Disclaimer: I don't own DP or Karma Jones.

Thanks to Lady Audentium, Invader Johnny, hrisi292, starwater09, Yasz1221, monsta, Crystalmoon39, ShadowYashi, SweetestChick, KraZiiePyrozHavemoreFun, ZoneRobotnik, and JadeliketheGem for reviewing last time! I missed hearing from you all during my hiatus, so it's good to be back! I'm very thankful for your ongoing support with this collection.

This installment is a birthday present for Lady Audentium, who has poured several hours of time into drawing Deliverance fanart, including this collection's cover image, and requested this plot. Happy birthday, Lady Audentium!

Series Summary: Dan is the rich playboy son of the mayor. Valerie is a poor waitress who hates him. Neither are sure who is the beauty and who is the beast. Human!AU. Genre: Humor/Drama/Romance

Chapter Warnings: Language and sexual innuendoes


Deliverance

Shot 56: Caution: Hot, Part 1


An elbow jammed into Valerie's ribs. "Hey, chica, check it out," said Paulina, who tilted her chin to the restaurant's windows. "He's back."

Valerie looked up from her order book, her mind still stuck on table 23 and the woman's specific request for ketchup with her eggs. "What?"

Paulina leaned against the counter, her full lips stretching. "You know who. He's back."

Suddenly, a deep sense of fear and anger heated the red in Valerie's cheeks. She looked up, her teal eyes scanning the windows. Her fingers clenched tight into her order book. "Oh god."

"Oh, yes."

"Oh, no." Valerie snapped her order book. "No, no, no—you take him. I don't want him."

The beautiful Latina huffed at her and said, "I would if he'd let me. Dios mio, chica—he'll leave you like, a hundred-dollar tip if you just play along."

She turned to face her friend. "Like how you played along? Right into his bed?" She pushed her order book into Paulina's hands and turned away, fumbling for a glass from the carts.

Paulina grabbed onto the order book and whined, "When a rich, hot millionaire comes into your life, you don't just say no. And he was so good in bed—" She began to fan herself with the book, eyes distant. "He gave me the best night of my life."

"You're lucky he didn't give you something else," Valerie deadpanned. "Like a disease."

This time, Paulina whacked her shoulder, her own face lighting with a blush. "Don't be crude."

"Then don't sleep with playboys," Valerie retorted. She angled a sharp brow at the door, where the man was now walking in. She suddenly dropped down below the counter, afraid that perhaps he'd already seen her. "Or better yet, go win him back so he'll leave me alone."

The Latina's face grew pained as she leaned against the counter and looked down. "Uh, hello? It was over the moment he saw you. And if I can't be with him, then that means it's all on you to get us rich."

Valerie narrowed her eyes at her friend. Her blush stretched over her face and to the tips of her ears. "I am not getting involved with him," she hissed, "for any reason. He's a filthy misogynist who thinks he can have anything he wants."

"Honey, he's filthy rich, he's hot, he's our age. What more do you want?"

Dan Masters, the millionaire son of Mayor Vladimir Masters, had been labeled the Sexiest Man of the Year for three years in a row—ever since he'd turned 21. He'd immediately inherited over 100 million dollars, with an additional allowance per month and a quarter of the stocks in his father's various empires. People said he was a business prodigy, wicked sharp with negotiations and likely to surpass his father's fortunes.

Some suggested his handsomeness was part of the reason for his success. He had a lithe, powerful form that made most people either swoon or feel incredible jealousy. His sharp, blue eyes had been a particular favorite feature of photographers.

That day, he wore casual clothes, his jacket thrown over his shoulder, and his black hair pulled back into a loose ponytail—a style that fashion magazines would analyze if they were daring enough to enter the slums of Amity Park for a picture.

He was beginning to walk toward the counter, scanning the room with a haughty air of superiority.

"Get away," Valerie hissed suddenly, shoving at Paulina's legs. "Go act normal."

"Act normal?" Paulina deadpanned. "I'm not the one on the floor."

"Dammit, stop talking to me, or he'll see!"

The man suddenly leaned over the counter, and his curious gaze landed upon Valerie. She was on her hands and knees, looking up at him in fright.

"Ah, there you are, Valerie," he greeted, his baritone voice a rumble of amusement. "On your hands and knees for me already? It's neither the time nor the place for such erotic positions, don't you think?"

Her eyes lit with fire instantly. "Why, you—"

"—Although I must say," the enigma who was Dan Masters said, placing his head in his hands, "the view is stimulating." His eyes were pointed directly at her shirt, the angle of which had exposed her cleavage. He tilted his head. "Some of the better ones I've seen."

She put a hand up to the collar of her shirt, face burning. "Don't look at me like that."

