Seven years ago, when I was nothing but a street punk, I forcibly kissed the youngest son of the wealthy Sterling family—the one confined to a wheelchair. After the kiss, I ran. I stood at the top of a long flight of stairs, jutting my chin out provocatively. "Come find me when you can stand up and handle me yourself!" Seven years later, the new head of the Sterling Group—the man known as the "Cold-Blooded King," Tyron Sterling—used his silk tie to bind my hands together and tossed me onto the bed. "I’m a man who holds a grudge, Dustin. Tell me, did you finally get the 'handling' you were asking for?" 01 Slap! A crisp sound echoed through the room. "You absolute moron! Who did I tell you to grab?" "The... the Sterling kid... he's a Sterling..." "He’s the useless one! The cripple! He doesn't count! I told you to kidnap Tyler Sterling—the old man’s golden boy! And you bring me this piece of trash? You idiot... you worthless dog..." As the Boss continued his tirade, the sound of Blondie’s muffled screams followed each blow. A moment later, the door creaked open. Blondie walked out, his face smeared with blood and his gait uneven. He shot me a venomous look. "You! Throw the cripple in the warehouse!" I was nineteen. I’d grown up on the streets, but since I was new to the crew, I had to play the "yes-man" to every senior member. Hearing the order, I pulled on my mask and went inside. I hoisted the unconscious teenager off the floor and carried him toward the abandoned storage unit next door. The boy was light. Surprisingly thin. As I carried him, I scoffed inwardly. Rich kids. Thin arms, thin legs. Fragile as a doll. He must have regained consciousness because he struggled against my shoulder. I expected a scream. I reached into my pocket to grab the gag I had ready, but there was no sound from him. Not even a whimper. Did he pass out again? I didn't care. I opened the warehouse door and dumped him onto the concrete floor. When I looked down, I found myself staring into a pair of beautiful, yet hauntingly dark eyes. The boy was awake. He looked at me for a split second, then simply closed his eyes. I watched his Adam's apple move slightly. I caught a glimpse of his pale, cracked lips. He was parched. He’d probably been out for hours. But he wouldn't say a word. Suddenly, I felt a flicker of curiosity. "Hey." I nudged his leg with my boot. "You want water?" No response. One second. Two. Ten. "Forget it!" I lost my patience. I figured he was just too high-and-mighty to talk to a street rat like me. Die of thirst for all I care, I thought. I turned on my heel, walked out, and locked the door. For the rest of the day, the gang seemed to forget the hostage existed. The Boss and Blondie didn't ask about him once. No lunch. No dinner. I sat there slurping on a bowl of instant ramen. I’d put too much seasoning in; it was salty and spicy. As I reached for my water, those pale, cracked lips flashed through my mind. If he dies of dehydration, they’re going to blame it on me. Cursing under my breath, I grabbed a bottle of water and headed to the warehouse. "Hey. Still kicking?" I frowned, looking at the figure on the floor. He was exactly where I’d left him. Motionless. For a heartbeat, I felt a surge of genuine fear. I thought he was dead. If he died... he would be my first kill. Thankfully, his eyes fluttered open. I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. Ignoring his lack of cooperation, I propped him up against my shoulder. I unscrewed the cap and poured water into his mouth. I was a bit too aggressive; he choked. He started coughing violently, the water soaking into his white dress shirt. That’s when I noticed the crest on his pocket. It was the insignia of St. Jude’s Academy—the kind of elite international school I could only dream of seeing from the outside. I stared at it, dazed. "What are you looking at?" he asked. It was the first time he’d spoken. His eyes were still hollow. Deadly calm. An inexplicable surge of irritation rose in my chest. I let go of him abruptly and walked out. 02 The next day, when I went to give him water, he refused to open his mouth. "Hey! Sit up! Drink!" I pulled him up, but he turned his head away, his jaw clamped shut. "It’s not poison!" I snapped, letting out a frustrated laugh as I patted his cheek. That seemed to snap something in him. He’d been submissive the day before, but now he was fighting back. His hands and feet were bound, so he used his head, lunging forward to headbutt me. I was crouching, caught off guard. He sent me sprawling backward onto the floor. The water bottle rolled away, spilling half its contents. The bag of bread I’d brought fell out of my pocket, tumbling onto the dirt. "You little—!" I cursed. I was actually trying to be nice, and this was the thanks I got? He gave me a cold, dismissive glance and turned back to lie on the floor. But looking at the way he was curled up, my eyes drifted down toward his lower abdomen. I smirked. "You’ve got a strong bladder. Twenty-four hours and you haven't ruined your pants yet." He didn't speak, but he curled tighter, clearly embarrassed. I stood up, dusting off my jeans, feeling a sudden urge to mess with him. "Call me 'Sir,' and I’ll help you take care of business in the corner." "Go to hell." His voice was a low growl. My temper flared again. I didn't play nice. I hauled him up from the ground and carried him to the corner of the room. His legs weren't completely useless; one of them seemed to have some function. As I carried him, he used that leg to kick me as hard as he could. Once I set him down, I