The night had stripped him bare.
Tim had led his alliance through Villian Ville's crooked alleys, blades flashing, screams cutting the air. He guided shaky hands, struck down enemies, and made sure every girl saw another dawn. By the time they staggered back to their hideout, Tim felt more dead than alive. He collapsed onto his bed, dropped his knife to the floor, and shut his eyes.
Sleep claimed him fast.
And Jenny was there.
She leaned against a wall in the moonlight, dressed the way she always haunted him—tube top clinging to her chest, shorts cut so high they barely covered her thighs. Her hair spilled down like a dark river, her smile angelic, her eyes devilish.
"Miss me, lover?"
Her voice broke him. He reached for her, desperate. Jenny swayed forward, lips crushing his, laugh sharp, intoxicating. Her bare stomach brushed his chest, her whisper burning into him: "Forget the blood. Forget everything. Just me."
The dream blurred into fire—her weight, her touch, her kiss. He gave himself over completely.
Then—
A different voice cut through.
"You don't have to carry it alone, Tim."
His eyes snapped open. The dream shattered.
It wasn't Jenny.
It was Tammy.
She was crouched over him, pinning his wrists above his head with surprising strength. Her blonde hair spilled forward, brushing his cheeks, catching the candlelight in a way that made it gleam like gold. Her mouth curved into a sly smile, corners lifted as if she already knew she had him trapped.
Tim froze. His chest heaved.
Tammy tilted her head, watching him the way a predator studies prey—patient, playful, certain he couldn't escape. Her eyes narrowed in amusement as she leaned lower, her breath grazing his lips. "You keep saving us," she whispered. "Now I save you."
Before he could speak, she kissed him.
It wasn't Jenny's molten cruelty. Tammy's kiss was sharp and mischievous, like she was stealing something from him and enjoying it. She pulled back just enough to watch his reaction, her grin widening when she saw the conflict in his eyes. Then she kissed him again, harder, her body pressing down with teasing rhythm.
Tim twisted under her, trying to break free. For a second, he managed to roll his shoulders, almost breaking her grip. But Tammy shifted quick as lightning, twisting her hips and slamming him back into the mattress. Her laugh spilled into the dark—low, throaty, delighted.
"You fight better on the streets than in bed," she teased.
He growled, heat rising in his chest. For an instant, he surged upward, forcing her weight higher, trying to flip her. Tammy's smile sharpened, daring. She leaned back just enough for him to think he'd won—then snapped forward, pinning him again, her thighs clamping down with deliberate force.
Her hair brushed his neck as she bent close, her lips dragging against his ear. "See? You like it when I don't let you go."
Tim's pulse roared. His body betrayed him.
Tammy rocked her hips, slow at first, then quicker, testing, pushing, smirking each time he gasped. It wasn't tenderness—it was a game, and she enjoyed every move. He tried again to resist, but she countered with practiced ease, pinning his wrists tighter, kissing him rougher, biting his lip before pulling away with another laugh.
"Mine tonight," she said, voice thick with triumph.
The struggle dissolved into heat, into sweat, into Tammy's sly rhythm. Tim matched her at last, no longer resisting, but it felt like she let him only when she wanted. She set the pace, slowed when he pushed, sped when he faltered. Her control was constant, her smirk never fading.
By the time it ended, Tim was drenched, gasping, chest heaving like he'd run all night. Tammy stretched across him, satisfied, tracing her finger down the line of his chest.
Her whisper curled into his ear, playful and certain. "Better, isn't it? You don't need her. You just need me."
Tim stared at the ceiling. His thoughts tangled, Jenny's shadow still clinging. But as Tammy's weight settled on him, her warmth pinning him, his chest eased.
The ache Jenny had left was duller now.
For the first time, Tim thought maybe—just maybe—he could forget her.