The handsome man gave her a flat look. "But when you flash your breasts at me like that, what else am I to do?"

"I'm not flashing you, I'm looking for fucking ketchup." She desperately began searching through the shelves on the other side of the counter.

Dan leaned over a bit farther, grabbed a ketchup bottle from the open shelf, and set it on the counter, raising a brow as he sat down. "They're over here," he said dryly.

Valerie tried to gather what was left of her pride and stood up, snatching the ketchup bottle away. "Don't expect me to thank you."

"Oh, I wouldn't expect that so soon," he said, a demonic smirk stretching his face.

She narrowed her eyes. "And what the hell is that supposed to mean."

He waved his hand. His fingers were long, calloused. "Simply that all of your…playing hard to get is delaying your own satisfaction, Valerie dear. You need to loosen up. Which I could help with, you know."

Her jaw dropped. "I'm not playing hard to get," she hissed. "And you're not gonna help me with anything. Now either sit down at the counter and let Paulina take your order, or leave."

"Hi, Dan," Paulina said demurely, leaning over the counter. She'd unbuttoned more of her shirt than usual to display herself in hopes of catching his attention.

He ignored Paulina, not even glancing her way. His eyes were solely trained on Valerie, who was the first woman in his entire life who had said no. He wasn't sure what to do with it, except that he imagined if he pushed hard enough, she'd eventually reveal herself to be a good fuck in the bed and a cheap date compared to his usual fare. "Valerie," he said, "you already know my order. Why don't you take it."

"I'm busy." She flashed a painfully false smile

"None of your other customers would pay half of what I would for you to take my order," he said, leaning his chin on his hand and watching her.

By that time, Paulina's expression had fully soured, and she was rebuttoning up her shirt. "It's like I'm invisible—I can't believe this—"

"My other customers," Valerie retorted, "will pay me twice as much in respect compared to you." And then she disappeared across the counter, lifting up a tray of a few glasses for a new table and the ketchup bottle for table 23.

The millionaire huffed at her, spinning in his counter chair to watch her curiously.

That day was Dan's eighth attempt to break her into a date—eight more than what he usually needed to get a woman. Valerie had tried to kick him out of the restaurant by the second attempt, but the manager simply recognized the Masters boy and ecstatically welcomed him to the humble restaurant at any time, with the man-to-man advice to ignore Valerie in general.

Dan, of course, could not ignore Valerie. Even as she leaned over the table of one of her patrons, he watched her backside and her legs, admiring that such a gem could be hidden in the dumpy part of Amity Park. Her server uniform was a red-striped, high-collar dress that hid a toned body. Her apron was black, with various splotches of food stained on it. She had her curly hair held back in a messy bun.

His fashion queen, he marveled in amusement.

As Valerie turned around, she immediately noticed she was being watched. The pleasant smile upon her face fell into a dark glare.

He struggled not to smile at her ire. "Valerie," he called to her, feigning annoyance, "you're making me wait for service."

He could see the lines of her body tighten up with increasing fury. He could feel the tension, like lightning.

Valerie stomped up to the counter, slammed the tray down, and began to take his order. "Oh, I'm sorry you had to wait two seconds for the first time in your life. What do you want, Masters?"

He leaned forward. As he did so, some of the shorter locks of his hair fell from his ponytail, framing his handsome face. "I want you," he said, his baritone voice a smooth vibration between them. "I thought that was quite clear."

Her eye twitched. "I'm not on the menu."

The man did not seem to blink. "I would very much like to eat you out all the same," he said, mostly just to get a rise out of her.

Her blush returned full force, her dark face beginning to bleed red up to the tips of her ears and down the collar of her shirt.

Dan smiled. On occasion, his teeth looked a bit sharp. "Look at that virgin blush on you. I'm beginning to think you spurn me because you're inexperienced." He tilted his head. "Afraid it'll hurt, or that I'll be disappointed?"

Valerie sputtered, backing away. There was horror on her face that he could be so blunt and crude. She struggled for words, her lips quivering with fury about his assumptions.

He took his chance to continue. "Because if it's the former," he said honestly, "then you have nothing to fear." He leaned in a bit farther, as if to share a secret. "And if you're capable of work, you're more than capable of learning how to increase my satisfaction."

She pulled away from him in a flurry after that, feeling embarrassed and dirty. "I'm not a dog," she hissed at him. "You bastard, I am not a dog."

"Then why do you act like one?"

That did it.

Valerie turned away, gritting her teeth hard. "I'm going to walk away," she said, "and get your coffee."

"Brilliant. Then fetch me the newspaper while you're at it," he called merrily.

She dug her hands so hard into her tray that one of her fingers cracked through the bottom. Oh, I'm gonna fetch you something, she thought. Something you'll never forget.

