Dallas was halfway to his cabin in the woods when it finally hit him, like, really hit him, that there was a human being in his trunk, a real one, not a fantasy, not a scene, not some girl with a safe word and a contract. Just... someone, he hadn't even got her name. Alive, bound, and hopefully still unconscious. It wasn't guilt, not exactly, more like the buzzing discomfort of a man who'd never really had a plan past the first move and was only now realizing the next several steps required actual thinking.

Maybe it was the crew. All of them suddenly settling down like it was contagious. One by one, these grizzled, sharp-edged bastards started bringing girls around. Sweet ones, spicy ones. Broken little things they could "fix." It was like watching pitbulls turn into lapdogs. Made Dallas itchy, maybe even jealous, not that he'd ever admit it.

So, yeah, maybe that had something to do with it or maybe it was the three-week TikTok spiral he'd fallen into, watching 'Dark Romance BookTok' late at night like it was porn for his undercooked frontal lobe. Women swooning over fictional psychos, red-flag factory boys who kidnapped and killed and still got the girl in the end. It clicked something inside him, something warped and half-formed.

He didn't want love, at least he was almost sure he didn't want love. He wanted what they had, a pretty thing, soft hands, big eyes. Someone to look at him like he was worth something. He'd never been good at the emotional shit. His idea of affection was sharing his fries. His idea of commitment was not robbing someone twice. The whole "mature adult relationship" thing? Never even made it past the tutorial. And Dallas, being the emotionally stunted little gremlin he was, decided the easiest way to get what they had was to catch one like a damn Pokémon.

The plan was simple, stupid-simple. He picked the right con. Dark Romance, full of the types who read about monsters and called them soulmates. Found one alone, cute and curious, maybe a little too trusting. A drink laced smooth and quiet, a practiced move. He'd done worse for less. The way her knees buckled, the way her breath hitched—he caught her like she was prey. Some duct tape, and trunk space. Perfect.

Now here he was, gravel crunching under his tires, pine trees closing in like a secret. The smell of wet leaves and cold dirt crept in through the cracked window. Classic horror movie setup. He almost laughed, except there was a real, breathing person tied up in his trunk, and that part didn't feel so funny anymore.

He pulled into the clearing where the cabin squatted like a forgotten memory. Bare wood, broken porch light, one-eyed raccoon probably still living in the crawlspace. For a second, he just sat there. Staring at the trees. Trying to convince himself this wasn't insane. That this meant something, that they could figure it out together once they "talked."

He stepped out, heart pounding like it hadn't quite decided if this was panic or excitement, maybe both. He circled to the back of the car, keys jangling in his nervous fingers. Then he heard it—a thump, then a groan. Shit. She's awake.

He popped the trunk and blinked into the shadows. Eyes met his, wild, confused and furious. He raised his hands like a cop at a traffic stop, expression trying to mold itself into something calm, something comforting. It didn't work, he looked like a possum pretending to be human.

"Hey. Uh... everything's gonna be fine," He nodded, like that made it true. He's eyes went to the tape over her mouth and he scratched the back of his neck, awkward. “I mean, not like fine-fine, but... you'll get used to it.”