drove in silence for several minutes.

Then:

"So."

Lucien flinched.

Leon's voice remained lazy.

"Big fan of throwing yourself at dangerous people?"

Lucien blinked.

What?

Leon glanced sideways briefly.

"Trying to get the cops to take you that badly?"

Oh.

Humiliation burned through Lucien instantly.

Right.

Because from this psychopath's perspective, Lucien probably looked like an idiot who got caught doing crimes and immediately tried to snitch.

Lucien lowered his head harder.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

The words trembled slightly.

"Can you please let me go?"

Leon let out a short laugh.

Low.

Disbelieving.

"Do you usually ask for miracles this politely?"

Lucien's stomach twisted.

The car kept moving.

Rain clouds gathered heavily overhead now, swallowing moonlight.

The farther they drove, the more isolated the roads became.

Eventually Lucien forced himself to speak again.

"You want money?" he asked quietly.

Leon raised an eyebrow.

"I have money. Not a lot. But maybe—"

"Your money already belongs to me."

Lucien froze.

What did that even mean?

Leon kept driving.

"Selling fake tickets using my name?" he continued lazily. "That's technically my money."

Lucien stared.

Fake… tickets?

His brain short-circuited.

Oh my God.

Oh my God.

This lunatic thought he was a scammer.

Lucien opened his mouth.

Closed it.

Actually… explaining the situation now sounded difficult.

Mostly because he was tied up in a luxury sports car with a man built like organized violence.

Leon glanced over again.

"And what exactly," he asked softly, "could you possibly offer me instead?"

The car slowed.

Then stopped completely.

Lucien's pulse spiked instantly.

Leon unbuckled his seatbelt.

The sound clicked loudly inside the confined space.

Then he leaned across the center console.

Fast enough that Lucien instinctively pressed backward against the door.

Too close.

Way too close.

Up close, Leon felt overwhelming.

Heat. Muscle. The faint smell of smoke and expensive cologne.

Gray-blue eyes locked onto Lucien's face.

Sharp enough to pin him in place.

Lucien stopped breathing.

"What," Leon asked quietly, "do you think you have that I'd want?"

Lucien's lips parted.

Nothing came out.

The Aston Martin suddenly felt much too small.

Leon held his gaze another second.

Then leaned back again.

Like nothing had happened.

He stepped out of the car.

The door slammed shut behind him.

Lucien inhaled violently.

Holy shit.

Holy shit.

Outside, a tiny gas station glowed weakly beside the road.

Rain clouds churned overhead.

Leon disappeared inside the attached convenience store.

Lucien sat frozen in the passenger seat trying to restart his nervous system.

Several minutes later, Leon returned carrying a plastic bag.

Lucien immediately lowered his gaze.

Hostages should probably avoid eye contact.

Leon climbed back into the driver's seat.

He opened the bag one-handed, removed an energy drink for himself, then tossed the rest into Lucien's lap.

Bread. Milk. Packaged sandwiches.

Lucien blinked.

Then Leon reached over and untied his wrists.

The sudden freedom almost hurt.

"Eat," Leon said.

Lucien rubbed his wrists carefully.

Red marks circled pale skin.

Leon frowned slightly.

The tie hadn't even been pulled tight.

The kid bruised ridiculously easily.

Too delicate.

Lucien could feel the stare.

He avoided looking up.

Slowly, cautiously, he opened one of the sandwiches.

His stomach cramped painfully at the smell.

Right.

He hadn't eaten dinner.

At this point, survival outweighed dignity.

Lucien took one careful bite.

Then another.

Then suddenly he was starving.

Leon leaned back in his seat watching the lamb demolish convenience-store food with alarming seriousness.

The little ears bounced slightly every time he chewed.

Ridiculous.

Leon looked away toward the windshield.

Rain started tapping softly against the glass.

A storm was coming.

And farther ahead down the road sat an abandoned factory Leon vaguely remembered passing before.

Roof mostly intact.

Enough shelter to wait out heavy rain.

Which probably meant one thing.

He was about to spend an entire night trapped with a counterfeit ticket seller dressed like a lamb.

Fantastic.