She grabbed one of the unopened newspaper rolls on the counter and chucked it at him. He gracefully caught it mid-air—damn his athleticism—and raised a brow.

She huffed and turned away. While the man worked to unravel his newspaper, whistling under his breath in delight of their altercation, Valerie set to work. She moved to the coffee machine, noting that it was near empty—which was perfect. She opened up a few bags of the ground coffee and poured them into the machine, then increased the temperature of the coffee to over boiling.

She was going to make him regret bothering her.


A short while later, Dan looked up from his newspaper to see Valerie approaching him with a clean cup of coffee and a carafe. He began to smile again. She seemed somehow less angry than before—probably realizing how immature she'd been in response to his proposition.

Perhaps she'd come to terms with her own attraction to him. She had tried to deny it, but the truth was that no one could resist the great Daniel Masters. His body buzzed in anticipation for the day she'd finally come off her moral pedestal and gasp his name, spreading those toned legs of hers—

"You know what?" she said as she set the empty coffee cup down in front of him. "You're right. I have been a bitch to you."

He raised a brow. "Oh?"

Her vision bled red as she smiled. "And I'm not done yet." And then she raised the carafe of scalding coffee and flung the liquid straight at him.

Before he could move, it struck him on the right side of his face, the above-boiling coffee hissing into his perfect skin with a cloud of steam. An uncultured cry of pain escaped him as he immediately brought his hands to his eye, unable to think from the increasing agony of his skin being burned deeper and deeper. The coffee had struck his throat and down his chest as well. He struggled to breathe.

Valerie watched in dark satisfaction as the entire restaurant fell silent. "That's the kind of service you deserve," she hissed to him, feeling an immense weight lift off her shoulders as she watched his perfect, haughty composure crack into hysteria and agony.

He'd stood up from his seat in a wild attempt to get away from the steam, stumbling backward. His spine hit the wooden edge of a booth, and he trembled there, unable to open his right eye, holding his hands over his face in blind pain.

The commotion quickly brought out the manager. "What in god's name is—?" His eyes widened. "—Oh my god. Oh my god!" He panicked. "S-someone-get ice! Get ice!"

Paulina and the other servers had frozen in place at the sight of Valerie having finally lost her temper. No one moved for a second. Then suddenly the entire restaurant erupted into chaos. The patrons who had not noticed Dan before now realized they were looking at the mayor's son—many of them pointing to Dan, some calling 911, others moving forward to help out the man still crying out in pain.

"I'm not getting him ice," Valerie muttered and crossed her arms. "The bastard deserved it."

Paulina was instead the first one to unstick herself and grab for a plastic bag. "Dios mio," she whispered under her breath. Her blue eyes were wide. "Dios mio, dios mio, dios mio—" Other servers began to follow suit, a few running to the back for ice packs from the freezer.

The manager turned to Valerie, who stood looking smug. "You're fired," he said, his voice so halted in fury that he could barely speak. "Get out. Now."

Valerie gave him a glare. "The bastard deserved it—he was harassing me!"

"I don't care," the manager said, raising his voice in panic. All he could think about was the likelihood of a lawsuit. "You're fired. Right now. Take your things and leave."

"Oh my god," one of the patrons said suddenly, breaking their thoughts. Her voice was faint.

They all watched as Dan pulled his hand away from his face, taking with it several layers of skin and an increasing smattering of blood. His fingers shook.

And it was at that point Valerie began to feel she had done something wrong.


Later, a dazed, sullen, and partially drugged Dan Masters sat in a private room at Amity Park General Hospital, holding a cold pack to his face. He had a large bruise on his bare back from hitting the booth. Splotches of red, blistered burns covered his muscled chest and neck. The burns worsened in degree on his face—his once perfect skin and features were distorted with swelling and an open wound just at the corner of his eye. He tried not to think about his eye, which was swollen shut.

An ER doctor had already come and gone, with the promise to have a nurse return with something for his abused skin.

Deep inside him, however, was a particular burn he knew they could not cure. Stuck in the back of his mind was the flare of hatred in Valerie's eyes just before she'd thrown that coffee at him. It'd been a pure, unadulterated rage, her beautiful face twisting into something borderline demonic.

Dan felt awe at how much he'd miscalculated her, as well as an ongoing daze that she genuinely hated him.

"That bitch," he moaned into the ice pack. He didn't know if he appreciated her more, or if he wanted to wring her neck. Maybe he'd sue. It was possible he'd have permanent scars over this. "That insufferable, haughty little—"

"—I hope you're not talking about me," came an unfamiliar, female voice.

Dan raised his good eye, miserably staring up at a nurse, and then he looked away in irritation. Some part of him had almost hoped that Valerie herself would appear, beginning for mercy with tears in her eyes. The dark part of his heart enjoyed that image.

