Rogue

Levi Akira’s existence is far from ideal. His mother's addiction consumes their lives, his academic standing is crumbling, and the convenience store he works at is a constant target for ruthless robberies. But amidst the chaos, Levi finds solace in only three things: his tight-knit group of friends, protecting his neighborhood as one of Jericho’s Boys, and streaming his favorite video game, where he assumes the role of Rogue—a hero who will break the rules for the greater good.

Shiloh Mizrahi’s hope has all but dwindled. With one brother unjustly imprisoned, and the other a sadistic puppeteer, he endures daily torment at the hands of the latter. And his latest demand? Get close to Levi at any cost.

In the midst of another ordinary night shift, Levi's world is upended when a captivating and terrified stranger appears, brandishing a weapon and claiming he has been forced to kill Levi by his own brother. Levi, torn between self-preservation and an instinctive aversion to harming the vulnerable boy, takes a bold leap—he kisses him. And then, just like that, the boy disappears into the night, leaving Levi haunted by his memory.

Driven by an unshakeable connection, Levi's path crosses with Shiloh's once more, igniting a passionate bond that refuses to be extinguished. However, Shiloh harbors a labyrinth of secrets, torn between loyalty and desire. With his brother's freedom dangling in the balance, can Levi and Shiloh navigate the treacherous path to be together, or will Levi forever remain a hero confined to the online realm?

Warning: This book contains talk of suicidal ideations and suicide of a parent in graphic detail, on page physical assault of a main character, brief mentions of past sexual assault and sexual abuse of a child, talk of alcohol abuse by a side character, and graphic torture of people who totally deserve it.

Levi didn’t notice the ruckus at first; he was distracted by his mother. Naomi. The only person who would dare call and ask for a favor at three in the morning on a Sunday. He sat on the stool behind the counter of the store, feet propped up on the shelf just underneath, phone in hand. He picked at one of hundreds of stickers on the counter, doing his best to distract himself from the same tedious conversation. Flickering shadows danced over the ancient formica countertop from the shuddering fluorescent lights overhead, giving the whole place a nineties horror movie vibe that Levi had grown accustomed to over the years.

Nights like tonight, his life seemed like a horror movie, the hum of the coolers, the soundtrack. Some nightmarish version of Groundhog Day where he was destined to have the same pathetic conversation again and again with the scent of overcooked hot dogs and stale coffee in his nose.

“Are you even listening?” Naomi slurred, words so sloppy he only understood them because he’d heard them before.

She had forsaken the English language decades ago for some borderline incomprehensible hybrid speech that the average person couldn’t parse together with even the best translation app. But, unfortunately for Levi, he was an expert. Not that he had any choice. He’d been taking care of Naomi since he was barely old enough to take care of himself.  “I can’t talk. I’m at work. Call me tomorrow. When you’re sober.”

Naomi couldn’t do that—Naomi was never sober—and they both knew it. She was either getting drunk, already drunk, or unconscious. Levi had hoped, at this time of the morning, she’d have succumbed to option three and he could have had a bit of peace for the last two hours of his shift, but she always seemed to know just how to ruin his night.

“I’m perfect’y saw-saw-so-ber,” she finally managed just as something on her end hit the floor.  It wasn’t heavy enough to be her body, so he ignored it. He even contemplated hanging up. Nothing good came from talking to her when she was this far gone.

“Naomi—”

“That’s the problem,” she said, cutting him off. “I jus’ need you to bring some beer on your way home from work and drop it by the house. You get off soon, right?”

Levi rolled his eyes. She couldn’t remember his birthday, his graduation, or Christmas, but, somehow, she had his work schedule memorized.

He didn’t want to bring her booze, he wanted to go home and get some sleep. But what he wanted didn’t matter. She had passed the point of no return long ago. She couldn’t function without alcohol. Literally. She sweated beer. If she didn’t wake up and drink in the middle of the night, she’d have a seizure. After years of abuse, her body needed alcohol like most people needed water. If she didn’t get it, she would fall into a coma and die. Part of him wished he could just let that happen. Maybe they’d both be better for it.

