Page 19 of Lunar Crest University

My mother will never recover if her daughter is brutally murdered in an alleyway. The thought of my mom riddled with crippling grief makes a tear trickle down my cheek, washing over his dirt-stained hand, cleansing a streak down his skin.

“But let’s have a little fun first, huh?” he pants in my ear, his hot breath fanning across my neck. “What do you say?”

A raspy cry leaves my lips, quickly stopped by his hand as his fingers rip open the button of my jeans. My thighs clench together as my hands meekly tug at his very strong ones, a trail of tears falling from my eyes as I struggle against the force of him against me.

Fight, Finn.

Don’t make this easy for him.

But my hands are like spaghetti noodles. Every time I try to push him away, scratch him, yank at his disgusting hand forcing its way down the front of my pants—it’s like I have no energy. No strength. I am weak beneath him, trembling. My brain spins madly, my thoughts swirling in my head so quickly, it makes my breath constrict in my throat.

The sound of a gun cocking echoes amid the rain, like music to my ears. Warmth spreads throughout my chest as the relief washes over me.

The man freezes, his head turning in the direction of the sound. My eyes follow the same trajectory, widening marginally as they fall on Luca. The pistol in his hand is pointed at the man, barely inches away from grazing his nose with the barrel. His dark hair is soaked, sticking to his forehead, the water running down his face in the rain. His eyes are almost black as he stares irately at my attacker.

How is he here? How did he knowwewere here?

I can’t decide if I’m scared that he owns a gun and is pointing it at someone, or if I’m thankful he’s here saving me. Perhaps it’s a mixture of both, a dangerous amalgamation that makes me colorblind to the red flags again.

Red is so much better than green. I like red.

“Alejarse,” Luca barks, his deep voice scarier than the weapon in his hand. “Now. Get your hands off her before I put a bullet in your fucking skull.”

I shrink against the side of the dumpster as his dirty hands leave me, sinking onto the wet ground as I wrap my arms around my knees. Blinking up at Luca, squinting from the rain, I shake faintly as I examine the lethal look in his eyes.

Heisdangerous. There was no question anymore.

“This is your doing, Serrano.” The man points at Luca.

I yelp loudly as Luca fires a warning shot into the brick near the man, clasping my hands over my ears as I stuff my face between my knees. I can smell the gun smoke in the dampness of the air, making me shake uncontrollably now from fear and temperature. Every nerve in my body is alive. I refuse to uncover my ears or look up, absolutely terrified that I’ll witness a murder.

“Leave,” Luca orders lowly.

I can’t hear much through my hands, only the muffled sounds of what I can only guess to be the man shuffling back down the alley away from us. Even still, I remain buried, hiding my face from the dangers before me as I squeeze my eyes shut.

“Finley.”

Don’t look up. Ignore him.

“Princesa.”

I only grip my knees tighter as I press my face further between them, refusing to lift my head. If I press hard enough, I could forget this ever happened. The man.Luca. The situation was now a disaster of epic proportions—and instead of the train wreck of thoughts derailing in my mind, I just need everything to bequiet.

Chapter Eight

LUCA

SUNDAY, OCTOBER 8TH, 2023

The torrential downpour permeates my clothes, drenching them as I stand in the alleyway, staring down at Finley. The fabric clings to my skin in an irritable fashion, my hair mirroring my clothes as it sticks to my forehead. The water trickles down my face, dripping from my nose, chin, and eyelashes. It’s a heavy reminder of why I miss my home in Mexico City—where it may rain a lot, but at least it’swarmand rainy. It’s almost always warm until the sun sets during the autumn and winter time.

Lunar Crest is cold all the time. It constantly resembles autumn, with multicolored leaves coating the ground and raining most days. It’s as if the town is trapped in fall; the sun shines on its prettiest days, but the temperatures never rise above sixty-five degrees.

I shiver, silently cursing the weather as I frown down at her curled-up figure. She hasn’t lifted her head to look at me. Instead, she keeps her face buried in her knees, her armswrapped around them. Her knuckles are white from squeezing so hard.

She’s probably scared of me.

I threatened to kill someone right in front of her.

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