didn't waste time. I reached for his belt and undid his trousers. His whole body started shaking. I couldn't tell if it was fear or pure rage. "Get away! Don't touch me!" I gripped his waist to keep him steady, standing behind him. I said one word: "Pee." "You... you have to let go..." He held out as long as he could before finally surrendering to biology. "Hurry up." I figured he could hold himself up against the wall for a second, so I let go and turned my back to him. When the sound stopped, I turned around. He was leaning against the wall, looking like he was about to collapse. Under the dim light of the warehouse, his pale skin was almost blinding. I pretended not to notice. I leaned down to help him back into his clothes. "Can you untie the ropes? I can... I can do it myself..." His eyes were closed, his head tilted back. His voice was hoarse, and he was still trembling. I don't know what came over me. I felt a pang of pity. I untied the ropes around his wrists. Over the next two days, we fell into a rhythm. When I visited, I’d untie him. He’d use the wall to hobble over to the corner and take care of himself. Before I left, I’d tie him back up. 03 He barely ate. He barely drank. Most of the time, I had to force the food into his mouth. I noticed the scars on his wrists—old and new. He’d tried to end it before. Many times. But I’ve always been stubborn. I can't stand it when people try to throw their lives away. "Why don't you want to live?" "..." "Is it because of the legs?" "..." "Silence means I'm right." "...It's not." I tried to keep him talking. Usually, it took three or four questions for him to give me a single sentence. "Then what is it?" "..." "Heartbreak? Girlfriend ran off with someone else?" "...No." "Got it," I sighed. "My boyfriend ran off too." "..." I kept teasing him. He was tied up and couldn't move, so he just glared at me with "eye-daggers." But at least there was a spark of life in his face when he was angry. 04 I wanted him to live, but someone else wanted him dead. The Boss took a call that evening. When he hung up, he was grinning. He beckoned Blondie inside. I was just the errand boy, so I stood by the door. Through the thin wood, I heard laughter and snippets of the conversation. "You're in luck. This deal isn't a bust after all... we're making a profit..." "Tonight, bring the body..." My heart skipped a beat. Bring the body? Were they talking about the kid? It didn't sound like a ransom exchange. It sounded like a hit. The Boss was in a great mood. He took the crew out for drinks and food until late. I didn't dare drink. I leaned over the table, pretending to be asleep. After midnight, Blondie woke me up. He called two other guys, but they were too drunk to walk, so he left them behind. It was just the three of us heading to the warehouse. Blondie didn't wear his mask this time. He didn't tell me to wear mine, either. That’s when I knew for sure. Blondie checked the ropes on the "cripple." He told me to tape the kid's mouth shut and shove him into a burlap sack. As I did it, my heart was hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. My fingers were shaking. The boy didn't struggle. His eyes were pitch black, staring at me without blinking. Blondie stood by the door smoking, telling me to move faster. "Don't be afraid," I mouthed to the boy, my back turned to Blondie. 05 Blondie drove us to a deserted stretch of the coastline. "Get him out." Blondie tossed his cigarette and pulled a handgun from his waistband. I pulled the boy out of the sack. His face was deathly pale in the moonlight. "Sorry, Mr. Sterling," Blondie said, his voice casual. "Business is business. Someone paid a high price for your life." Blondie knelt down and pressed the barrel of the gun to the boy's forehead. He looked for fear. He looked for panic. He found nothing but silence. "You're about to die. Don't you want to know who paid for it?" Blondie asked. The boy just closed his eyes. "Fine. You've got guts." Blondie stood up and cocked the hammer. In that split second, I slammed a brick into the back of Blondie's head. I was gasping for air. I dropped the brick and scrambled to untie the boy. "Why?" I heard him whisper. "Why what?" "Letting me go does nothing for you." I was panicking. I didn't have time for a philosophical debate. I had one thought: Run. If we didn't get out now, we were both dead. "I don't give a damn about a reward!" I hissed. "But I’m not going to watch you die!" I’d heard his parents were gone and that he wasn't exactly loved by the rest of the Sterling clan. I knew I wouldn't get a cent for returning him, and I knew there was a price on his head. But I couldn't do it. I couldn't let him be murdered. The boy looked at me, stunned by my outburst. He leaned on my shoulder, struggling to stand. He leaned in close to my ear and whispered, "I won't die today." I followed his gaze toward the highway. At the end of the road, the rhythmic flash of blue and red lights appeared, accompanied by the distant wail of sirens... 