He sighed, pushing dark hair from his forehead only for it to flop into his eyes once more. “I’ll stop by tomorrow—”

“Oh, thank you, baby,” she crooned.

“—afternoon,” he finished. “After I wake up. You’ll be fine until then.”

She always had more booze stashed somewhere. She would never let herself run completely out before calling him.

He started counting to ten, waiting for his words to penetrate the fog of her inebriation. He reached seven before she started shouting, “You ungrateful little shit. I fed you. I clothed you. I worked day and night to take care of you. Not your father. Me. You’re such a big fucking mistake. I should have ab—”

“Night, Mom,” he said, cutting off her rant before she really got started.

He hung up, then put his phone on silent.

He only called her Mom when she was re-writing history. In her beer-soaked brain, she’d been mother of the year. She had given him clothes and food and a roof over his head. But none of that was true. The clothes had been hand-me-downs from neighbors who took pity on him. The food was from the church or stolen or, sometimes, even straight from the dumpsters behind restaurants and supermarkets. She had kept a roof over his head, he’d give her that, but he’d paid the rent with his pain and suffering.

But she’d never admit to that.

He shook his head and sighed. Her words didn’t even hurt anymore. He was numb to them. He’d spent years wondering what he’d done wrong, why she hated him, what he could alter about himself to make her love him. Then he met Jericho and his perspective changed. He understood what a real parent was like, even though Jericho was practically a kid himself. After that, he no longer yearned for a mom who would bake for him and kiss his forehead and read him bedtime stories.

Now, he just wanted her to die.

Except, he didn’t. Not really. If he did, he would just ignore her. He wouldn’t spend what little money he had on food for her or booze or anything else she needed to survive in that tiny, dirty apartment she called home.

He dropped his phone on the counter with more force than necessary, watching it slide towards the edge precariously then stop just before toppling over.

He rubbed his face with both hands. Two more hours.  He just had to make it through two more hours and then he could go home and sleep and game. There was still a battle they had to win and their schedules would finally sync up this afternoon. He didn’t have class until two on Tuesday and he’d finished his project last week. That meant he could stream and maybe make some extra cash playing Paladin with his friends.

A smile played at his lips as he thought about his bed. He longed for a deep, dreamless sleep. It had been so long.

He was fantasizing about that sleep when his gaze slid out the window, catching on movement outside. He frowned. It was usually a ghost town by this time with only the occasional night crawler wandering around, usually in search of drugs or sex. But tonight, there were two people just outside his store, perfectly framed between the ATM sign and the Pepsi ad.

Though the lighting inside was terrible, outside was searchlight-bright and the two were dead center, like the leads in a play, the sidewalk their stage. They were facing each other, leaving Levi with only their profiles. The smaller guy had soft-looking brown curls and a perfect jawline. Even without seeing his whole face, Levi knew he was probably very pretty.

The other man was not.

Well, looks-wise, Levi supposed he was conventionally attractive, but his personality was ugly. He was shoving at the other boy, poking him in the chest, yelling and gesturing towards the double doors of the store.

Levi watched, transfixed, as the pretty boy frantically shook his head, his features twisting into what looked like some kind of plea even from Levi’s limited view. His words clearly fell on deaf ears. The man grabbed him by his oversized yellow hoodie then slapped him hard across the face once, then again, the second blow landing hard enough to wrench the boy’s head to the side, causing Levi’s gaze to crash into his.

He had sad eyes. Levi couldn’t make out the color, but he could see the dread in them, the hollowness, the resignation. Levi knew it well. He saw it in the mirror most mornings. It spurred something in him, this sort of deep-seated rage that simmered just beneath his skin. He fucking hated bullies. He hated people who used their size or money or influence to force their will on someone else. It made him want to hurt someone.

As he watched, the kid wiped the blood from his nose. Was this a lover’s quarrel? Domestic abuse? The thought of them as a couple turned his stomach, but the kid wasn’t any trick Levi had ever seen around. And the older guy certainly didn’t run any pros in this area. Jericho wouldn’t allow it. If people wanted to sell their bodies, they did it on their own terms. No pimps allowed.