He pulled the ice pack away, almost daring the nurse to back away in fear at the sight of his ruined face. "What do you want?" he snapped.

It was in that moment Dan realized something about the woman was off. She could have been anywhere between eighteen and forty. Her dark hair was pulled back into a standard bun, and her clothes were the same as every other nurse—but her sharp face was covered in old scar patches.

It made her otherwise beautiful face seem distorted.

He immediately looked away, mostly in fear that this was some kind of intervention from the hospital—a person to come and say, "Getting your face burnt off isn't so bad—here's what you'll look like in a few weeks—"

The nurse raised up a few different vials in one hand and some papers in the other. "I'm here to follow up," she said simply. She handed him the papers as she neared. "I'm Karma Jones, I'll be your nurse for today. The good news is, Mr. Masters, that you're as healthy as a horse. Your blood work came back with nothing more than raised blood pressure—probably circumstantial."

Dan huffed as he glanced down at the numbers, then back up at the nurse, who had set down her vials and was unscrewing a cap to a tube. "And my face? What about that?"

She did not answer immediately. "How about you tell me what happened first."

His lip curled in anger, not specifically wanting to talk. It hurt to do so. For a time, he said nothing and then managed to say shortly, "It was a bitch playing hard to get. Threw boiling water at me."

The nurse's brow raised as she looked him over. "Sounds like she wasn't playing."

"Fuck off," Dan mumbled. He was not drugged enough for these conversations yet. He did not want an analytical session. Only sympathy. He wanted people to coo over him and tell him he would still be drop-dead handsome, and offer to do anything to make him feel better.

Although her scars were rather off-putting—he supposed he really didn't want to get involved with her particularly.

The nurse shrugged. She approached him, squirting some of the gel-like contents from the tube onto her gloved fingers. "You probably had it coming."

He turned to her. "What?"

"Keep your head there." The nurse raised her hand and carefully swept the salve across the right side of his face. Her touch was gentle, but it still made him flinch in pain. "You're always in the news for having a new girlfriend, right? And I remember one of your speeches you gave for a Masters Foundation event—you don't take no for an answer."

From the sound of it, this nurse named Karma seemed to have very little sympathy for him. His blue eyes slid to her in a glare. He asked incredulously, "You're saying it's my fault?"

"Probably." Her voice was dry as she pulled back to eye her work. "You're lucky it's not any worse."

"…Any worse?" he repeated. "She peeled my face just for having a little fun. The bitch was crazy."

She raised a brow. "You call it having fun," she said mildly, "but others would call that harassment."

Dan nearly gaped at her as he struggled to reply. "Harassment?She harassed me. Look at me. I could have permanent scars from this."

Karma tilted her head. "And you think she doesn't have any from you?" She peered into his eyes, not one bit afraid of his distorted visage or the rotten, spoiled soul beneath.

His lip curled. "You're just a bitch with an ugly face. What do you know about Valerie that you'd take her side?"

Instead of rising to the occasion, the nurse smiled. "I'm just trying to help you so you don't end back up here with more problems." She raised up a bandage for his face. "Wouldn't want that pretty complexion of yours to get even more messed up than it is."

The jab hit a major nerve. "Oh, I am going to get you fired for that."

She suddenly leaned into his space and said, "Not likely. The manager likes it when the help doesn't have sex with patients, and he knows unlike all the other nurses, I've got a thing against womanizers. Which means you're stuck with me." She slapped on a bandage on his head. "And personally, I kinda respect the girl who did this."


Valerie stared in horror as her name quickly became the social pariah of not only the city block—but the entire town. Psychotic waitress attacks mayor's son, one headline read. Another said, Amity Park's sexiest bachelor mauled in restaurant.

"Oh my god," she said, scrolling through the TV. She was back home now in her run-down apartment, huddled in her pajamas after taking a long shower. Around her were various newspapers, turned to the job listings. But her fear had quickly morphed from being jobless to possibly being arrested. It seemed every news channel had pegged her as the evil villain of the week, with Daniel Masters as the innocent victim. Several of them suggested that Masters would sue or have her arrested.

If things kept up like this, it wouldn't be long before the reporters or police found her house—or before her father saw what she'd done and keeled over in a heart attack.

By now, she was actively beginning to consider how to control the damage. The reporters would probably find out where she lived, but maybe she could get a head start on disappearing. Maybe she could get Dan Masters not to press charges. Which would mean talking to him again, but that was better than getting arrested.

Her fingers shook as she called up Paulina on her phone.

The Latina tentatively answered, "Si?"

"Paulina?" she whispered, as if afraid someone would overhear. "It's me. Have you checked the news?"

