The elevator doors slid open. Francisco bolted out, gun in hand, his urgency clear. He reached Hazel's apartment and didn't hesitate—he aimed at the doorknob and fired. The shot rang through the corridor. One hard kick, and the door flew open.
Inside, he heard Hazel's panicked voice.
"Leave me!"
Fueled by instinct, Francisco rushed to her bedroom. He burst through the door, gun raised.
Hazel was pinned under the masked intruder.
Before he could fire, Hazel shoved the man aside and ran toward Francisco.
"Mr. Francisco!"
Startled by her sudden move, Francisco lowered his gun, just for a second—a second too long.
The intruder lunged, knife flashing. Francisco pulled Hazel behind him, but the blade caught his side, slicing through his shirt and skin.
A sharp whimper escaped Francisco's lips as he winced, his brows tightening in pain. Blood bloomed through his white shirt, but the masked intruder wasn't finished. He lunged again with the knife.
This time, Francisco caught his wrist mid-strike, his grip iron-strong despite the injury.
"Mr. Francisco!" Hazel cried out, panic tightening her voice.
Locked in a fierce struggle, Francisco slammed the attacker into the wall and delivered a brutal punch to his face. The man staggered but quickly recovered, agile and skilled. He ducked and countered with a hard kick... right to Francisco's wound.
Francisco stumbled back, clutching his side. Blood seeped through his fingers, but his eyes stayed locked on the fleeing man.
Hazel stepped forward, panic rising. "You're bleeding—let me see."
She grabbed his hand, stopping him.
"Let him go, Mr. Francisco. I'll call the police."
Francisco hesitated, breathing hard. Then he pulled out his phone, voice low and sharp as he gave a command.
"If you see anyone near the apartment... shoot them."
Hazel placed a hand on his shoulder, trying to steady him.
"Please sit. You need help. I'm calling an ambulance."
As she reached for her phone, Francisco caught her wrist and pulled her close. His eyes locked on hers.
"Are you okay? Did he hurt you?" Francisco asked, his voice low and tense.
Hazel nodded, her nerves still rattled. "No… I'm okay now. You came just in time."
Francisco studied her face, worry still clouding his expression. Hazel, noticing the blood soaking through his shirt, stepped closer.
"Mr. Francisco, we can talk later. You need treatment," she said urgently.
He lifted a hand to stop her. "No need. I'm fine. Just a scratch."
"Please... can I see?" Hazel asked gently.
Francisco gave a faint nod. Hazel carefully lifted his shirt, revealing the deep gash. Her eyes widened.
"This isn't a scratch. We need to go to the hospital."
But Francisco remained calm, as if the pain didn't register. His gaze stayed steady.
"Can you treat it?"
"What?" Hazel blinked, stunned.
"Do you have hydrogen peroxide?" he asked, slumping onto the sofa with a quiet exhale.
Hazel hesitated for a beat, then nodded and rushed to the bedroom.
She rushed to Francisco, who sat calmly, though pain flickered in his eyes as he slowly unbuttoned his shirt.
Kneeling in front of him, Hazel soaked a cotton pad with hydrogen peroxide. Her hands moved with care and focus. Francisco watched her for a moment, then closed his eyes, surrendering to her touch.
She cleaned the wound quickly, trying not to wince at the sight of blood. The only sounds in the room were their soft breathing and the faint hiss of the antiseptic. When the bleeding stopped, Hazel wrapped the gash with steady hands, pressing just enough to keep it secure.
The scent of disinfectant lingered as she finished.
When she looked up, she found Francisco staring at her... calm, unreadable, and focused entirely on her.
As Hazel leaned back, her hands resting lightly on his thighs, a sudden chill grazed her cheek. She startled slightly. Francisco's hand was there, his palm cupping her face with unexpected tenderness.
He ran his fingers slowly along her earlobe, their eyes locked.
"How did he get in?"
Still holding his gaze, Hazel replied, "Through my bedroom window. I was just about to lock the glass... and then he jumped in."
Francisco didn't speak.
Hazel's voice was quiet but steady. "I think I need to call the police."
Francisco's eyes locked onto Hazel's, his gaze sharp and unreadable. His thumb brushed over her trembling lips. Before she could speak, he cut in, voice low and firm.
"I'll find him before the police do."
Hazel's lips parted slightly, but Francisco didn't flinch. His thumb lingered, tracing her lips again, and her brows knit together in confusion.
"Don't worry," he added, voice softer but intense. "I'll bring him to you."
Then, without warning, he crossed a line.
He slipped his thumb into her mouth, and Hazel froze, shocked by the sudden intimacy. Her body tensed, unsure how to react. Francisco's hold on her hair tightened slightly as he asked, "Did he touch you?"
Hazel shook her head, unable to find her voice.
Francisco slowly pulled his thumb from her mouth and tightened his grip on her hair.
Her eyes shut as her breath caught... confused, shaken, vulnerable.
"Mr. Francisco… please," she said quietly, trying to steady herself. "What are you doing?"
Francisco pulled away, suddenly aware of his actions. He ran a hand over his face, trying to regain composure and clear his mind.
His jaw tightened.
I want to fuck you hard, Hazel.
The desire that surged within him was overpowering, and he knew he needed to leave before he acted on it.
"You need to lock the door," he said as he stood. "My men are outside. No one will come near you."
Hazel remained silent, watching him.
"The police might take time," he added. "I can't wait."
Francisco's sudden movement made Hazel flinch. She stared at him, confusion in her voice. "But Mr. Francisco, this is police work. What are you saying?"
He turned to her, eyes unreadable. "Just remember one thing... I do the same job as the police. Just in a different way."
With that, he walked out, leaving Hazel alone in silence. His words lingered, heavy and unsettling.
Hazel slowly lowered herself onto the sofa, her thoughts racing. She pressed her lips together, holding back the storm rising inside her.
Are you okay?
We were on the edge… someone could've seen.
The fear of being discovered loomed large in Hazel's mind.
Please don't try to do it, love.
Her own silent plea echoed in her mind. She closed her eyes and pressed her fingers to her temples, trying to calm the chaos inside her.
***
Inside the cramped silence of his car, Rafael winced as pain shot through his split lip—a fresh souvenir from his fight with Francisco. He pulled off his mask, exposing the damage.
Staring into the rearview mirror, his battered reflection stared back. He touched the cut on his lip, feeling the warm sting of blood beneath his fingers.
He drew in a deep breath, trying to calm the fury boiling inside him. But the image of Francisco—the man who ruined everything—only fanned the flames.
"That bastard," he growled.
His thoughts spiraled.
I dragged you into this mess. I pushed you into hell. This is my fault.
I need to speak to the sheriff. Now.
I can't stand seeing you in his arms.
His jaw clenched.