LightReader

Chapter 5 - Chapter5: Who are you ?

Vincent wasn't the type to do favors. He picked locks,

lifted wallets, and conned people out of cigarettes—not out of kindness, but

because survival demanded it. Yet here he was, crouched beside the chained man

with the perfect jawline and messy dark hair.

The chains rattled like tired bones when Vincent worked the last knot loose. The padlock gave up with a metallic click, and the young man slumped forward, as though freedom itself was too heavy for him to hold. Vincent steadied him with one hand and tilted his chin.

"Name?" Vincent asked, partly to confirm who the hell he'd just rescued and partly because he needed to call him something other than "window boy."

The man's lashes fluttered, and when his eyes fixed on Vincent's face, his lips curved into the softest smile.

"You know my name, Tom darling," he said, his voice silky, intimate—like they were sharing a private joke. "Why are you asking me that? Is it another one of your games?"

Vincent blinked. Tom?

There it was again, that damned name. He'd heard it whispered before when the guy first woke up. Vincent opened his mouth to correct him, to say, I'm not Tom, dumbass, but thought better of it. Something in the man's expression—so certain, so trusting—made him hesitate.

"Right," Vincent muttered, forcing a grin. And his eyes wandered over his bare chest beneath the 2 unbutton.. no i mean chain on the neck , with dollor named MARCUS "Just checking if you remember. You're Marcus, my dear Marcus." He said the name as if he was throwing a dart in the dark, and it landed.

Marcus beamed, relief softening his tired face. "See? You always tease me, Tom. But I love you anyway."

Vincent bit back a laugh. This guy is either high, crazy, or both. Jackpot.

"Sit tight," Vincent said, dusting off his palms. "One last sweep of the house and we're out. Don't move, alright?"

Marcus tilted his head like a docile cat. "Anything you say, Tom."

Marcus nodded, still smiling like a man at peace. Vincent half-expected him to start humming a lullaby. Shaking his head, Vincent stalked back into the house, pockets itching for valuables he might've missed.

---

The rooms gave nothing—some dusty shelves, an old television, a cracked photo frame of strangers he didn't care to know. When he returned to the porch, ready to drag Marcus out for their escape, his chest tightened.

Empty.

The chair was there, chains scattered on the floor like a shed skin. But Marcus was gone.

"What the—" Vincent spun in circles, scanning the yard, the driveway, the street beyond. Panic lit a fuse inside him. Did the bastard play me? He looked half-dead ten minutes ago!

Shit!" He bolted down the steps, scanning left and right. "Unbelievable. I told him not to move!"

He stalked through the yard, swearing in every flavor he knew. I free his ass and this is how he thanks me? Images flashed—Marcus ratting him out to cops, Marcus being some scam, Marcus just vanishing with his payday.

"Goddamn lunatic," he growled, storming down the steps. "I told him not to move! Does nobody ever listen?"

He cursed under his breath, stomping down the cracked pavement, checking alleys, yards, anywhere a guy could've bolted to. His heart thumped faster—not because he cared, but because he hated being made a fool of.

Finally, at the end of the block, he spotted him.

Marcus.

Walking. Not running, not hiding—just walking calmly down the road like it was a Sunday stroll.

Vincent's jaw nearly hit the ground. "Are you kidding me?" He sprinted, caught up, and grabbed Marcus by the arm. "Hey! What the hell, man? I said wait on the porch!"

Marcus turned, his brows furrowing, lips pressing together in confusion. For a heartbeat, Vincent thought he'd admit guilt, maybe even laugh it off. But instead, Marcus tilted his head like a child hearing a riddle.

"Who are you?"

Vincent froze. The world tilted.

"What?"

Marcus blinked slowly, gaze sweeping over Vincent's leather jacket, his tousled hair, the annoyed fire in his eyes. His face paled, his voice shook this time.

Marcus tilted his head, eyes narrowing as if searching Vincent's face for answers that weren't there. "Where's Tom? Why are you touching me?" His voice was no longer warm—it was wary, cautious.

Vincent's mind scrambled. "You—you literally just called me Tom five minutes ago!"

Marcus gave a small, hesitant shake of his head. "I don't know you." His expression shifted again, from confusion to faint panic, as if he truly believed the words.

Vincent's heart thudded in his chest. He was used to people lying, used to people playing games, but this—this was different. There was no guile in Marcus's tone, no smirk, no act. His eyes were wide and lost.

For the first time in a long while, Vincent felt something creep into him. Not suspicion. Not anger. Something colder.

Dread.

What the hell is going on with this guy?

And for once, Vincent—the thief who thought he'd seen every trick in the book—had no answer.

The question slammed into Vincent harder than any cop's baton ever had. He opened his mouth, but words tangled up and died on his tongue.

Marcus took a step back, staring at him like a stranger who'd just stepped out of the shadows.

Vincent's cocky smirk finally slipped. For once, he didn't have a smartass answer.

------

PLEASE SUPPORT,

WITH CONFUSION,

🤐VINCENT AND MARCUS😵‍💫

More Chapters