"I'm living it right now." The woman's accented voice was strained with an emotion entirely unnatural to her. Behind her was the chaotic noise of the restaurant, which was still filled with upset patrons and a few reporters interviewing people. "Chica, I can't believe you burned off part of his face!"

Valerie hissed, "Does anyone know where I live? Has anyone spilled anything more about me?" The news articles and reports so far included brief descriptions of the incident, with her name included. It appeared that the TV stations were just now getting around to interviewing eyewitnesses at the restaurant. Which meant her manager would soon be on TV to further throw her under the bus in the name of saving his business and reputation.

Paulina gave a worried huff. "You've moved so many times, I doubt they have the right address. But they'll figure it out soon. You should, like, run to the other side of the country. I'm not even kidding."

Tears welled in her eyes. "You know I can't do that. "

"Then you better beg for mercy," her friend whispered. "The richest, most powerful boy in town had to go to the hospital because of you. He's hot, but I know one thing. You don't want to be on his bad side."

"…You think he'd really get me arrested?" Valerie whispered.

"He could probably do worse! You either gotta get out of town, or convince him to put the snuff on these guys."

"How the hell do I convince him to calm down?"

Paulina huffed. "I dunno, maybe a blow job or two?"

Valerie's hand gripped the phone tightly as she flushed in terror. "Don't even joke about that."

"Well, he's obviously into you—or he was—so I don't know what else would—" She suddenly cut herself off, and then started again, this time her voice much quieter. "Oh geez, more reporters. Don't call me again. And like, run."

Then the line went dead.


Dan was soon discharged as a patient from the hospital, a bandage over his eye and part of his temple, its sticky edges already pulling on the sensitive crown of his hair. The minor burns down his neck and beneath his shirt were covered with a special salve, a tube of which he now carried in a bag, along with replacement bandages and an appointment card to return tomorrow morning.

He was haunted by what the nurse had said—and by her scarred face. He subconsciously touched his bandage, only to regret it with a flinch. His pain medication was beginning to wear off, and he still had four hours before he could take more pills.

Even worse, it seemed media had already picked up the scent of his angst. As he'd begun to walk down the exit hallway, he first noticed that it was raining outside. But then he saw a sea of reporters crowding around the doors. His white face flushed beneath his bandages.

Reporters were insects, always attempting to make more money off of him—and he was sure they were frothing at the mouth for a sight of him weak and disfigured.

"Fuck," he snarled under his breath, standing around with their phones and cameras. He suddenly began to back away and turned around to return to the heart of the hospital, feeling claustrophobic. He popped the collar on his jacket, damning his impeccable sense of taste that separated him from the masses. Surely, he'd be recognized quickly in such an outfit. He had to find an alternate escape route—and a disguise. Something to hide his face. A coat with a hood.

As he re-entered the various hospital hallways, he stormed by a small inpatient lounge room. In it was a man in a wheelchair facing a silent TV. The man's balding head was bowed forward on his chest in sleep, and a baggy, brown sweater with a hood hung off one of the handles of his chair. Dan's desperation overwhelmed him. In a quick slip of the wrist, he pulled the sweater off the back of the wheelchair and left his own coat behind. The sweater smelled of peppermint and medicine.

He quickly set his care bag and phone down and put on the sweater, pulling the hood over his head to hide his signature hair—and with any luck, the bright white bandage across the right side of his face. The sweater was tight through the torso and shoulders.

Dan's blue eye scanned the hallways for another exit route as he picked up his things. He eventually found one in the form of the average person's exit to the parking garage. He balked, his aristocratic nose wrinkling at the obvious mold growing along the outside cement pillars. He nevertheless pushed through the door, scanning the area for any paparazzi.

He saw another door leading out to an alley. In his desperation to not be recognized, he took it.

By that point, the heavy rain had turned to a light drizzle. The alley seemed to be fairly abandoned, the asphalt cracked from age and use. He kept his head down. Soon enough, he'd reach the back side of the hospital, from where he could possibly grab a taxi. But with his head down, he had limited vision. Suddenly, a form shoved into him as it rushed past.

He raised his head and turned around in fury. "Watch it," he hissed.

The person who'd run into him was a woman wearing baggy jeans and a hoodie as well, with a purse slung over her shoulder. The woman turned around and looked up, and her familiar, dark face paled. The infamous Valerie Gray stared at him, and he stared back.

They recoiled away from each other as if they were on fire.

"What are you doing here?" they both demanded at the same time.

Valerie appeared haunted as she openly gaped at him. Beneath Dan's hoodie, the sharp, handsome lines of his face still remained, but a large section of the right side of his face was hidden by a white bandage. She backed away, not sure she wanted to be cornered by him in a back alley. "I'm going to see my dad," she said. Then she swallowed hard. "And…maybe you."

His visible eye darkened. "Me?" he said incredulously.

