"He's bluffing. No way he can fight—he's drunk and swimming in class four poison. Lui, gut him!"
One thug lunged, blade flashing.
Alex didn't even flinch. He stretched his arms out lazily, like he was about to catch a beach ball, not a knife-wielding psycho. Truth was, he had no damn clue how strong this body really was—or what kind of alchemy tricks he could even pull off.
[Plenty of time to figure that out, boss. This humble disciple's got your back. First priority? Kick these mutts into the gutter—and NTR the cripple husband.]
'NTR him? Now?' Alex blinked.
[Think about it. What better way to seduce a starving woman than saving her from a pack of thugs, while her wheezy husband watches helplessly? You'll be the hero and the temptation.]
Alex tilted his head. "…Damn, you're not wrong."
He turned his gaze on Lily, threw her a wink and a cocky grin. Her worried face instantly scrunched into a scowl. But then, traitorously, her cheeks flushed pink before she whipped her head away.
Even poisoned, even with death in the air—this bastard was still flirting.
'What a bastard! Hmph!' Lily bit her lip, furious at herself for blushing.
The thug lunged, hand outstretched—Alex slid sideways, smooth as a drunk dancer. In one swift motion he snatched the guy's wrist, yanked it down, and drove his fist up like a hammer.
Crack!
The alley echoed with bone snapping like dry firewood. The thug dropped instantly, shrieking, his arm bent into a grotesque zigzag, white bone jutting through skin.
Lily gasped, hands clamped over her mouth, eyes wide as saucers. She had never seen a man's body break so easily—like Alex was just folding a stick.
Alex turned his head, locked eyes with her, and—just to be an asshole—blew her a kiss. Then he winked.
"It doesn't matter how strong you think you are, I'll bend you just as easily."
That look, that voice—it wasn't aimed at the thug still howling on the ground. It was aimed right at her.
Lily's throat went dry. Shameless. Absolutely shameless. With two armed men circling him and poison in his veins, this bastard was still talking like he'd bend her. And worse—her thighs clenched tight, her body already betraying her with that molten ache.
"Damn it…" she cursed herself under her breath.
Meanwhile, poor Marcus… bless his clueless heart. He thought Alex's words were all about the thugs. About breaking arms, about dominance in a fight. His chest swelled with hope.
He had no idea.
No idea what Alex really meant.
No idea what his wife's body was whispering.
No idea how badly the night was about to spiral for him.
The other two froze, then glanced at each other. No way were they gonna let this cocky bastard fold them one by one. With a grunt, they rushed him together.
Bad move.
Two minutes. That's all it took.
One hit the ground coughing blood, curled up like a shrimp, arms around his gut. He landed near the first one, who was wheezing, his arm bent at a sick angle. Both were howling like beaten dogs.
And the last guy? Poor bastard got the worst.
Paw! Paw! Kick! Kick!
Alex drove his boots straight into his crotch, over and over, each blow making the thug's face twist further until tears and snot streamed down.
"You." Kick. "Don't." Kick. "Touch." Kick. "A woman." Kick. "Ever again. Got it?"
The alley rang with the sound of boots meeting balls.
By the end of it, the man wasn't screaming anymore—he was just sobbing, cradling his ruined manhood. A mountain of muscle reduced to a whimpering child.
Even Lily and Marcus had to turn away. Lily's stomach churned, but her thighs pressed tighter without her realizing. Marcus, meanwhile, whispered a weak prayer for the thug's future children.
[Excellent, boss. You've shown her who the real man is here. And it's not her husband. It's you. Now comes the acting.]
'Acting? Why?'
[You already did the hero part. Now we make her feel it. Walk to her, act weak, collapse in her arms. Let her body remember who saved it.]
'Ohhh… I get it.'
Alex smirked, then ran a hand through his messy, sweat-damp hair. The move was casual, cocky—yet Lily's cheeks flared red, her breath hitching. Damn it, why did he look hotter covered in blood and dirt than her husband ever did cleaned up in church clothes?
Meanwhile, Lily was pulling Marcus to his feet.
"Thank you, dear, but I'm alright," Marcus rasped, wiping blood from his lips. "Got my ass handed to me, though. Sorry, Lily. Are you hurt?"
She shook her head quickly, forcing a small smile. "I'm fine, dear. Don't think like that. You still fought for me, even in this state."
Marcus chuckled bitterly, shoulders sagging. "Fought? More like flailed. If it wasn't for that young man…"
His voice cracked. Tears gathered in the corners of his eyes. He bent forward, hands braced on his knees.
"I nearly watched them ruin you. My weakness almost cost you everything."
Lily's eyes welled as she pressed a trembling hand to her husband's shoulder.
"Stop… stop thinking about what happened, dear. I'm safe. I'm fine. But you—look at you—you're not."
Marcus shook his head, voice breaking. "That's not it, Lily. What if they come back? What then? I'm too weak. I can't save you."
"Don't talk like that, dear—"
"He's not wrong."
The third voice cut through her attempt at comfort. Alex stood right behind them now, leaning casually as if the fight hadn't even winded him. His lips curled into a wolfish smirk.
"He's telling the truth. He can't save you."
Lily bit her lip hard, glaring up at him, but her eyes betrayed her. The intensity in his gaze made her heart stumble, and she had to look away before it burned her too much.
"Shut up," she hissed. "You don't know what my husband's been through."
"Oh, I don't?" Alex tilted his head mockingly. "Maybe not. But I do know this—if your weak-ass husband doesn't sort himself out, this will happen again. Only next time, there won't be a me here to stop them from ripping that dress off you."
Marcus flinched like Alex had punched him in the gut. Lily opened her mouth, wanting—needing—to counter, but no words came. Not one. Her throat locked, her lips just trembled uselessly.