Chap 169: Ruin Me

[WARNING: Mature content ahead]

Tee ripped a jagged chunk of concrete from the wall with a force that made it snap clean in her hands. Dust puffed up, and fine grit bit into her palms. Her target—a trooper skimming away on a hoverboard—was seconds from disappearing around the corner. The sunlight glinted off his polished jacket, making him a perfect target.

Her arm went back for the throw.

Kie’s hand shot out like a steel trap, seizing the rock before it left her grip. His eyes widened—not with surprise, but with the sharp, annoyed focus of someone who’d seen her step over the line one too many times.

Without breaking stride, he hurled the coarse rock far out toward the water. It hit the sea with a heavy splash, drenching a fishing boat whose passengers erupted in shouts. 

“Sorry,” he called to the onlookers. “The witch must not have taken her meds today,” he muttered, his tone flat and dry. He didn’t slow, only tightened his grip and tugged her forward by the hand.

The words stung sharper than she wanted to admit. She knew he was half-joking—but only half.

Her gaze dropped to where his hand wrapped around hers. It wasn’t the first time he’d pulled her along like that, and the familiarity made something ache inside her. The warmth of his skin. The firmness of his grip. But he knew she was a Xeno-victim…

She looked away, over the rail to where sunlight scattered across the water. Their reflections shimmered faintly below, hers framed by the fall of pale hair, the hidden crest at her neck catching the light.

She was glad he walked on the road side, his broad frame quietly shielding her from the looks and whispers of the people passing by. She stayed closer to the water, where the air smelled of salt and seaweed.

Eventually, his hand slipped from hers—not to break the connection completely, but to point toward a cluster of street food stalls lining the edge of the plaza. Smoke curled from open grills, and sizzling oil popped in shallow pans. The air was thick with the scent of grilled meat, soy, and charred vegetables.

“Smells great, doesn’t it?” he said, glancing at her with a small smile. “You must be hungry.”

Tee turned her head away, lips twisting. “Smells like sh*t.”

He blinked, surprised. Her mouth was pushed up in an exaggerated pout, her nose wrinkled like a sulky child’s. For a heartbeat he just stared—then a laugh broke out of him, sudden and unrestrained. His shoulders shook, and his eyes watered as the sound rolled over her.

Tee’s cheeks heated. His reaction made her feel small, like she was playing at something childish. She hated that he was laughing at her… but part of her hated even more how much she liked the sound of it.

“There’s something wrong with your nose,” he teased, still wiping his eyes.

Tee gasped softly. Those dimples—deep, perfect, cut into his cheek. Did spending time with a Xeno-victim truly bring them out? For just a second, she let herself enjoy it. But the moment couldn’t last.

Around the plaza, signs were posted in bold lettering.

Xeno-victims Not Allowed.

Her chest tightened. The world could laugh all it wanted, but it would never stop watching her.

The crowd thickened as they neared the food stalls, the din of conversation and clatter of utensils filling the air. Tee sat down on a cold stone bench, smoothing her dress. Two people sitting on the adjacent bench stood the moment she settled, moving away without a word.

Kie didn’t acknowledge it. Or maybe he did, but pretended not to.

From the corner of her eye, she spotted two MG street officials leaning against a stall wall, both watching her with casual but focused attention. One flexed his fingers, his hand lingering near the hilt of the long sword strapped across his back.

Kie stepped away to order food.

While he was gone, Tee tilted her head forward so her hair fell like a curtain into her face. She bit down on her jaw until it ached, letting her foresight flare. Through her foreseeing vision, she caught flashes of the crowd—eyes narrowing, lips curling, whispers darting between strangers. They knew. Or thought they knew.

When Kie returned, he carried two steaming white boxes, each trailing ribbons of savory scent. “Lived off these in the Mid-Guard,” he said, breaking apart a pair of chopsticks. “Been too long.”

Tee opened her box, peered inside, and made a face. “Greasy noodles in a box. Primitive food.”

He smirked, twirling noodles between his sticks and taking a bite.