Valerie stood tensely, her hands clenched into fists at her side, face tight. She was shivering and soaked, as if she had trekked a long time in the rain. "Yes," she said, voice halted. "I figured you'd press charges or something. So I was, uh, coming to ask you not to."

He paused. He crossed his arms as his brain whirled to catch up. "What is this?" he murmured in interest. "The woman with no heart…asking for mercy? From me?"

Her face bled red with embarrassment, and she pressed her lips together. "You were being a jerk. I just…didn't expect half your face to fall off."

A demonic smile without humor stretched his thin lips. "Oh, you seemed quite pleased with the results, at least until you were fired."

"You really gonna press charges on me?" she asked softly, as if afraid of the answer. She gripped her purse strap tight. "Because you know I could press countercharges on you, right? For harassment and giving me all that static about not having sex with you. And dammit, if you press charges on me, so help me god, I'm gonna—"

His false smile faltered into a harsh chuckle. "—You wouldn't win the case," he cut in. "I'm the victim here, whose face you ruined."

She swallowed hard. The very real threat hung in the small distance between them, ringing like a death bell. Then she said, "Youharassed me. I was trying to get you away from me."

"I never touched you once, dammit," he snapped. "So look me in the face and tell me how this is an equivalent punishment." And then from beneath his hood, he pulled at the bandage over his eye and temple, pressing his lips tightly together as it peeled away from his skin.

Time had not done much to heal him—rather, it appeared the injury was even worse than when she'd caught a glimpse in the restaurant. Valerie could see that his brow had been singed, and a portion of his face was still a beet red with a few blisters. His eye was swollen shut, disrupting the usually handsome lines of his face, with pockets of crusted blood at the corner of his eye where the skin had fallen off.

She backed away and clenched her jaw, surprised at how distorted his facial features truly were. A nausea churned in her stomach.

He stepped forward, inhaling sharply at the feeling of the damp air upon his wounded face. He did not miss her initial disgust at the sight. "You," he said roughly, "did this to me. By law, this counts as physical battery, which is a crime, Valerie dear. It has to be paid somehow."

He had an undertow of dangerous fury in his voice when he said her name, and it made her back away again—this time, she hit the brick wall of the building behind her. Her eyes widened.

He leaned in, and his body shadowed her own. "My lawyers are very good at what they do. I could take you for everything you own."

Valerie looked up at him and at the ugly wound marring his face. She admitted in an embarrassed huff, "Good luck with that, because you already did."

Dan's blue eye darkened. "What?"

"October 9. Three years ago." She swallowed hard, seeing the fury in him and wondering if she'd already sealed her fate. "You destroyed my family, and then you come into my restaurant acting like I should thankful that you wanna fuck me over again."

His face twisted in confusion and anger, only for a grimace of pain to overcome him. "What the hell does that mean?"

She dared to meet his gaze. "It means, you're just a spoiled rich boy who'll railroad over anything and everything to get what you want." She blinked several times to hide the fact that her eyes burned with tears. "God, I'm already in debt to your family, ok? I really can't afford to be in more. And I really can't afford to go to jail for the same reasons, so please just...don't come after me because of what I did."

His dark brow angled as he slowly began to place the bandage back over the ruined side of his face. The words October 9 and debt had seared into his mind, but he could not place a specific incident in his family's business history. He decided it was better to focus on Valerie's wavering pleas for mercy. Most of Amity Park was in debt to him and his father anyway. "And what then," he demanded shortly, "do you suggest as compensation?"

Valerie appeared as if a wave of anxiety overwhelmed her. "An apology?" she offered. "Like, a real one?"

He sniffed haughtily. "Oh, please. Actions speak louder than words, Valerie. How will you prove your sorrow?"

She actively paled. "I, uh, I—"

"—It should be something you'd completely hate to do," he murmured, half in thought to himself. "That's the only way I'd know your apology to genuine."

The woman appeared half-ready to run, as if in fear she'd be eaten. "I am not having sex with you," she said, voice strained. "Or—or anything else with you."

"Ah, so quick to judge." There was something still predatory about him. "I can't give you a genuine reason to countersue, now can I? No, I was simply about to suggest a kiss, and I will not sue or press charges."

She looked incredulous. "What?"

"You heard my terms." He crossed his arms, looking almost satisfied. "If I have to live with being ugly for the rest of my life, then I want something out of it. A kiss is a very small price to pay for your sins."

Her cheeks heated, even in the light drizzle of rain around them. "That's still a sick price," she hissed. "It's blackmail."

He pointed to his face and deadpanned, "Don't pretend to be so innocent. Because of you, this might be the last kiss I ever get."

