Chapter 14: 13. Between him and chaos

Yannik

I freeze at the sound of Tiago's voice—so sharp, so aggressive, I don't even need to look back to know he's striding toward us, ready to intervene.

Shit. He's about to screw it all up.

Cas steps away from me, straightening up, his cocky smile widening as he greets Tiago like he's ready to get on him.

"Tiago—" I try to warn him, but he doesn't stop to listen. His face is tight with anger as he moves between me and Cas, his hand pushing me behind him. "What the hell are you doing?"

"What's up, lil man?" Cas taunts, voice soaked with aggressively playful edge. "Want some too? I ain't greedy. We can share."

Cas shifts, trying to sidestep Tiago and get to me, but Tiago's hand finds my lower back, pressing me against him as he moves back, keeping distance between us and Cas.

"Don't fucking touch her, mate." Tiago's voice is gravelly, sharp, slicing through the evening air like a blade. Cas' grin flickers, just for a second.

My fingers dig into Tiago's arm—his biceps so tense I can feel every vein beneath my fingertips. He's not just pissed. He's calculating.

"Stick your nose into your own business, lil man," Cas snickers, though there's an edge of tension in his voice now. He's got the nerve to call a guy twice his size 'little.'

"She is my business," Tiago growls, giving Cas a shove as he gets closer—barely any force, just enough to serve as a warning.

"Go for a walk, lover boy!" Another voice joins in from across the street. My stomach tightens as I spot another man approaching, slow but deliberate. A few moments ago, I was certain I didn't need Tiago's help. Now, it's two grown ass men against us.

"Shit—" I clench my teeth as Cas shoves Tiago back.

"You better hit it, lil bro," Cas sneers, his grin finally gone. "Don't want us to beat you up and take this pretty little sugar of yours—"

Tiago moves so fast, I barely process it. His body tenses under my hand, his fist colliding with Cas' face in a punch so clean, so practiced, it knocks Cas back hard.

I stare, blankly, my breath catching.

It just went down.

"You keep your bloody hands away from her!" Tiago's accent thickens, his voice dropping into a rough, dangerous growl.

Cas stumbles, shakes his head, and then lunges at Tiago, swinging for his face. Tiago shifts, dodging with effortless precision.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

"Goddamn it," I mutter, my voice trembling from nerves as I jog back, bracing myself, warming up.

The man from across the street is running toward Tiago now.

I glance at Tiago just as Cas lets out a choked moan. But what I see is not what I'm ready for.

Tiago throws another punch, sharp, precise—it would have landed cleanly on Cas' jaw if he hadn't dodged.

Then, I see it. A glint of silver in Cas' hand.

Pocket knife.

My stomach twists.

I don't even have time to warn Tiago—he dodges like he already knew. His hand snaps out, twisting Cas' wrist with ease, slamming him against the wall. One, two, three brutal hits to his wrist until the knife clatters to the ground.

I barely have time to process how badass Tiago looks when the next thing he's smashing against the wall is Cas' face—another man grabs me, his grip like steel on my hair, pulling me backward.

"Fuck!" I squeak as my body follows the direction my hair is pulled. Clenching my teeth, I find the man's shoulder and grab it tight.

Brisk movement of my knee smashing his balls makes him let me go and let out a muffled scream.

A loud crack fills my ears as my fist collides with his jaw, sending him stumbling. My knuckles throb, but my body moves on muscle memory—heel rooted as I spin on it for my kick to gain strength, my other leg hooking high toward his head.

Pain explodes through my ankle as the man dodges my attack, punching my ankle with so much force it throws my balance.

A sharp, choked moan—more of a squeak—escapes my lips.

Well, looks like I'm fucked.

"Yannik!" Tiago's voice rips through the air. Raw, cracking with something close to panic.

I hit the ground hard, instinctively trying to clutch my ankle as a sharp, pulsing ache spreads through my body. My breath shudders, my vision blurred, but I still can see the man about to kick me in the stomach.

The first time in my life I'm losing a fight.

Tiago is on me in a second, spinning on his heel to send a brutal kick straight into the man's face.

The same kick I just did—and low–key failed—after practicing martial arts my whole life. Except when he does it, it's flawless—fast, controlled, devastating.

Who is this fucker?

"Come on, let's go!" Tiago growls, grabbing my hand, pulling me to my feet.

"Wait, hold on—" I wince, my teeth clenching as pain flares through me. Tiago moves fast, but even as he half-drags me, I can't keep up. My ankle is shot with pain, every step sending fire up my leg.

He glances back to check on the guys on the ground—the ones he knocked out—and takes a moment to slow down.

I barely have time to process it before my feet leave the ground.

I squeal as he lifts me while running, throwing me over his shoulder like I weigh nothing.

"Hold on tight, sugar," he gruffs.

My arms automatically wrap around his torso, fingers gripping onto him. I'm not a tiny girl. But in his arms?

