Page 6 of Hero Worship

My hand trembled as I reached for my tie, loosening it. The heat pooling in my gut wasn't supposed to be there. Ididn’t want men. Never had. But Xander was neither man nor woman, existing confidently in a space I was only beginning to understand. That truth settled in my bones like an unfamiliar weight, challenging everything I thought I knew about attraction. My body reacted to them all the same. The way their sharp tongue cut through my defenses, begging to be put in their place. The way they moved said every motion was a challenge and an offering.

"Fuck." I shoved back from the desk, my cane clattering to the floor as I stumbled to the bar, imagining Xander spread out on my desk, begging for mercy. Xander in tears as I pushed him past his limits, knowing I'd catch him when he fell. Xander wearing my marks, my bruises, my claim...

What the fuck was wrong with me?

Christ, I was too old to have my world turned upside down like this. Too set in my ways to be questioning fundamental truths about myself, especially over someone twenty years my junior who seemed hell-bent on self-destruction. He was my boss's kid, for fuck's sake.

The whiskey burned, but not enough to drown out the voice in my head that sounded too much like my father. He'd had very specific ideas about sexuality, about strength and weakness, about the rigid boxes people were supposed to fit into. Ideas I'd spent a lifetime internalizing. What did it say about me that I was attracted to someone who didn’t fit in one of those boxes?

My father's voice echoed in my head, a memory from my teens: "There are two kinds of people in this world, son. Those who take what they want, and those who get taken." He'd been teaching me about business, but the lesson had bled into every aspect of life. Strength and weakness, dominance and submission, the rigid categories that defined his worldview.

I'd rejected his lessons, or thought I had. Spent my career protecting the vulnerable, standing up for those who couldn'tfight back. But that same need for control, that drive to dominate and possess—it lived in me too, passed down like some toxic inheritance I couldn't quite shake.

I knocked back the rest of my drink, embracing the burn. Tomorrow, I'd lay down the law. Weekly drug tests, STI screenings, a complete crackdown on his wild behavior. I'd be the handler he needed, not the daddy he wanted. Keep him alive and functioning without crossing lines that couldn't be uncrossed.

But as I stared out at the darkening skyline, I felt lost. One look at those desperate eyes, and twenty years of certainty had crumbled like ash. I'd spent my career hunting monsters, learning to recognize the evil that lived in men's souls.

I never expected to find it staring back at me from the mirror.

Good luck, old man. You're gonna fucking need it.

The vodka burned goingdown, but it wasn't enough to drown out thoughts of Ash. His voice echoed in my head, rough and commanding in a way that made my whole body ache. The way those storm-gray eyes had locked onto mine in the training room, like he could see straight through me. Like he knew exactly how desperate I was to prove myself, to beworthsomething.

I stared at my phone, thumb hovering over his contact. Three typed and deleted messages mocked me:

Xander

WYD

Xander

You busy tonight?

Xander

Want to grab coffee sometime?

Pathetic. I was pathetic, getting worked up over some straight-laced ex-fed who probably saw me as nothing more than a disaster waiting to happen. Another broken toy for Daddy Dearest to try fixing.

My hands shook as I shoved them into my pockets, fingers brushing against the baggie of pills. Just insurance, I told myself. In case the night got too raw, too real. In case I couldn't handle being trapped in my own skin anymore.

I pounded on the bathroom door, desperate for distraction. "Xavier! How long does it take to dye your fucking hair? Some of us have mental breakdowns to attend to!"

The door flew open, revealing Xavier's scowl. Electric blue streaked his black hair, matching the irritation in his eyes. "Perfection takes time, asshole."

I gestured at my outfit—a black mesh crop top that left nothing to the imagination, skin-tight leather pants, and enough eyeliner to make a raccoon jealous. The fabric felt like armor against my skin, each carefully chosen piece a statement:I'm dangerous, I'm beautiful, I'm everything you want and everything you fear. "Unlike me, who's effortlessly flawless."

But the words felt hollow, a performance I couldn't quite sell. Not when I could still feel Ash's eyes on me from training, that mixture of heat and disapproval that made me want to simultaneously show off and hide. He'd looked at me like I was a puzzle he couldn't quite solve, and God, I wanted him to take me apart piece by piece until he figured out what made me tick.

"Less fighting, more drinking!" Eli declared, sweeping past us with a bottle of tequila. His platinum hair caught the light as he moved, all casual grace and easy confidence. Sometimes I envied how comfortable he seemed in his own skin.

Xavier glanced at Eli. "You sure Shepherd's okay with you going out with us?"

"Sir practically shoved me out the door," Eli said, a soft smile playing at his lips as he twisted one of his leather cuffs. "Said I needed to socialize with people my own age instead of hovering around him all evening. Though he did give me a very specific list of rules to follow." His expression turned dreamy in that way it always did when he talked about Shepherd's control.

I tried not to feel envious of that certainty, that absolute trust. Must be nice, having someone who cared enough to set boundaries, to keep you safe. Someone who wanted you enough to claim you completely.

I knocked back another shot. "Let me guess. He told you to keep an eye on his baby brothers too? Make sure we don't get into too much trouble?" The bitterness in my voice surprised even me. It wasn't Shepherd's fault he was overprotective. Between Xion's schizophrenia and my tendency to chase any danger I could find, he had reason to worry. But sometimes his need for control, the way all his alters wanted to micromanage our lives, felt suffocating.

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