Vincent froze at the sound of that single word.
"Tom?"
The voice was soft, almost tender, as if it were dipped in honey. For a second, he thought he'd misheard. But no — the man chained to the window had opened his eyes, dark lashes fluttering, pupils sharp despite the dim light. And those lips — dry, cracked, but still managing to curl into a calm little smile.
Vincent's throat tightened. He had been expecting screams, curses, maybe begging for help. Not this.
"What the fuck…?" Vincent muttered under his breath, taking a half-step back.
The stranger tilted his head, studying him as if he were some long-awaited guest. "Tom," he said again, voice warmer this time. "You came back."
Vincent's brow shot up. Tom? Who the hell is Tom?
His survival instinct screamed red flag, red flag, but his cocky nature couldn't resist a jab. He lifted one eyebrow and gave the chained man a lopsided grin.
"Sorry, wrong delivery. I'm not your Tom. But thanks for the compliment — if you think I look like your boyfriend, must mean he's damn good-looking."
The stranger didn't even flinch. He just blinked slowly, lips curving faintly, like Vincent's sarcasm had rolled right past him.
Vincent squatted down a little, narrowing his eyes as he examined the cuffs binding the man's wrists. They weren't props. Heavy metal, bolted into the frame. Not the kind you buy at a sex shop.
Okay. Not a kink thing then. Definitely not good.
"So," Vincent said after a beat, leaning casually against the wall, "you planning on explaining why you're chained up like a dog? Or you gonna keep calling me Tom and making this awkward?"
The man's gaze didn't waver. "Tom always comes late," he murmured. "But he always comes."
Vincent scoffed, running a hand through his hair. Christ, either this guy's fried in the head or I walked into some next-level domestic soap opera.
He tried shifting gears. His eyes darted around the room, scanning for valuables. A thief's habit — always check the corners, the shelves, the drawers. But every time his gaze left the chained man, it snapped back like a magnet.
He couldn't help it. The guy was… distracting. Attractive in a way that made Vincent annoyed with himself for noticing. Sharp jawline shadowed with stubble, messy brown hair falling into eyes that were too sharp to belong to someone helpless.
He got frustrated that he didn't find anything valuable and the cigarette showed him wrong direction.
Groaned in frustration he looked down the man who is still tied .. still smiling calmly, which irritates and amuse him to no end.
Vincent muttered under his breath, "Damn, even tied up, you look like you're judging me."
"Tom," Marcus whispered again, his lips brushing the name like it was sacred.
"Jesus Christ," Vincent groaned, throwing his hands up. "I told you, I'm not—"
The man cut him off with a sudden clarity in his voice. "If you're not Tom… then help me. Unlock me."
Vincent blinked. That was new. The calm smile remained, but there was steel under it now.
"Help you, huh?" Vincent crossed his arms, leaning forward just enough to look him dead in the eye. "And why the hell would I do that? Last I checked, breaking and entering isn't exactly a rescue mission."
"I'll pay you."
That made Vincent pause.
"How much?" His tone was light, almost mocking, but his eyes sharpened.
"Ten thousand dollars," the stranger said without hesitation.
Vincent let out a sharp laugh, tilting his head back. "Ten grand? For unlocking some cuffs? Either you're desperate, sweetheart… or I just found my sugar daddy."
The stranger's expression didn't change. Still calm. Still faintly smiling. As if Vincent's jokes were nothing more than background noise.
Something about that unshakable calm unsettled him more than begging would have.
Vincent crouched lower, his face hovering just inches from the man's. He lifted his pinky finger — the same one he'd used earlier to check his breath — and brushed it teasingly near the man's lips again.
"Ten grand, huh? You know, most people would scream, cry, offer me their jewelry. But you? You're sitting there smiling at me like we're on a goddamn date. You're either crazy… or dangerous."
The stranger's eyes didn't blink. "Unlock me, Tom."
Vincent's smirk faltered for the briefest moment before snapping back. He couldn't show unease — not to someone chained, not when he needed to keep control.
He stood, pacing the room, pretending to think it over. Ten grand. That's more than I've ever had at once. Could be bullshit, but hell, what if it's real?
He stopped, glancing back at the man. The cuffs glinted under the faint light. The stranger's wrists looked raw but not desperate. That composure. Too much composure.
Vincent rubbed his chin, chuckling to himself. "You know what? Jackpot. That's what you are."
The chained man tilted his head again, smile unbroken.
Vincent leaned in one last time, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Alright, Tom's doppelgänger here will think about it. But if you're lying about the money… let's just say, I don't forgive liars easily."
The man's lips curved wider, and in that soft, unnervingly steady tone, he whispered again:
"I knew you'd come back for me, Tom."
Vincent's chest tightened in irritation and… something else. He shook it off, forcing a grin.
"Lucky for you, I like a good mystery. And even luckier for me… I don't walk away from jackpots."
The chapter closed with Vincent smirking in the dim light, already plotting how to cash in on this strange, chained-up man — unaware that the game he thought he was playing had already turned on him.
---
PLEASE SUPPORT BEAUTIFUL LADIES AND HANDSOME GENTLEMEN,
WITH JACKPOT IN MY HAND,
VINCENT 😉