Page 59 of Thirst Trap

The one in the basement, half in shadow, helmet on, shirt off.

Thousands of likes.

Hundreds of replies.

"Who is this masked god??"

"Choke me, Daddy ??"

"I’ll sell my soul to sit on that face."

I’d laughed at those once. Written a few.

But now? Now I see the way he stares at them.

Like they don’t belong to him.

Like he doesn’t belong in them.

Next to him, a gun. Lying in its open case. Money folded beside it.

He doesn’t notice me at first. His thumb ghosts the screen, but his eyes are miles away. Hollow. Tight. Like he’s bracing for impact.

“…She doesn’t even know what I am,” he mutters.

My heart thuds. I step into the light.

“I do.”

He jerks, startled. Then sighs when he sees me. “Couldn’t sleep?”

“You either,” I murmured, sitting beside him. My hand brushes his knee. “Lucas… talk to me.”

He stares at the gun. “I kill people.”

“I know.”

“I lie. Steal. Run an empire built on corpses and front companies.”

“I know, Lucas.”

Finally, he looks at me, brown eyes haunted, stripped bare.

“You fell for a fantasy. A masked man with perfect lighting and no baggage.”

I take his phone. Close the app. Cup his face.

“I didn’t fall for Helmet Daddy,” I whisper. “I fell for the man who sleeps four hours a night and hates himself for things he didn’t choose. Who drinks decaf like it’s punishment and stares out windows like he’s drowning.”

A tear slips down his cheek. I catch it with my thumb.

“You are enough, Lucas. Not because of what you hide but because of what you still let me see.”

His exhale shudders through me. He leans in, lets me hold him. Soft. Just for tonight.

***

She hasn’t moved from my side. One hand on my back, the other tracing circles on my thigh. Quiet, but present. She eyes the duffel. The money. The gun. Raising a brow like this is just another Tuesday.