By that point, her blush had stretched up to the tips of her ears. An anxiety came over her, her heart beat racing. In some ways, this was still a better outcome than even Paulina had suggested. "…Well, fine," she whispered in an unhappy snap. "Just—get it over with quick, then."

Dan leaned forward, searching her eyes. "Don't act so self-sacrificing."

She squeezed her eyes shut and said, "Just do it, ok?"

Her fear with him was palpable. He huffed in disappointment—Valerie would be no fun to kiss in such a state—and leaned forward a bit more. Instead of kissing her on the lips, he mercifully pressed his lips against her cheek. The touch was gentle and light, as if a butterfly had brushed its wings against her. They were both cold from the rain. She opened her eyes in surprise.

Then he murmured softly in her ear, "You're an absolute bitch, Valerie Gray. I hope you die broke and lonely in that slum pit of yours."

He pulled away suddenly, his gaze even darker than before, his lips pressed tight in a grim line. He readjusted his hood as he turned around, leaving her alone in that alleyway.

Her breath hitched. Her cheek still stung with the feeling of his kiss. "Yeah?" she called after him. "Well, no one really cares about you either! I hope everyone sees how ugly you are, inside and out!"

His lithe figure continued onward, but with his free hand, he flipped her the bird. Then he disappeared down another alleyway, presumably to a main street from which to call a taxi. He did not look back at her.

Instead, it was several minutes later, as Dan mulled on his failed encounters with Valerie, that he felt a slim case in one of the sweater pockets. He dug in his hand and pulled it out. It was simple clip of a wallet, with an expired driver's license, a few family photos, and a few dollar bills.

Then he froze as he read the name. The picture was of a smiling black man with familiar, teal eyes.

Damon Gray.

Within the billfold was a picture of a younger, smiling Valerie Gray. Dan suddenly looked up and began to damn his entire life, his good eye narrowing as his face heated. He'd stolen her father's jacket. Soon, one Valerie Gray was going to notice the jacket hanging off Damon Gray's wheelchair was not Damon's and had a coffee stain still down the front.

And then she'd probably come after him with another cup of boiling coffee.

"Fuck," he breathed, pulling out his cell phone to call the hospital. "Dammit. Shit."


Damon Gray now sat fully awake in his wheelchair, holding in his one arm a written note from a nurse who'd woken him up. Daniel Masters borrowed your sweater and will return it, it said. Here is his cell phone number to call and confirm a convenient time.

Usually, long-term care in a hospital setting was boring, so being unexpectedly borrowed from—stolen from? Could he claim that?—was a first. He stared at the note with deep suspicion, knowing the name. "Daniel Masters?" he murmured. His voice was a weak gravel. "My new sweater?"

"Dad!" came a relieved, familiar voice. He looked up and saw his daughter walk toward him, pale and worse for wear. "I was looking everywhere for you." She nervously glanced up at the TV, which was set to an old movie station and thankfully not the news. "What are you doing in here?"

The father looked up and said, "Some punk stole my new sweater."

Valerie blinked. "What?"

His thin arm raised up to point at the white jacket still hanging off the handle of his wheelchair. "He left his jacket behind, and he stole my sweater." There was a frustrated awe in his tone. "You know, the new sweater I was telling you about?"

For a time, the young woman struggled to push aside her own problems. She did vaguely recall giving her father some money to buy himself more clothes for his extended hospital stay. "What the hell," she breathed in surprise. That money had been hard-earned. A dart of pain hit hard in her heart. "Are you serious?"

And then she looked at the white jacket, which seemed oddly familiar.

Damon waved the piece of paper higher in the air. "And you're not going to believe who it was."

Valerie tentatively pulled the jacket off the wheelchair handle, unraveling it. It was a designer Armani jacket of white leather with black accents. And a coffee stain down the front.

She dropped it, recoiling hard, her face flushing with something between horror and fury. "That son of a bitch."


That night, Dan sat in the comfort of the one-hundred-year-old Masters mansion in Amity Park's rich Poulter Heights neighborhood. He held an ice pack to his aching face as he scrolled through his father's electronic record from the sanctity of the living room couch. His bottle of pain medication was popped open on the nearby table. He'd taken off his shirt to relieve the more minor burns on his chest and neck, and he'd wired several bribes to reporters to stay the hell off of his property and out of his private affairs.

The lie he fed to media—in accordance to his deal with Valerie—was that it had been an accident. To an extent, it was true. His interactions with Valerie were an undoubtable train wreck. Some of the news stations bought the lie easier than others.

"October 9," he murmured to himself. "October 9, three years ago."

Valerie's debt to the Masters Foundation had left him darkly curious. Perhaps her debts were related to her father, who was in the hospital?

Dan sniffed as he entered his codes to access his father's internal business database. "No," he muttered, "that wouldn't make sense. His problem is not my fault."