Levi wanted to interject. He wanted to jump up and put himself between the soft boy and this much bigger guy, but he knew it would only make it worse for the kid if they were in a relationship. Eventually, he’d have to go home and Levi knew with a sick sense of certainty that the next beating would be ten times worse. The boy seemed to know it, too.

He was obviously used to being this guy’s punching bag. He hadn’t defended himself, hadn’t blocked the blows. He hadn’t even flinched away. He just stood there and let the man hit him in the face. Twice.

The man shoved the kid towards the double doors again, this time slapping him on the back of the head as he pointed aggressively. Levi’s stomach sloshed as he realized what was about to happen. He took in the boy’s oversized hoodie, the reluctant expression. Levi knew it well, having seen it a dozen times. That piece of shit was sending that poor kid in there to rob the place.

Christ, he hated this job.

Levi looked around at the four cameras—two on his left side facing the doors and two directly in front of him above the coolers on the back wall. There was no way this boy wouldn’t get caught. They always got caught. For nothing. There was never more than a hundred bucks in the till, tops, even on weekends. Sometimes, Levi wondered if people just wanted to go to jail for a safe place to sleep for the night. It was the only thing that made sense. Desperation bred creativity.

The bell dinged as the boy pulled open the door and stepped inside, his hood now up. There was a smear of blood on his cheek, which was already an angry red and starting to swell. The boy’s gaze jerked to him, then away, before he stepped into an aisle where he probably thought Levi couldn’t see him.

But he could. The camera monitors were on the second shelf out of view from customers but directly in front of Levi. He could look all he wanted. Now that the boy was closer, Levi could see he wasn’t as young as he’d thought, maybe Levi’s age—possibly a year or two younger, but not a kid.

Levi’s reluctant thief was cute in that teen heartthrob kind of way. His chocolate curls were springy and hung in his eyes. He had golden skin, full lips, and a mole that sat just to the right side of his frowning mouth. Even with the swelling, he was still pretty, almost feminine.

Levi sighed. He really didn’t want to send someone that cute to jail. He wouldn’t last long there. Maybe he could bribe him with whatever money he had? He’d done it before. Usually, only with the unhoused. It was hard to get tweakers to focus long enough to take a deal.

The boy didn’t look like the typical addict, but he was growing agitated with each passing second. He had his hands in his pockets and he was pacing, talking to himself. Was he giving himself a pep talk? Trying to convince himself he could rob the place?

Levi looked outside, but the real culprit was gone. Of course, he was. What kind of chicken shit let someone else do their dirty work for them? The kind that beat the shit out of someone outside a convenience store in the middle of the night, clearly.

Levi shook his head, his gaze dropping back to the cameras. Unease trickled down his spine like icy water as he saw the boy pull something from his pocket. It was still obscured by his side, but Levi knew it was a weapon.

Luckily, the cameras didn’t.

While there were four cameras, the back right camera had been down for months, and despite the frequency with which they were robbed, Levi’s cheapskate boss hadn’t felt any sense of urgency about getting it repaired.

The cameras had never been the deterrent the owner thought they’d be when he installed them. If anything, all they did was help the cops and the insurance company when he filed his many, many claims. At this rate, he likely made more off the insurance money than the actual store itself. He’d told Levi a dozen times that there was no point throwing good money after bad.

Levi’s heart tripped as the boy seemed to come to some internal decision, finally stepping free from the aisle, a gun in his right hand. His very shaky right hand. He was sweating. Rivulets rolled from his hairline, joining the tears that already stained his cheeks. His eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot, like he’d spent too much of his night crying.

Levi dropped his feet to the ground, then stood slowly. He didn’t want to spook the kid. He didn’t reach for the shotgun leaning against the wall or the panic button beneath the counter. Instead, he fixed the kid with a patient look and said, “Look, I know you don’t want to rob the place. How about I just give you fifty bucks and you go tell that piece of shit who sent you in here that it was all the money in the till? Deal?”

The boy blinked at him, voice dull as he asked, “What?”

