14. DANYA

I laid there beside him, wondering how he'd passed out so quickly. Sure, maybe I'd fucked the life out of him. I hadn't ever knocked someone out through sex before—wait. There was that time a couple years ago, that guy got me all heated, asked me to put my hands around his neck, and one thing led to another, he came, I came, and then he was out like a light. I woke him quickly. There wasn't going to be anyone staying over like that.

Sutton was different. He had a brain. I didn't like that. It almost scared me not knowing what was going on inside his beautiful mind. He knew all these crazy things about the internet that I didn't even think were possible.

I was tried, but I couldn't nap. I left the bed, quietly and headed back to the living area. Sutton's laptop was there, on display on the breakfast bar counter. The urge to look through and see everything he'd been typing like a feral animal who'd learned to use its fingers for the first time.

Skimming my finger across the trackpad, the laptop screen shone onto a login. Of course. Master hacker wasn't letting me anywhere near him without a login page or a phishing expedition.

Instead, I made coffee from my fancy machine and went to my phone.

He'd gone and deleted every single image I'd ever taken of a boy in ropes, looking at me with their begging eyes, asking in all different languages for me to cum on their faces, but not in their hair.

It buzzed in my hand, flashing with a text from the unknown number.

—Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

Nearly throwing it across the room, I put the phone on the counter and screwed my knuckles tight beside it. If I'd punched it, my hands would probably break.

—What are you counting down to? I asked. Although probably unwise considering if they replied, we didn't have much chance at locking in on their location.

—I'm helping.

—Don't be stupid now.

My head hurt from it meaning one thing but they also meant something else.

—You stole the money. Didn't you? Who are you?

The bubbles of text appeared before vanishing off the screen again.

—I didn't take anything. I led help to your front door. And you've been looking for me this entire time. You'd make a really bad detective.

Now. I was confused. It had taken them an entire day to correct me. I shouldn't have captured Sutton and instead told him that we were both ushered together. I suppose it somewhat made sense. Both of our names were on the line. The only exception was, he could leave, and I'd always have to report back to my family.

—Then who are you? And why have you done this? Do you know who took the money?

There was a long pause as I stared at the screen and sipped the hot coffee.

—I know it wasn't Sutton. Tell him there are people looking for him. People worse than you and your family. Protect him, and if you can't, tell me and I'll find someone who can.

Confused by what was going on. Easily confused. I didn't know what was happening. As I went to respond.

—Give me something to work with then.

And the message didn't go through. Then the texts disappeared completely, all of them.

I stared at the screen. This couldn't be happening. This wasn't real.

Sutton stood in the doorway; he'd put my bathrobe on. Incredibly oversized, draping off his shoulders. What was I supposed to do with him now? I couldn't tell him about the texts. There was no proof. And I couldn't exactly tell him to stop finding this person, not without making him suspicious.

"Did you make me coffee?" he asked.

Great. I had to protect him. And I didn't even know who I was supposed to be protecting him from. People shouldn't have my phone number, especially when they were in there acting like Dr. Seuss with their nonsense. "No," I told him. "I'll show you. You can make your own coffee. I'm not your caretaker."

Rubbing his big eyes, he stared and shrugged, tugging the sides of the bathrobe onto his shoulders again. "Ok," he said. "I never said you had to do everything for me, but it looks like an expensive machine, I didn't wanna break it."

I scoffed. "Fuck. You're right. Sit. I'll make you a coffee. And we should focus on tracing where that money could've gone, not the person sending those texts. They're a confusion. We need focus."

He nodded, swiveling around in the chair at his laptop. "Did you try and get into this?" he asked, a big smile on his face.

"What? No. Shut up."

"I know you did," he snickered. "My webcam takes a picture whenever someone wakes it. And your picture is right there. Damn. You look confused as hell."

"What else do you know?" I grumbled. He knew all about his little machine, but he couldn't work the espresso machine.

He rolled his eyes, hugging the bathrobe tighter around his body. "I know that you have good taste in fabric," he said, snuggling his chin against the wool inside. "And I know that you probably checked your phone to see if I had deleted all those pictures." He glanced at the phone beside my hand.

"I told you to," I reminded him. "I didn't need to check. I know you would've done it anyway."

Blowing out a raspberry, he tried to hide his smile.

I turned away so he didn't catch me smiling at him. "One coffee coming up," I said.

He clicked his tongue. Making all types of noises, almost like he wanted my attention. "So, I'm thinking outside the box. My enemies. What if it's someone I used to work with? I often make enemies and friends everywhere I go. Often, friends become enemies, and enemies become f—"

"Lovers?" I interrupted his flow, patting ground coffee into a puck.

"We're lovers?" he asked. "I thought we were now friends. Or, well, engaged in your family's eyes. So, I guess that does make us lovers."