06 The whole gang was taken down that night, including the Boss. Even though we were a mid-sized crew with connections, being wiped out in a single night was unheard of. It was a surgical strike. Later, while I was sitting in a holding cell, I heard the Boss had offended someone he shouldn't have. The image of the boy's calm, dark eyes flashed in my mind. I shook my head. No way. It couldn't be him. It had to be a lucky coincidence. The boy was returned to the Sterling family that night. I expected to be sent to prison along with the others, but I was bailed out almost immediately. The man who came for me was a middle-aged professional in a suit. He introduced himself as Mr. Henderson. And he introduced the name of the boy: Tyron Sterling. When I walked out of the precinct, a black Maybach was waiting. "From today on, you will stay by the young master's side," Mr. Henderson said in a monotone voice. "You will be responsible for his care. That includes attending classes with him." I gritted my teeth. "And if I don't want to?" I’d saved his life. He’d bailed me out. We should be even. Why was I being forced to be his man-servant? Tyron, who had been staring out the window, spoke up coldly: "Suit yourself. You can go back to your cell. You were part of the kidnapping, after all." Damn it... I caught his eye in the rearview mirror and gave him the middle finger. "Mr. Miller," Mr. Henderson coughed. "Your monthly salary will be ten thousand dollars." "How much?" I snapped my head around. "Ten thousand," the lawyer repeated. "Room and board included?" I couldn't believe my ears. Henderson nodded. "You will live and eat with the young master." "Fine... deal!" I leaned back into the leather seat, trying to look dignified. I’d been a low-level thug for a year and hadn't made even a fraction of that. Money is money. I closed my eyes to stop myself from grinning like an idiot. I didn't see the tiny, subtle curve of Tyron's lips. 07 A few days later, the paperwork for my "transfer" was complete. I pushed Tyron’s wheelchair through the gates of the university. In the massive lecture hall, we were the targets of every gaze. Curiosity. Contempt. Avoidance. Not a single look of kindness. A basketball suddenly flew toward Tyron’s head. I caught it mid-air. A guy sauntered over, looking like he owned the place. "I heard Henderson was called back to the main estate by Grandpa?" Henderson. The lawyer. He’d bailed me out, given me a list of rules for taking care of Tyron, and then vanished. Grandpa called him back? I felt like there was more to the story. "Tsk, tsk. Poor Tyron. You’re lower than a dog now, aren't you?" "Watch your mouth," I said. I threw the basketball back. I didn't hold back on the force. The guy barely caught it, his head snapping back from the impact. "You little—who do you think you are?!" The bell rang. The guy pointed a finger at me. "Wait until after class." "Who's that?" I asked Tyron. "Tyler Sterling," he said expressionlessly. So that was the "golden boy" my old boss had intended to kidnap. "Your grandfather has terrible taste," I noted. "What?" Tyron looked at me, confused by the non-sequitur. "I mean, that guy is a total tool. Why would anyone prize him?" Tyron let out a short laugh. It was the first time I’d seen him smile since we met. He actually looked pretty good when he smiled. If only he were normal... The professor was lecturing in rapid-fire English. I couldn't understand a single word. Bored, I started studying Tyron. He wasn't listening either. He was just propping his head up, looking out the window. Suddenly, he turned his head. "Why are you staring?" He frowned, looking annoyed. "Because you’re good-looking." I grinned. I wasn't about to admit I was staring because I was lost in class. "Psychopath," Tyron muttered. He turned away again. But I saw his ears turning red. 08 Tyler Sterling found us again that evening. I’d been called to the registrar's office to pick up some textbooks. When I got back, Tyler and a group of guys were surrounding Tyron. Tyler had his arm around a girl. "Hey, Tyron. This is Sarah. She's my girlfriend now. You don't mind calling her 'Sister-in-law,' do you?" "Do it! Say it!" the other guys jeered. Tyron didn't say a word. He tried to move his wheelchair, but Tyler grabbed the handles. The girl leaned down with a mocking smile. "Tyron, our engagement is over. I only have eyes for Tyler now. You're a cripple. Did you really think you had a chance?" "Wake up, loser!" Tyler sneered, unscrewed a bottle of water, and poured it over Tyron’s head. The guys laughed. Tyron sat there, motionless. "Hey, Tyler, can we hit him?" "He's like a mute statue. This is boring!" One guy raised his fist. Before it could land, I grabbed his wrist. I twisted it and sent him crashing to the floor. The group froze. Tyler’s face turned the color of a bruised plum. "You again!" I shoved Tyler aside and grabbed the wheelchair handles. "Get lost," I said lazily. "When I fight, I play for keeps." I wasn't lying. I grew up an orphan. I’d been in hundreds of street fights. Every time, I fought like it was my last day on earth. It wasn't that I didn't value my life. It was because fighting was the only way I could keep it. 09 Tyler signaled two of his friends. They grabbed chairs and swung them at me. I kicked one guy in the chest, sending him flying. I dropped the other with a flurry of punches. No one else stepped forward. "Nice moves!" Tyler started clapping. He pulled a gold card from his pocket and waved it. "How much is the cripple paying you? I’ll double it. Leave him. Come work for me." I narrowed my eyes and took two steps forward, smiling. Tyler thought I was reaching for the card. He smirked. The next second, I buried my fist in his gut. The gold card hit the floor. I ground it into the dirt with my heel. "I told you. Watch your mouth." As the girl screamed, Tyler doubled over, gasping for air. I grabbed him by the collar. "If you ever call him that again, I’ll break both your legs." I called Tyron "Little Cripple" in my head all the time, but I couldn't stand hearing anyone else say it.
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