My first crush (COMPLETED)√

CHAPTER 95: The bad boy saved me

The room smelled of sweat, dust, and stale alcohol — thick enough to choke on. The single bulb overhead flickered, throwing jagged shadows across the cracked walls. Sharon sat bound to the chair, wrists raw, shoulders trembling, her strength hanging by a thread.

"It's only you and I now, baby," the dark man said with a crooked smirk, stepping closer.

Sharon shrank back as far as the restraints allowed, her voice barely holding together.

"Pl... please... don't hurt me. I beg you."

He chuckled — low and ugly.

"Relax. It ain't gonna hurt. We're just gonna have some fun."

His fingers brushed her face, trailing downward, and something inside me snapped.

I stood hidden in the doorway, breath shallow, vision tunneling. Every instinct screamed at me to charge forward, to tear him apart with my bare hands. But one wrong move could cost everything.

Control yourself.
Think.

I scanned the dim hallway, heart pounding like a war drum. My gaze caught the faint gleam of metal — an iron rod leaning against the wall. I grabbed it, the cold weight settling into my palm, grounding my rage.

Step by step, silent, steady.

Closer.

Closer.

I raised it—

"Stephen!"

Sharon's voice cut through the air.

The man spun around.

"What—"

The rod connected with a sickening crack before he could react. He collapsed instantly, his body slamming against the concrete floor.

Silence flooded the room.

Sharon's face crumpled with relief, tears streaming freely now.

"Stephen... you came."

I dropped the rod, rushing toward her, pulling her into my arms as much as the restraints allowed. She felt fragile — shaking, cold, real.

Too real.

I pressed my forehead against hers, breathing her in like oxygen after drowning.

"I missed you," I murmured, my voice breaking despite myself.

"I'm sorry..." she whispered.

I brushed her hair away, forcing a small smirk through the storm raging inside me.

"You know there's a punishment for disappearing on me like that."

Her brows knitted, confusion and exhaustion mixing with lingering fear.

"What... endless teasing?"

I chuckled softly, loosening the restraints.

"You got it."

The cuffs fell away.

She exhaled shakily, rubbing her wrists.

"Oh God... I'm free."

She leaned back, closing her eyes briefly.

"I missed freedom."
Then, after a beat —
"And before you explain any of this, you're ordering twelve cartons of pizza. I'm starving."

A laugh escaped me before I could stop it.

There she was.

Still Sharon.

Still herself.

I wrapped an arm around her waist, steadying her when she tried to stand — her legs weak, body uncooperative after everything she'd endured.

And then—

Pain exploded across my back.

I crashed to the floor, breath knocked out of me.

The iron rod clattered nearby.

"Stephen!" Sharon gasped, collapsing beside me.

My vision swam as I looked up.

The man stood again.

Alive.

Angry.

"So," he growled, grabbing my collar and hauling me upward like I weighed nothing, "you're the one boss warned us about."

His fist slammed into my face. Warm blood filled my mouth.

I lunged for the rod, but he dragged me back by my leg.

"Not done with you."

Another punch buried itself into my stomach. Air vanished. Pain radiated outward like fire.

For a second, I thought I might black out.

Then movement flashed beside us.

Sharon.

She seized the rod and struck him across the head.

He staggered — furious more than hurt.

"You little—"

He lunged, grabbing her throat.

She gasped, clawing at his grip.

Red flooded my vision.

Adrenaline surged.

I grabbed the rod and smashed it into his leg — again and again — until he buckled. I drove forward, fists flying, rage taking over completely.

"That's for touching her!"
Another blow.
"For my child!"
Another.

"Stephen!" she cried. "Stop!"

I barely heard her.

"Stephen... he's down. That's enough."

Her voice broke through.

I stopped, chest heaving, hands shaking.

Then I pulled her into me — tight, desperate, grounding.

The thought of losing her still echoed in my skull.

"I don't know what I'd do without you," I whispered hoarsely.

Her arms wrapped around me.

Before she could respond—

"Enough of this touching reunion!"

The gunshot rang into the ceiling.

Dust rained down.

My blood turned cold.

I turned slowly.

Patricia stood in the doorway, eyes gleaming, gun raised, lips curled into satisfaction.

"You've played your games long enough," she smirked, kissing the barrel of the weapon.