Levi smiled, lifting his hands in the air. “I said, you don’t have to do this. You’re going to end up in jail, and for what? Some loser guy who sent you to do his dirty work for him? You’re way too cute for that shit. If that’s your boyfriend, you need to dump him.”

“He’s my brother,” he muttered, wiping at his eyes with the sleeve of his sweatshirt.

“Oh,” Levi said. Nobody understood fucked-up family dynamics better than him. “Still, just take the money. I won’t call the cops. I promise there’s not much more in the register.”

Take the deal.

Others had done it. This boy just needed to do it, too.

The boy stumbled closer. “I’m not here for money,” he said, his voice taking on a sharp edge, like he was trying to sound tough. Instead, he sounded strained, like he was seconds away from cracking.

“Then what are you here for?” Levi asked, keeping his tone as soft as possible with his heart hammering against his ribcage. Levi was starting to sweat, too.

He could handle a thief, but a murderer? Was this some kind of gang initiation? If it was, Levi was fucked. He didn’t want to kill this kid.

“Your brother wants me dead?” Levi asked.

It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility. When Levi wasn’t in school or working at this shitty store, he was killing people. Bad people like this kid’s brother. His own version of community service—something he’d been doing so long that he’d forgotten there were people in the world who might object. Like the family of someone he killed.

Usually, those family members kept their grief to themselves before they ended up becoming the next name on a list. But not always.

The boy blinked sweat from his eyes, looking a little disoriented. How hard had that asshole hit him? He still hadn’t raised the gun. That was good. He was doing this under duress. There was no part of this kid that wanted to do this. It was clear he was just following orders.

“Hey, look at me. Talk to me,” Levi said, snapping his fingers to get the boy’s attention. “Your brother wants me dead?”

He gave a jerky nod, blurting out, “Y-Yes. He wants you dead.”

“Why?”

“T-To send a message,” the boy mumbled. “To let your boss know he’s running things now.”

“My…boss?” Levi said, frowning.

There was no way he was talking about the owner of the store. Nobody was sending Mr. Mendel a message by killing Levi. He had to be talking about Jericho. It was common knowledge that Levi was one of Jericho’s boys and that they routinely took out people in the community who took advantage of others. But nobody had ever been ballsy enough to challenge Jericho directly.

“The mechanic,” he clarified. “The one who took out the 4Loco gang.”

Levi frowned, trying to follow the boy’s words. “Your brother was 4Loco? He’s a little late to the party. We took them out months ago.”

The boy shook his head, hand flexing around the metal grip of the gun. A Browning .9 mm. “No. Look, just—I’m—I’m really sorry, but if I don’t do this, he’ll kill me, too,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Levi didn’t know how to help him. “What’s your name?” he heard himself ask.

“Shiloh,” the boy said, eyes going wide as soon as he said it, the color draining from his face.

“There are cameras everywhere, Shiloh,” Levi finally admitted, pointing to them vaguely.

Shiloh’s nod was jerky, his lip quivering. “I know. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t care what happens to me. He’s fucking crazy. He already framed my other brother for murder. I guess I’m next.”

It was hard to believe there was a family member out there worse than Naomi, but it sounded like this kid’s brother was coming to take the title. Levi could see how much Shiloh was suffering, could smell his fear, could see the dread pulling down the corners of his mouth.

Shiloh stumbled forward until he was a little less than an arm’s length away, finger twitching on the trigger but the gun remained at his side.

Levi’s gaze dropped to the shotgun once more, but he couldn’t bring himself to reach for it. He didn’t want to kill this kid. But he also didn’t want to die. Or have this kid go to jail.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“If you raise that gun, I can’t help you anymore, Shiloh. Right now, the cameras just think we’re having a real intense conversation about the weather, but the second you raise your hand, shit gets real. If you kill me, your brother will be the least of your problems because my brothers will not stop until they get revenge.”

Please, don’t do it. Just run. Go. Get out of here.

A frustrated sob broke from Shiloh’s lips, his face twisting into a look so hopeless it broke Levi’s heart. “Nobody can help me,” he said, voice cracking.

Then it happened.

