The Cannon Fodder Who Fell in Love at Art School - Chapter 3

The highway was pitch black, and a sleek black Aston Martin Vanquish tore through the night like a shadow.

The party was in the suburbs, far from the nearest police station. Sith casually grabbed a tie, bound the boy’s hands, and secured him to the passenger seat before driving off.

The little lamb had shouted something when Sith first pinned him down words from some language Sith didn’t understand but a single sharp glare from him was enough.

The timid boy quickly shut up. His body trembled faintly, but he didn’t even dare to whimper.

Now Sith finally understood why they called him  the little mouse.  The nickname fit. He really was as skittish as one.

Am I going to die?

Fang Chen thought hopelessly. Where is he taking me? Maybe to some deserted warehouse, where he’ll chain me up and cut me apart with a buzzsaw.

That was how it always went in horror movies.

He curled into himself, cursing his own stupidity. Why did I let my guard down for a bit of money? I’m really going to die for it.

The boy trembled harder. The passenger seat was spacious enough for him to curl up pitifully, small and helpless. From Sith’s angle, he could see the little lamb’s tail poking out a soft, furry tuft that trembled along with its owner.

Because of the way he was huddled, his short floral shorts had ridden up a bit, the hem digging into his thighs and squeezing out a sliver of soft, pale flesh tinged pink under the car’s dim lights.

Sith’s eyes lingered for two seconds before he looked away.

He admitted it this little lamb was exactly his type in every way. But that didn’t mean he would feel pity, let alone let him go.

The car sped on until a barricade loomed ahead. Several police officers stood waving batons, signaling for him to stop.

Fang Chen’s eyes lit up. He sat up straight in an instant.

I’m saved!

But the man beside him glanced over, and Fang Chen immediately shrank back down, head lowered, motionless like a quail hiding from the storm.

Two officers approached. Sith opened the door and stepped out.

“Sir, are you heading back to the city?” one of them asked politely probably because that sports car drew attention anywhere it went.

The road ahead has collapsed and is under repair. It’s temporarily closed. You’ll need to take a detour.

Sith frowned.

This was the fastest route back to the city. A detour would take twice as long.

Normally, that wouldn’t bother him but with a passenger in the car.

Sir, do you have anyone else with you? one officer suddenly asked.

Sith raised a brow and turned toward the car.

The little lamb had apparently found some courage he was leaning forward, face pressed to the window, his mouth opening and closing as if shouting something.

Too bad the car’s soundproofing was excellent. Not a single word escaped.

Maybe I should just hand him over, Sith thought lazily. Let them deal with him. Have the central bureau pick him up.

But he dismissed the idea just as quickly.

Out here in the middle of nowhere, with only a tin-roofed shack and two temporary officers on duty, handing over such a delicate lamb could easily lead to… complications.

Of course, that wasn’t his concern.

Still, for some reason, the image of the boy trembling and curling up flashed across his mind.

Forget it. I caught him. Safety’s my responsibility.

Just as one officer approached the car window, Sith said evenly, 

“There’s no one else in the car.”

Sir, are you joking?

the officer replied with a wry smile, glancing at the boy inside. 

Maybe you should take off your mask before saying that.

Sith’s lips twitched faintly. “Of course.”

He lifted the gray wolf mask from his face, revealing striking features too handsome, too commanding.

The officer froze. “Sith Bolton?”

Who wouldn’t recognize that face? It was plastered across every major campaign poster, as famous as any celebrity and frankly, just as good-looking.

Rumor had it his mother was partly Irish, which explained his gray-blue eyes. His brow and cheekbones were sharp as if carved by a knife, his jawline precise, and his thin lips, when pressed together, radiated a cold, distant aura.

No wonder he was so adored, the officer thought silently.

He quickly recovered his composure, breaking into a wide smile. What an honor, sir, to meet you here!

Sith’s expression didn’t change. His tone was calm, detached. There’s no one else in my car.

“Of course, of course!” The officer nodded eagerly. “We’ve checked nothing inside, sir.”

Only then did Sith’s expression ease slightly. He inclined his head. Appreciate it.

As Sith got back into the car, the officer waved enthusiastically. Have a pleasant evening.

The engine roared back to life. The black car reversed and turned down another road.

Fang Chen had no idea what had just happened outside. He couldn’t hear a thing. He had mustered every ounce of courage to attract the officers’ attention only to watch, helpless, as they turned away.

At that moment, his heart plunged into an icy abyss. I’m dead for sure.

When the man climbed back into the car and turned onto another road without saying a word, Fang Chen’s nerves were on edge. He half-expected the man to pull out a knife at any second.

But he’d taken off his mask.

Fang Chen risked a glance and then quickly looked away.

He hadn’t expected that. He’d imagined scars, deformities something monstrous. But of course, that was exactly how horror movies worked.

The charming killer with the beautiful face the kind that made you lower your guard, step closer, and walk willingly into the trap.