She took one mouthful, chewed, then spat it out onto the pavement. “Tastes like paper.”

And then, as though deciding the world had asked for it, she started flicking small pieces of meat at random passersby. Each throw was calculated—her foresight ensuring no trooper or official would see her. It was petty, juvenile, and oddly satisfying.

One chunk hit a man square in the backside.

Kie’s laugh came again, warm and unguarded. “That’s a lousy shot.”

“Think you can do better?” she asked.

He didn’t bite, though the grin lingered.

She escalated—kicking over an empty crate, “accidentally” knocking a vendor’s napkin stack into the wind. She was already branded Xen-freak. So what difference did it make?

Kie let her have her way. That outing was for her, a step toward something she’d been resisting—the Balance Seal.

When they finally shook the officials tailing them, ducking into a narrow alley that stank faintly of fried batter and damp stone, Kie leaned in. “They’re really stalking you, aren’t they?”

She didn’t answer. Her eyes had caught on a ladder leading up the side of a low building.

Before he could protest, she was already climbing, dress bunching around her legs. Kie muttered something about torn fabric but followed anyway.

From the rooftop, Tee looked down at the milling officials below. She picked up a pebble, took aim, and sent it bouncing off one’s shoulder. She ducked quickly, snickering into her sleeve.

Kie shook his head, fighting a smile.

Soon, he joined in, showing her how to angle the throw for distance and speed. His perfect shot landed right in the open mouth of an officer about to light an electric cigar. The man sputtered and coughed like a lunatic, spinning in confusion.

They collapsed side by side on the rooftop, trying to muffle their laughter.

Tee risked a glance at him. His scars were gone, his smile wide and real, his single earring catching the sunlight. He was—she hated to admit it—beautiful. It's true they say—you don't know what you have until you lose it. She locked the thought away where he couldn’t see it.

For Kie, the feeling was different. Tee wasn’t like Sirsy, who would’ve lectured him for acting like a child. Tee laughed with him. And that was dangerous in its own way. But Tee was like Sirsy: they would randomly die on him, making them utterly unfit as life partners.

The fun shattered with a blaring voice from a nearby speaker.

“Is that a Xeno-victim with a hidden crest?”

They froze.

Then they ran.

By the time they got a good distance away, Tee’s mood had plummeted. She touched the crest at her neck, fingers tracing its smooth edge. “We can leave now,” she said quietly.

Back at Primus, they climbed the stairs toward the dorms, her steps trailing behind him. When he shrugged off his jacket, she caught full sight of his back—muscles shifting under the thin fabric, each movement smooth and deliberate. She sucked in a breath, startled at her own reaction.

Her face didn’t change, though her heart thudded. “Kie,” she called.

He stopped and turned.

“I want you to ruin me.”

For a moment, he didn’t move. Didn’t blink.

“It’s first on my list,” she said, voice low. “It won’t mean anything. I’ll get the Balance Seal right after.”

His mind betrayed him—flashes of her bare neck, her bare skin, heat and closeness. He shoved the thoughts back hard. 

“Having sex with a Xeno-victim… that guy would have to be crazy,” he told her. 

“I won’t mutate. I can fight it. It’s the one thing that would make me get the Seal right after. Isn’t this what you want?”

“Crazy witch. Good night.” He turned away.

A part of him still stung. She never cared about him. She just wanted to sleep with him.

In his room, he wanted to punch something but took a deep breath. His mother raised him better. 

In her room doorway, memories rushed in—his kiss, his touch, how he once made her feel alive. But then? She was nothing to him.

At Primus the next day, she wore her crest. Confidence. Defiance. A weapon against Zod’s constant jabs. Kie noticed—how could he not?—and smirked. One thing down. The Seal was next. 

Zod’s voice cut the silence. “Finally, somebody’s wearing a crest. Things are starting to make sense around here.”

Saeda’s eyes swept Tee like a silent approval. Miko only frowned, as if confirming her worst fears.

