I’d dealt with some creeps in my life. Came with the territory. But Slim? He was in a class of his own.

He was waiting for me in his private little lair, all dim lighting and dust-covered “collectibles” that probably made sense to him alone. Old magazines, worn-out posters, relics of a sad obsession. And there, right in the middle, was Slim himself, his eyes practically gleaming as I stepped into the room.

“Rebel Vale,” he whispered, like he couldn't believe it. “In the flesh.”

I ignored the way his eyes lingered a bit too long, focusing on what I’d come for. “Name your price,” I said, arms crossed, all business. I wasn’t about to play his games. Get in, get out—that was the plan.

But Slim just shook his head, a little smirk spreading across his face. “I don’t want your money, Rebel.”

I raised an eyebrow. Creeps like this always want money. So I pushed. “No, no, I’ll pay,” I said, forcing the words through gritted teeth. Last thing I needed was this dragging out.

He just kept smiling. “No, you don’t understand, Rebel. I’ve dreamed of this moment my whole life. It’s not money I want. It’s…” He paused, savoring his next words like he was delivering some romantic monologue. “It’s you. One night with you, and the magazine is yours.”

I stared at him, completely stunned, feeling the bile rise in my throat. “What?!” I took a step forward, anger flashing. “You can’t have me, you little scumbag! Are you insane?” I clenched my fists. “I don’t think I’ll be paying anymore.”

But before I could take another step, two of his goons materialized beside him, both leveling their guns at me. Slim held up a hand to them, and I forced myself to back down, biting back every insult I wanted to throw at him.

“Okay, okay,” I said, forcing my voice to stay steady. Think, Rebel. It’s just a magazine. You can handle this. I plastered on a tight smile that felt like betrayal itself. “Let’s think about this…look, we can…uh, go on a date.” The words tasted like acid, but if it got me the magazine, I’d choke them down. “But no touching. That’s non-negotiable.”

Slim’s eyes practically sparkled. “Yes, it’s a deal!” he said, way too quickly, I instantly regretted giving in. This is just great, I thought, he’s going to remember this as the night of his life, and I’m going to need therapy to forget it.

The “date” was everything I’d expected—cheap, greasy, and packed with Slim’s endless rambling about his “collection.” Every gossip headline, every magazine cover, every pointless detail I’d tried to erase from my memory. I spent most of it zoning out, tracing the cracks in the ceiling, nodding when he paused long enough to check if I was still awake. I thought, this is exactly what my life has come to. Just me, a sleazeball, and some crumbling pride.

Finally, we ended up back at his place. I walked in, hoping he’d finally hand over the magazine and let me be done with this whole sorry night. But the door was ajar, the lock cracked.

Inside, on his desk, was the issue of Discharge. For a brief moment, my heart lifted—maybe this wasn’t a total loss.

Then I noticed the open pages, the one space that mattered torn clean out.

“Are you kidding me?” I muttered, storming over to the magazine. The page with my shot was gone. Torn out. All of this, and I was still empty-handed.

I spun to face Slim, my voice cold enough to freeze glass. “Who did this? You must know.”

Slim’s face went pale, all his bravado from before shrinking away. “There’s…there’s this guy. A rival collector. He wanted to buy the magazine from me at any price, but I wouldn’t sell. He said I’d regret it…” Slim’s lips twitched, looking anywhere but at me. “He has a private collection. The best in the city. If he took the page…that’s where it’ll be.”

I let out a slow, seething breath. One last humiliation, just to keep things interesting.

I fixed Slim with a hard stare. “Tell me where.”

He swallowed, fidgeting like the rat he was. “I’ll give you the address, but…he’s a dangerous guy, Rebel. Even more dangerous than me.”

I couldn’t help the smirk tugging at my lips. “Yeah, somehow I think I’ll manage.” I spun on my heel, already halfway out the door before he could throw any more pathetic warnings my way. I felt like I'd need a dozen showers and a bottle of whiskey to scrape his stink off me, but that goddamn magazine page was one step closer.