Whatever the little lamb was thinking, it played out clearly on his face his expression shifting constantly, eyes darting toward Sith in nervous glances.

With one hand on the wheel, Sith finally spoke, his tone light but edged. “Do you enjoy walking right into danger?”

So this was the boy who’d actually wanted the cops to take him away. Didn’t he know he’d already crossed the wrong person?

Too late now.

Fang Chen jolted, sitting up a little straighter though his head still hung low, afraid to meet the man’s gaze.

What did he mean by that? Was that sarcasm?

It was true, though he’d let greed get the better of him. Drawn in by a luxury watch, he’d walked straight into a trap.

He shuddered again, his voice barely audible, trembling. “I’m sorry… Could you let me go?”

Sith gave a short, amused snort. “Are you dreaming? But you can sleep if you want. This road takes all night.”

Fang Chen bit his lip softly.

All night? Where the hell is he taking me… to the ends of the earth?

That was… at least some good news. From the sound of it, the man wasn’t planning to kill him at least not yet.

Fang Chen forced himself to calm down. As long as he was still alive, there might be a chance.

Maybe after a while, Jemin would realize he was missing. But his phone had been taken and locked away when they entered the venue he couldn’t even send a message for help.

For now, the most important thing was to keep this man steady.

Fang Chen’s spoken English was never great, and in his current state of panic, his words came out tangled and uneven.

“I… I have money,” he stammered. “If it’s money you want or anything else just let me go, and it’s yours.”

Sith gave a low, unreadable laugh.

“The money’s already mine,” he said smoothly. “Though I don’t particularly care for it.”

Money made from selling fake tickets to his matches. And the boy still had the nerve to bring it up.

“As for anything else…”

He hit the brakes. The car jolted to a sudden stop.

Unfastening his seatbelt, Sith leaned over, closing the distance between them. His gray-blue eyes predatory and cold locked onto the boy’s face. His voice dropped low, edged with dark amusement.

“What else could you possibly offer me?”

Fang Chen went rigid. He swallowed hard, lips parting, but no sound came out.

The sports car wasn’t small, but at that moment it felt suffocatingly tight, the air itself heavy and thin.

Fortunately, the man didn’t continue. After a few seconds, his gaze cooled; he leaned back, opened the door, and stepped out.

Only when the door shut again did Fang Chen finally let out a sharp breath, chest heaving.

He’d been terrified. For a second, he thought.

He pressed his lips together, glancing toward the window. The road they’d turned onto was narrow and unlit, flanked by empty fields. In the distance, a small gas station glowed faintly, with a convenience store beside it.

A few minutes later, he saw the man walking out of the store with a bag in his hand. Fang Chen immediately dropped his gaze, bowing his head like a model hostage—quiet, obedient, pretending to be invisible.

The man got back in, pulled a bottle of energy drink from the bag, and tossed the rest toward Fang Chen.

Then he reached over and untied the necktie around Fang Chen’s wrists.

He tilted his chin slightly. “Eat.”

Fang Chen flexed his wrists. The skin was sore, the faint red marks bright against his pale skin. He rubbed them gingerly.

Sith glanced over. When he saw the angry marks left behind, he frowned, just barely.

That tie had been from a recent event six figures, made of soft silk. And he’d tied it himself. He knew he hadn’t used any real force.

Still, it had left marks.

Too delicate, he thought, almost irritably but his eyes lingered a moment longer than necessary.

He’s watching me.

Fang Chen could feel it. He didn’t dare look up, afraid of meeting that gaze. Instead, he quietly opened the bag. Inside were a few packs of bread and some milk.

What’s this supposed to mean? He thought bitterly. Don’t want me to starve before the fun starts?

But hunger overrode pride. Right now, every second alive mattered.

He tore open a piece of bread and bit into it fiercely, cheeks puffing as he chewed.

Sith leaned back, watching lazily as the little lamb ate. The boy was so earnest about it, even the small lamb ears on his head twitched with each bite.

If he handed this little thing over to the police, Sith could already imagine what would happen.

Timid, fragile, soft to the core how had he even found the courage to sell counterfeit tickets? And did he have any idea what kind of consequences came with it?

An inexplicable sense of irritation welled in Sith’s chest. He cracked the window open. Cool air rushed in, damp and heavy.

Smelled like rain.

The road was a long one rural, rough, and winding one. If a storm hit, it would only get worse.

He recalled that further up there was an abandoned factory barely standing, but it could serve as shelter.

They might have to stay there for the night.

With the little lamb.

At home, Fang Chen loved wearing Sith’s pajamas.

They were several sizes too big, so the shirt alone worked like a robe on him.

Which meant Sith was usually left shirtless.

But neither of them minded.

Fang Chen could bury his face into Sith’s chest whenever he wanted, nipping playfully at the firm muscles.

And Sith didn’t even have to bother taking his pants off he could just lift Fang Chen and enjoy himself to his heart’s content.