That evening, Tee lingered in the kitchen. It was her time to wash the dishes. When Kie walked in, she tried to look disinterested, though her chest tightened. “Washing dishes is on my list. Remember—the Seal.”

He wanted to snatch the tablet from her hands and break it in half. Instead, he turned to the sink, water rushing. She couldn’t watch him work alone. She decided to play sweet for what she needed to ask him later.

He froze when her hand brushed the plate from his, then resumed. She stared at his hands—strong, veined, wet. Hands that had held her body were scrubbing porcelain instead. The plates didn’t know how fortunate they were.

When they finished, he moved to leave. Panic jolted her chest. She couldn’t let him go. She reached to pull him back but fumbled, only managing to pinch his side.

Her mind screamed—Crap!

He turned, brow arched.

“Just one more time,” she whispered, biting her lip. “It won't mean anything I promise.”

His frown deepened, lines cutting sharp across his forehead. “You’re so thirsty, it’s concerning.”

Her heart cracked. She turned away sharply, staring into the whirlpool spinning down the drain.

But Kie froze. The thought of her—the curve of her body, the memory of her striping before him nearly broke his will. The Seal gnawed at him, but desire clawed harder.

He growled inside, glancing around. No one was watching. Just a second. Maybe two.

Tee felt a shift in the air—then a hand, warm and deliberate, sliding beneath her shirt to graze her belly.

“Kie?” she breathed, barely believing it.

He answered with that low hum, deep and vibrating against her skin.

She held her breath, body instantly alert, goosebumps scattering across her arms. He was going for her bra—Oh, she wanted him to.

As if reading her thoughts, he unhooked it in one smooth motion. Both hands cupped her breasts, slow and sure, thumbs circling, teasing her nipples into peaks.

Tee tilted her head back until it met his shoulder, her breath caught somewhere between shock and hunger. She had never felt so deliciously violated.

He grinned, his breath hot at her temple, fully aware of the power he had in the moment. Once he was done, maybe—just maybe—that would finally knock ruining her off that ridiculous list of hers.

She gasped out something like a confession—”If this isn’t love, I don’t know what is…”

Of all the damn times to be wearing a damn crest… He kissed her jaw hard and pushed her tighter against the counter, mouth pressed to her ear as he murmured, “This—what we feel—is not love.”

Tee reached back, fingers stretching behind her until they found his hair. She combed through it slowly, tracing down to his neck.

She needed to know if that was real or not. Only looking into his eyes could tell. But before she could turn, he locked his arms around her, tighter, like steel.

“Don’t,” he whispered.

The tension between them thickened, hotter, heavier. Then she felt it—his body shuddering behind her, every muscle drawn taut like a bowstring. His grip around her waist crushed her against him as his breath grew ragged.

And when he finally exhaled, it was like release—raw and relieved, his whole body sighing into hers.

Kie, steadying his breath, rested his forehead against her like he needed to anchor himself. His chest rose and fell against her back, heartbeat wild, breath uneven.

Dammit, his body knew exactly what it wanted—and it wasn’t a tease or a quick fix. It wanted all of her. Deep. Real. But that was a dangerous line he was not going to cross again.

Silence clung between them.

“You’re right,” Tee murmured finally. “This is not love…”

Kie tensed.

She turned her face slightly, lips brushing near his cheek. “Whatever this is… it’s so much better.”

That made something jolt through him—but before he could respond, she added, "Love is overrated anyway."

That hit like ice.

He froze. Pulled his hands away. Numb.

She noticed. And smiled—a slow, wicked curl of her mouth. It wasn’t soft. It was knowing. Almost taunting.

He stared at her, at that version of Tee—so far from the one he thought he knew in the future. Something about her right there was dangerous. Addictive.

And she knew it.

With his hands gone, she assumed they were busy with something else—like freeing his dick from his pants. Her pulse kicked up. She grabbed the hem of her skirt and slowly, deliberately began lifting it, arching slightly. A silent offering.

She wanted to be taken. Hard. Bent over and used right there where the water still drained from the sink.