Shiloh swung his arm up, leveling the gun an inch from Levi’s nose. It was a rookie mistake, one that would have gotten anyone else a bullet to the skull. But Levi wasn’t thinking about revenge, he was thinking about this dejected boy and his sad eyes.

He grabbed Shiloh’s wrist, yanking him forward, obscuring the gun from the camera’s view. Shiloh cried out in surprise, staring at him with wild eyes. Pretty eyes. Honey brown eyes with flecks of green in them. He struggled in Levi’s grip, lips parted, his face close enough for Levi to feel his breath panting against his face.

If he didn’t relax, he was going to hurt himself or Levi. But he was too far gone, clearly lost in a fog of panic.

Levi didn’t know why he did it. It wasn’t a conscious choice. With his free hand, he snagged Shiloh by his hoodie and dragged him that last inch, crashing their mouths together. Shiloh went rigid against him, his startled cry vibrating against Levi’s lips in a way that shot lightning through his blood.

Levi tried to rationalize his actions. It was better Mr. Mendel thought Levi was making out with his boyfriend rather than thinking Shiloh was a potential murderer. But it was a lie. He’d just wanted to know what he tasted like and had wanted to see him flustered over something good.

Shiloh’s lips were soft and tasted like something almost citrusy. He smelled faintly of sweat and coconut. Levi couldn’t get enough.

But Shiloh was making these sort of keening noises as he fought Levi’s grip, and as much as it was turning Levi on, he knew he had to let him go. He didn’t want to be someone else who assaulted him, no matter how altruistic his intentions.

But then something happened. Shiloh’s mouth softened, his lips parting, a tiny whine escaping that went straight to Levi’s now half-hard cock. He could have stopped it right then. He could have slipped the gun from his hand and pushed him away, sending him back to his shithead brother.

Instead, he gripped Shiloh’s chin between thumb and forefinger, tugging his mouth open wider before slipping his tongue inside. Once more, Shiloh made this helpless sound, but, this time, Levi just swallowed it down, deepening the kiss, groaning when the boy melted against him.

Fuck, he tasted so sweet and he was so submissive, letting Levi take what he wanted. Which was dangerous. No matter how much Shiloh gave, Levi wanted more. He wanted to drag him over the counter and sit him in his lap and show him a much better way to spend his night. He wanted to take him back to his apartment, strip him down and see what buttons he could press to keep him making those whiny, helpless sounds.

It took him longer than it should have to register that something was vibrating between them. The gun slipped from Shiloh’s fingers, clattering to the floor, then he began struggling against Levi once more, harder this time. Levi reluctantly let him go, taking a step back. Shiloh’s lips were pink and his face flushed. He looked…debauched. Was that a word? He thought it was a word, one from his mother’s worn romance novels with bare-chested pirates holding women with dresses falling off their shoulders.

Shiloh’s miserable gaze fell to his phone, apprehension tugging at his features, making him look somehow both older and younger at the same time. Levi wanted to help him, wanted to tell him not to go, that he would protect him, take care of him. But that was fucking insane.

“He’s going to kill me now,” Shiloh whispered, almost to himself. Then his gaze flicked to Levi, his expression bleak. “I’m…I’m really sorry. About all of it. I didn’t want to do it.”

Before Levi could formulate any kind of coherent thought, Shiloh was turning on his heel, hurrying out the doors and into the night.

“Wait!” he shouted, but the boy was already gone.

Levi stared after him for a long moment, lips tingling, dick hard, a gun at his feet. All because he’d kissed the boy sent to kill him. And now, that boy was going to die.

Because of Levi.

He couldn’t let that happen. He hopped over the counter, bolting out the doors, looking up and down the street. But Shiloh was gone.

Had he ducked into an alley? Had his brother been waiting there for him?

Fear sloshed in Levi’s gut. He didn’t know what to do. He gave one last look, then walked back into the store. He retrieved the gun, noting that the safety was still on. Christ, why would his brother send someone so unqualified to do this job, especially if it was to send a message? He pocketed the weapon and grabbed his phone, already knowing he was about to get an earful.

Jericho answered on the third ring, voice a low rumble as he said, “What’s wrong?”

“I need your help.”