As the man walked to the bathroom, Cecil’s gaze slid to the stranger’s ass. Only when the bathroom door blocked his view did Cecil realize what he had been doing.
Well, the guywasnice to look at.
Cecil rolled his eyes—okay, he was fucking hot. The man’s scent said vampire, and he had to be, what? Six foot something? His face was diamond shaped, he had a strong jaw, high cheeks, baby-blue eyes, and eyebrows that were way too perfect to be natural. And damn did the man’s body look good in his, no doubt, tailored suit. Oh, and his hair, it was black and short, but the way he swept it back…
Cecil was thinking…gangster or businessman with dangerous ties. Though, the polite way he spoke didn’t really fit. And that ass…
Oh my Gods, he needed to get his mind out of the gutter. There was definitely something wrong about drooling over a man you were about to rob. Speaking of robbing, he should be getting to it. The longer Cecil waited, the more likely he would get caught. And he’d had some close calls that he never wanted to repeat.
Rummaging through the man’s jacket, Cecil almost cried in relief when he found the guy’s wallet. There was always a chance that he kept it in his pocket. Wallet in hand, he turned to leave, and found himself looking at the owner of said wallet.
Cecil gasped in surprise, and then almost doubled over in pain at the pressure it put on his damaged lung. Fuck—how hadn’t he heard him?
“You know, stealing is very illegal, young man.” With a smirk, the guy plucked the wallet out of Cecil’s hand.
“I…”
Despite knowing he would fail, Cecil tried to flee. And he was grabbed like he knew he would be. Except Cecil hadn’t prepared himself for the pain he would feel when the vampire's arm wrapped around his stomach to pull him back. His body spasmed on impact, and Cecil lost the struggle to breathe.
On a strangled cry, his vision spun for a second before darkening to nothing.
Sin stared down in dismay at the man who was collapsed against him. He knew his reappearance would frighten him, but he hadn’t imagined this outcome. Sin had heard the breathless cry of pain the boy released before losing consciousness.
Taking him into his arms, Sin gently laid him on the bed. His hand reached toward the edge of the arcadian’s shirt, but he found himself hesitating. Part of him felt that what he was about to do was a violation of sorts. The young man would not likely allow it if awake.
Right or wrong, it was necessary, Sin decided. Closing the distance, Sin slowly lifted up the shirt. The dark bruises marring his pale skin had him hissing.
“It seems I was right to worry,” Sin murmured.
All he felt was fury when he took in every unnatural dip and lightened spot on the young man’s skin—scars. There were scars everywhere, old scars. For them to still be this noticeable, it meant the wounds had been deep enough that it would take decades before they faded away to nothing.
“Who has been hurting you?” Sin brushed his fingertips over the bruises. Even though he knew it wasn't right for him to do so, he tried to enter his mind.
‘Tried’ being the operative word—he failed. It was surprising, yet not, at the same time. It was not the first time he had met an individual that was simply unreadable. As he considered those who came before the young man, he saw a pattern that he had previously missed. The majority of them had been arcadians. Maybe he should mention it to the kings, and suggest that research be done on the phenomenon.
“I promise, whoever has been hurting you will face the justice they so rightly deserve,” Sin whispered sadly.
Righting the man’s clothes, Sin pulled out his phone and called an ambulance. It was five in the afternoon, so they would arrive faster than his driver.
Sin’s brow wrinkled, his gaze following the staggered rise and fall of the young man’s chest. Not to mention, the emergency healers that would come with it would be needed—the boy was barely breathing.
As his eyes fluttered open, Cecil groaned. He stared out into the dimly lit room and tried to remember how he had gotten there. There was a familiar beeping in his ear that seemed to match in beat with the dull throbbing running through his side. And something was attached and pulling on the skin of his right hand. Oddly enough, it was an improvement on how Cecil had felt over the past few days. He could actually breathe.
But where the fuck was he? He wrinkled his nose—the clean, neutral blue-green walls told Cecil he was definitely not in his motel room, though the softness of the bed had told him that already.
“I see you are awake. How are you feeling, little one?”
Blinking, Cecil's gaze shifted to the right, and found the man he had attempted to rob standing there—along with a few machines that you would only see in a hospital. Which explained why the beeping sounded so familiar.
Except, it didn’t look like any hospital room Cecilhad ever been in. And he had, unfortunately, had the pleasure of staying in more than he’d ever want to admit.
For one, Cecil didn’t appear to have a roommate, or would ever have one, because there was only one bed. The place just seemed…well, it looked like a room reserved for rich people. Which begged the question, why was he here? Cecil sure as hell couldn’t afford such special treatment. Who was this guy? He had to have money. At least, he better have money, as again, Cecil couldn't fucking afford any of this. Oh Gods, what if hewasa gangster? What if the man expected him to pay him back?
“Are you a gangster?” Cecil blurted out before he could stop himself. His words had come out slightly waned, but he was injured, so it didn’t bother him—too much.
Mr. Better-Be-Rich’s eyes widened. There was a snorting laugh to his left, and Cecil turned and saw there was another man standing against the wall. Cecil’s jaw dropped when he took in the other guy.
Definitely gangsters. They had to be—or maybe rock stars. But Mr. Tall, Dark, and Well-Dressed didn't really look like a rock star.
