Ethan walked away from the Tate house with a steady stride, the container of Latoya's leftovers warm in his hand, the night air cool against his skin.
He didn't look back, but he could feel Latoya's eyes on him from the porch, that mix of gratitude and curiosity burning like a low flame. She'd be thinking about him tonight, he knew.
The system had already marked her progress, 15%, a seed planted, ready to grow.
But for now, his mind shifted to home.
To the mess waiting there.
Back at the Tate house, Latoya closed the front door softly, her heart still pounding from the chaos. The living room felt smaller now, the air thick with the metallic tang of blood and her son's labored breaths. Marcus lay slumped on the couch, ice pack pressed to his swollen face, one eye completely shut, the other glazed with pain and something deeper, shock. His good arm cradled his ribs, every inhale a sharp wince.
Latoya knelt beside him, her voluptuous frame folding gracefully, heavy breasts shifting under her tank top as she leaned in.
"Baby, what happened?" she whispered, voice trembling. Her hands, soft and manicured, gently pulled the ice pack away to inspect the damage. His nose was crooked, his lips split like overripe fruit, and his blood crusted in dark lines down his chin.
"Who did this to you? Was it a gang? Some kids from a rival school? Talk to me, Marcus. We gotta call the police or something."
Marcus turned his head away, the movement sending fresh pain shooting through his skull. Pride burned in his chest hotter than the bruises.
He was the king, the linebacker who crushed opponents on the field, the bully who made kids like Ethan cower. Admitting that the skinny white boy he'd tormented for years had just dismantled him and his crew like they were nothing?
NO!
That would shatter everything. He couldn't let her see him weak, not his mom, the woman who'd raised him alone through all the shit, dad in prison, bills piling up, nights she worked double shifts at the hospital to keep the lights on.
"Ain't nothin'," he muttered through swollen lips, voice thick and slurred.
"Just... a fight. Dropped 'em all."
Latoya's brow furrowed, her full lips pursing in disbelief. She dabbed at a cut on his forehead with the wet cloth, her touch gentle but insistent.
"Don't lie to me, boy. You look like you got hit by a truck. Ethan said he found you lyin' in the alley. Who jumped you? Tell me names. I'll go to the school myself tomorrow."
Marcus's one good eye flicked to the door where Ethan had left, and a shiver ran through him—deep, involuntary, like ice water down his spine.
Those eyes... Ethan's eyes had been empty in the alley, cold like a killer's. No rage, just calculation. And the strength—how?
Yesterday, Ethan was a twig he could snap. Tonight, he'd moved like a machine, bones breaking under his fists like dry wood.
Steroids? Some deal with the devil? Marcus's mind raced, lost in the fog of pain and confusion.
Why him? What had flipped the switch?
"Shut up, Mom," he snapped suddenly, pride flaring defensively.
"Ain't your business. Just... leave it."
Latoya recoiled slightly, hurt flashing across her face. "Marcus, I'm your mother. Don't talk to me like—"
"And don't talk to him," Marcus cut in, voice low and urgent, laced with that new fear. He meant Ethan. The kid who'd promised a "surprise" tonight, whatever the fuck that meant. Just looking at Ethan's eyes had made his balls shrink, a primal terror he couldn't shake. "That white boy... stay away from him. Don't let him back in here. Ever."
Latoya stared, confused, her curvy frame tensing. "What? He brought you home, baby. He's a good kid—"
"Just don't," Marcus growled, turning away again, sinking deeper into his thoughts. The alley replayed in his head: fists like hammers, knees cracking bone. How had Ethan gotten so strong so fast? It didn't make sense. Drugs? Training in secret? Or something darker... Marcus shivered again, pulling a blanket over himself with his good arm. Pride kept the truth locked tight, but fear whispered that this wasn't over.
Latoya sighed, standing up, her thick thighs brushing as she moved. She didn't push further—knew her son well enough to let him stew. But as she cleaned up the bloody cloths, her mind wandered back to Ethan. Strong, calm, those eyes that held hers a beat too long. She shook it off, focusing on her boy.
Tomorrow, she'd call the doctor. And maybe... just maybe... thank Ethan again if she saw him.
Meanwhile, Ethan turned onto his street, the familiar cul-de-sac lined with identical houses, porch lights flickering like wary eyes. The container from Latoya was still warm in his hand, a small trophy of the seduction he'd started. His mind was already plotting the next move—how to get back to her house soon, push that 15% higher. Slow touches, whispered words, until she was begging like Jane.
Then he saw it: his dad's black SUV parked in front of the garage, gleaming under the streetlamp. Ethan's step faltered for a split second, heart jumping.
Dad wasn't due back from Denver for days.
The conference, the delay—what the hell? Startled, but only briefly. The fear he had in him made him falter a little. For years, his father had instilled in him. His painful memories of being beaten by his father during his early teens flashed before him. He grit his teeth, clenching his fists.
Then he let out a deep sigh, loosening his fist.
It was all in the past.
He regained composure quickly, jaw setting hard.
No big deal.
Just another complication in this shitshow of a house.
He and his father, Richard Harper, had never bonded like fathers and sons should. Richard was a caring family man on the surface, provided the house, the cars, the trips, but underneath, he saw Ethan as a disappointment. The kid who'd rather read books than play sports, who got bullied instead of fighting back.
"Toughen up," Richard would say during rare dinners, eyes distant.
"World eats weak boys alive." He'd given up years ago, focusing on work, on Vanessa's ambitions. Ethan was just... there. A quiet failure in his eyes.
Ethan pushed the front door open; the house was quiet except for the faint clink of a cup from the kitchen. He stepped inside, boots silent on the hardwood, intending to slip upstairs unseen. But as he passed the kitchen archway, there he was: Richard at the table, steam rising from a mug of tea, newspaper spread out under the pendant light. He looked older, gray at the temples, lines around his eyes from too many late nights. But still solid, broad-shouldered from his own gym days.
Richard looked up, folding the paper.
"Ethan? That you?"
Ethan didn't stop. Didn't turn.
Just kept walking toward the stairs, backpack slung over his shoulder.
"Hey, son? Come back here. Where have you been? Your mother's been worried sick."
Vanessa's voice echoed from somewhere upstairs, faint and pleading.
"Richard? Is that him?"
But Ethan ignored it all.
He climbed the stairs, mind locked on his room.
He didn't want to break it to his dad, no, he didn't care enough. Didn't want to shatter the illusion of the perfect wife, the self-obsessed principal who posted yoga selfies while fucking strangers in the hallway. Let Richard find out on his own what a slut Vanessa had become. Cole in the house, probably still lurking somewhere, reeking of entitlement. Ethan had bigger plans. Revenge on Marcus, on Cole. And more MILFs to hunt. Latoya's curves flashed in his mind—juicy, inviting. Then, Mrs. Tabu tomorrow. Points to earn, power to build.
He slammed his bedroom door, locked it, and dropped onto the bed.
The system flickered in his vision: Lust Points: 1500 (spent, but more coming). He needed a strategy. School tomorrow, Tabu's office. Start with questions, shift to compliments.
Downstairs, Richard sighed, sipping his tea. Vanessa appeared in the kitchen doorway, robe loose, eyes red.
"He ignored me, too. What's wrong with him?"
Richard shook his head.
"Kid's always been weak. Probably some teen bullshit."
If only he knew.
Ethan lay back, staring at the ceiling, plotting. More MILFs meant more power. Latoya next—back to her house soon, push the seduction. Then others: coaches' wives, teachers, neighbors. Build the harem. Break them all.
The night stretched on, Ethan's mind racing with dark possibilities.