I feel like I am.

I can't tell how far away Enzo's car is when I hear the engine roar, my head spinning from the brutal mix of pain and the speed Tiago develops carrying me on his shoulder.

I let out a muffled squeak as Tiago shifts me in his arms, maneuvering us into the backseat with a smooth but disorienting motion.

Goddamn it, this man is juggling with my body so good I'm impressed.

And turned on. Kinda.

"Fuck me!" Enzo yells, smacking the wheel as he speeds up. "Fucking useless wagon! I swear I'm gonna burn you some-fucking-day!"

Shit. I totally forgot his car is older than him. How many times has this piece of junk refused to start when we were in a rush?

"You good, guys?" Enzo asks, glaring at us through the rearview mirror.

I hear Tiago's heavy panting, then realize I'm breathless too. He's still pressing me against him, his fingers digging into my body like he's afraid I'll slip away. My head rests against the crook of his neck as I close my eyes, trying to steady my breath.

Tiago smells so good—cigarette notes are barely noticeable under the scent of his perfume.

His body is burning—every muscle under me rock-hard with tension. He suddenly twitches.

"Are you okay? Did they hurt you?" His voice is low, rough, and dripping with concern as his eyes skim over me.

That's when I finally snap back to reality.

"You sick bitch!" I yell at him as I slap his chest, a huge, definitely unhinged smile spreading across my face. "What the hell was that?"

I still can't tell if I'm mad at him or ridiculously turned on. Judging by Tiago's face, he doesn't have the answer either.

"Yeah, Tiago, what the hell was that?" Enzo chimes in, his snicker making it obvious that we're both equally stunned by Tiago's performance. Tiago looks at me, defensive.

"Look who's talking," he nods at me, still holding me close. "Crazy woman!"

"We all know Yannik's a rabid dog, but what's your excuse?" Enzo raises an eyebrow, peering at Tiago through the mirror.

"Who the fuck did you just call a rabid dog?" I growl at Enzo, my hands still wrapped around Tiago's neck.

God, we all need a break. A long–ass break.

I barely register their bickering as I finally detach myself off Tiago and shift to sit next to him. It takes effort—he's still gripping me like he's ready to shield me again at any second.

"Well, at least we got the weed. Anybody wants to celebrate?" Enzo suggests after we all calm down.

Tiago shakes his head, then throws it back against the seat and extends his legs—at least as much as this tiny-ass car allows his massive frame. "Just drop us off at Yannik's."

I snap my head toward him, but he doesn't even look at me. His eyes are closed, his breathing finally settling.

Us?

***

"Roller skating?"

Dad raises an eyebrow as I nod, doing my best not to screw up the alibi Tiago just gave us.

Sitting at the dining table, I shoot Tiago a glare as Dad heads into the kitchen.

"I hate roller skating," I mouth, trying to keep my voice down while Tiago examines my ankle.

"Oh, you want me to tell your father you went to buy weed from some shady pricks who then tried to assault you?" His tone isn't teasing—it's a threat. That shuts me up real quick.

Dad walks back in, holding a bag of frozen peas.

"Impy." He hands me the bag, and I sigh, pressing it against my ankle. I already told both of them I was fine—that it was just a cramp or whatever—but it looks like I'm surrounded by overprotective men.

I glance at Tiago, catching the way his eyes follow the bag of peas.

I never thought of him like this. I couldn't picture him standing up for me the way he did, but now that it's happened, I have to admit—I'm impressed.

I've never seen a guy fight that fierce, and, man, I've seen a lot of fights.

"And you? Are you okay—" Dad hesitates, trying to guess the name of the boy who supposedly took his daughter roller skating.

Tiago extends a hand for a handshake. "Tiago," he introduces himself smoothly. "Tiago Jones."

"Bardot Moore," Dad replies, gripping his hand in a firm shake. "So you're the Tiago Impy's been tutoring?"

I watch Tiago's face drain of color as Dad's voice dips lower. Before he can say anything that might make this situation worse, I jump in.

"Yeah, Daddy, he's that Tiago." I flash a sweet, innocent smile.

Dad's expression softens as he looks at me. "Then do you want to stay for dinner, Tiago?" He asks it like he genuinely hopes Tiago will say yes.

Tiago hesitates, his lips curling into an awkward, nervous smile.

This guy is terrible at faking.

"I actually have some things to do," he says, politely declining.

"I'll give you a ride then," Dad offers.

I frown. Why is he being so nice to Tiago? Don't get me wrong, Dad's always extra friendly, but something about this feels different. Like he's treating Tiago even better for some reason I can't see.

"No need," Tiago snickers, but there's a hint of unease in his voice.

They go back and forth, politely arguing about the ride while I absently rub the bag of peas against my ankle, watching my skin turn red from the cold.

Shit. Who tutors someone and then goes roller skating with them?