Bastard. I couldn't stop myself from grinning at what he'd said. It was true, there was something there. It was different. We were relying on each other for survival. My survival was in his hands, getting the money back, and his survival was in my hands, protecting him from my family. Even after marching him right into the den.

"You wish," I grumbled. "Once this business is dealt with, we can go our ways. I'll even offer to drive you to a train station or something."

"You think I'm leaving the city?" he asked.

I focused on pouring the hot water through the coffee, letting it drip into the cup.

"Because I'm never leaving the city," Sutton continued. "This is my home. I'm not leaving, it doesn't matter if I'm being hunted for sport, I'll find a way to hide. I've been hiding for years. I know how to do it."

"You don't do it well," I told him.

"Yeah, I do. You found me based on luck."

I'd found him because of that same unknown number. Whoever it was, they were trying to push us together. I couldn't recall what the text had said. But it listed him as the one who knew how I'd be able to restore my family's bank balance.

"Come on," I grumbled, handing him the finished coffee. "We need a lead. Go back into the bank. Go back into everything. I don't want to get distracted on those texts anymore."

"Yeah, you said that," he said, taking the coffee. "At this rate, it might be easier for me to hit microtransactions on a thousand accounts over the next months and build it up."

"Months?" I asked. "We don't have months."

"Tick tock." He rolled his eyes. "I get it. But I can only do so much. And I'm not saying it's impossible to get it back in bigger chunks, but microtransactions usually go under the radar, and when they're under the radar, nobody goes snooping."

I know I kept reminding myself that he hadn't taken the money, but now I was even more certain. He played it safe, even with how reckless he was, he was a safe boy. "Can't you steal from already stolen money?"

"Pretty much what someone did to your family."

It was a fair comment. Some of my family's business practices were unethical, and it involved a lot of criminal things, but the money that was taken wasn't the family's money. It was even more important that it was returned.

"But if they stole from your family to give to the poor," he mused, a smile on his face, like he knew what he was doing when he said it. "I can't exactly say they were wrong for doing it. You do the same thing, but in person instead of over the internet."

He was a broken record now. My family were horrible. Some of the worst people you could ever come across. In fact, I would not wish my family on anyone, unless they did something wrong. "People steal from each other. We get it. But the people that stole the money from my family have not taken money from my family, they've taken it from someone much worse."

The smile faded as the serious tone of my voice settled in. "It's a tough break for whoever did it, but they're not easy to track."

"Then people will keep thinking it's you."

His phone buzzed on the counter, and he snatched it. "It's from them."

"Read it."

"Tick tock, time doesn't stop, the city doesn't sleep, and you can't make a peep," he grumbled, rolling his eyes toward the end as it rhymed. "It's cat and mouse, everything is on the line."

Realization rushed in my face like heat ambushing my skin. "I know."

"What?" he asked. "I fucking hate how they keep saying the most random fortune cookie crap."

Snapping my fingers as thoughts zapped around in my mind. "I know."

"I know too. Fortune cookies aren't real."

"No, not that. They're talking about Times Square," I said. "Tick tock, clock, time." I continued snapping my fingers. "Time doesn't stop there, obviously, and New York City, the city that doesn't sleep."

"Cat and mouse," he said. "So, we have to go to Times Square to look for a cat and a mouse, right?" His smile returning, big and beautiful. "There are always so many people there dressed up. It's gonna be hard to find the person they're talking about."

"The line," I said. "Ok. Get dressed. You can—" I sucked on my teeth looking at how the bathrobe wore him. "Wear your normal clothes. The hoodie and things. I don't want you standing out in a suit. You make them look so uncomfortable."

"And why do you wear a suit?"

"Not all the time," I said. It was something my father had taught me. Dress nice and people think of you better. It legitimizes the business we do. "I'll wear what I usually put on for the gym."

"As long as you don't mind me staring at your crotch," he said. "Assuming you wear sweatpants, and those boxers."

I leaned over the counter and placed a finger under his chin. "I told you not to fall in love."

He whacked my hand away. "Ew. I don't love you. I like the way your dick makes me feel. Trust me, if I could have like—" he squinted, his eyes scanning across my body, "from your torso to your thighs. Cut off the arms. All of that on a silicone body with a dick attachment, I'd be happy."

It was something I always knew guys thought about. I was meat in their eyes. And they were a nice hole to bury my meat inside. It was a good give and take. "If we get through this alive, you can have a cast of my body and then a drive to the nearest train station."

"We're back on that again," he grumbled. "I told you; I'm not leaving the city. You can leave, and I'll take that cast. I might even tuck it into bed at night so that there's always someone in bed waiting for me. And someone I can wrap my arms around."

"Are you trying to make me jealous?" I asked. "Because it's not working. Now, let's get dressed." I clapped my hands. "Let's go."

"But I haven't even finished my coffee!"

"Drink it and dress."

"It's still hot."

"Then blow on it."

He giggled. "Probably not the first time you've given that piece of advice out."