Dad totally thinks this was a date. And I can't exactly tell him that, in reality, our "date" involved beating the hell out of some jerks while Enzo was trying to start his ancient trolley.

"Well, I'll leave you to it," Dad claps his hands in an awkward attempt to excuse himself. "Call me if you need anything, Impy."

"I told you I'm fine!" I snap.

Dad just laughs, ignoring my frustration as he disappears into the living room.

I groan and turn back to Tiago, who's still watching me, his expression tight with concern.

"So," I draw out, keeping my voice low so Dad won't hear. "Care to explain what that was?"

"Adrenaline rush?" Tiago flashes a lopsided, sheepish smile, suppressing a chuckle.

Oh, don't you dare try to act coy now, Big Boy.

"You beat the shit out of those fuckers," I remind him, leaning in. "One of them had a fucking knife, and you didn't even flinch."

Tiago shrugs, looking away—down at my ankle—like that's supposed to dismiss the entire thing.

He never touches me. Not casually, not deliberately. But now, he's doing it so naturally, rubbing his fingers against the red spot on my skin like the invisible wall between us was never really there.

"I didn't know you were a goddamn killing machine," I joke, trying to ease the tension.

His reaction is instant. His jaw tightens, his voice firm and low. "Don't say that."

I blink. "Why?"

"Just don't." His voice drops even lower, and before I can push further, he gently takes the peas from my hand and presses the bag against my skin himself.

"Alright, Mike Tyson," I mutter, rolling my eyes.

Will he stop? He's supposed to be just a guy I have a deal with, not my goddamn nurse.

It doesn't feel right—him being this gentle with me, touching me that much as if he ins't always trying to avoid me.

But when his hands shift, his fingers—now freezing from the ice pack—brush against my skin, and I swear to God, they burn.

"What's in your head?"

Tiago's voice wrecks the silence.

I look up. He's not watching me—his eyes are locked on my ankle, like it's the only thing that matters right now.

"What?" I snicker, thrown off. What the hell made him ask that? Is he trying to scold me for what happened before?

"I never know what you're thinking."

His confession rushes through my veins in cold and warm waves. His teal-blue eyes flick to me, so deep and beautiful I forget how to breathe.

Looks like that adrenaline rush of his made him brave enough to talk.

"You do, Tiago," I murmur, taking the frozen bag from his hands. "Back then—I meant it. We're the same material."

I know it now.

The way he moved. The way he towered over me, shielding me from danger even though I thought I could handle it myself. The way his words dripped with venom.

That wasn't just adrenaline. It was something deeper. Darker.

I know that feeling. The kind that latches onto your bones, that leaks into your blood. The need to take all the anger boiling under your skin and throw it at the first thing that gives you an excuse.

His jaw tenses. His bruised knuckles rub against his palm, like he's trying to ease the anxiety clawing at him.

"So if you want to know what's in my head," I take the bag of peas clenched in his fingers and set it on the table, my eyes locked on his. "Try looking inside yours."

He swallows hard. His gaze drags over my face, but he doesn't say a word.

It doesn't feel like the right moment for this conversation, but Tiago looks like he's fighting demons I can't see.

His teeth sink into his lip, his scowl deepens, and then—

"I have to go."

The words are quiet. Final.

He stands before I can stop him.

I won't.

He's capable of making his own decisions—even if they exclude me.

The front door slams, and with it, every ounce of hope that has been lingering vanishes.

I don't want Tiago to get attached. But something inside me—something that flares up every time I'm about to add another number to my list—is begging me to do whatever it takes to get into his heart.

To twist myself into his thoughts. To make him so obsessed that when I finally get bored, I'll break him.

Because I will. I always do. And he's no exception.

I get up, slowly making my way to the stairs, careful not to put too much weight on my ankle, although now there's barely any ache in it.

"You need help, Impy?" Dad calls from the living room.

"No," I yell back.

"So about Tiago—"

"I don't want to talk about it, Dad."

I cut him off before he can start flooding me with questions I don't want to answer.

I feel like I can't get into Tiago's head either.

It was easy at first. But now he's pushing me away, even as his body language begs me to pull him closer.

He's too arrogant to let me spoil him. Too dignified.

I shut the door behind me as I finally reach my room.

The sound of the window sliding open makes my heart jump in a stupid hope lighting up in it.

I turn—and chuckle.

"What, you're a burglar now?"

Tiago swings both legs over the windowsill and makes a jump, landing in front of my bed in one smooth motion.

So tall. So handsome. So serious.

His brows furrow slightly as he straightens, his breath deep and steady as he walks toward me.

I hold his gaze, watching him get closer, step after step, until he's towering over me.

So close my face is nearly pressed against his chest. I expect him to do anything, to flood me with those speeches of his. To say he doesn't need me nor my games.

His voice is low, rough.

"I want you."