The internal database held records for all the various businesses he and his father ran, including Dalv Industries, Masters Financial, Masters Foundation, Dalv Housing, and Masters Insurance. There were several other shell companies Dan himself had devised to increase profits without alarming Amity Park citizens to the uncontested control his family had over the region.

The young heir grumbled a bit as he tried to slog through the massive amounts of data. After some time, he finally accessed the business logs for the date she'd specified, October 9 three years ago.

Dan narrowed his eyes. "Hmm." On that day, he'd signed a paper that kicked out every resident of an Elmerton apartment complex owned by his father. It'd been in a slum neighborhood, had begun to attract crime and drugs, and was not making returns. The idea had been to evict the residents and demolish the complex before more money could be lost.

In an attempt to squeeze out a final paycheck from it, he'd still demanded rent payment from those who lived there. Several of the families had been unable to pay and so were not only evicted but charged large amounts of punishment fees for their backlogged rent, which left them largely in debt and at the hands of various collection agencies. Of those families, one was named Gray.

Dan's face began to flush as he stared at the computer screen, almost as if it were his enemy. Three years ago, he'd just inherited a large stock in his father's business and was interested in building a reputation as a businessman who delivered results for stakeholders. But the people he'd evicted had been numbers on a spreadsheet. Worthless bottom feeders, he'd believed.

Not someone like Valerie.

"Well, well," he muttered to himself. "Perhaps I did hit first."

He typed in her name into the Masters Financial debts database, of which the majority of Amity Park had an entry. The name Valerie Gray appeared under the Risk—Truant Payments category. All of her father's debts had been carried over to her name just last year, with crippling bills from Amity Park General Hospital. There were several instances of meager payments to Masters Financial and the collection agencies. But Valerie Gray, due to the backlogged rent payments and her father's health bills, was still over two-hundred thousand dollars in debt. And with the interest on her loans, it was increasing every day.

Dan's face began to burn, and he pulled off his ice pack in pain.

That was quite a lot of money for a slum restaurant waitress.

Just then, he heard the front door slam open. "I'm home!" called out one Vladimir Masters.

"Shit," Dan breathed, closing down the laptop and swiping for his pain pills. He desired nothing if not to hide weakness from his sharp-eyed father. He self-consciously touched the bandage on his face. There was nothing he could do to hide that.

Damn that his father wasn't away on business. He'd inherited the Masters family estate but had been unable to escape the plague of his father's constant presence in it, despite Vlad building his own lakeside getaway on the other side of town.

Vlad's deep voice rang with curiosity, and perhaps a smidgen of concern. "Daniel? Are you here? Do please tell me you still have a face—the media suggested you don't."

Dan rolled his eyes and then regretted it as his face began to sear in pain. He inhaled sharply. "I'm fine," he snarled out.

The mayor of Amity Park appeared around the corner, wearing a sleek business suit and setting down a briefcase on a nearby, mahogany table. His blue eyes landed upon his son. "My god," he said, voice dropping completely into genuine concern. "How bad is it?"

Dan turned away. "I said I'm fine."

The father moved forward, unraveling his tie as he eyed his son. "Will you not let me see?"

"Why do you want to see?" Dan demanded.

"Because you have various engagements the next couple of months, and I should like to know if you're disfigured enough to require cancelling them."

Dan clenched his fist at his father's reasons for worrying. "I've already cancelled my appointments for the next two weeks. Your board is going to be running the daily meetings, and I'll call in from home. This isn't going to interfere with my work."

"That's not what I meant," Vlad said. "If I do recall, you had a…skiing trip with that Bulgarian woman—I forget her name. And then there was that heiress from up north who was supposed to visit. Star was her name, I believe?"

His son gave him a flat look. "Do you honestly think I'm going to be entertaining anyone, looking like this?"

Vlad's eyes scanned over the burns on Dan's chest and neck, which were red and splotchy. The bandage over his eye made him seem asymmetric. Then he smiled, almost sadistically delighted. "Well, then. I suppose that means you can be my proxy for next week's board meeting while I attend a mayoral dinner?"

Dan nearly face-faulted. "You've got to be kidding me."

"I know, I'm such a bleeding heart," the mayor said, voice gallant. "Now tell me what really happened—I've heard conflicting reports all day."

"I don't want to talk about it," he snapped.

"Indulge me."

"How about not." Dan grabbed for his laptop, his pain pills already hidden in the pocket of his pants. "It's not as if you really care anyway."

Vlad stepped forward, eyebrow raised. "Media tells me a woman named Valerie Gray did this—isn't that the poor waitress you boasted was playing hard to get, and that you'd have her seduced in a week?"

Dan's face flushed, even beneath his bandage. "Shut up."

"Because it rather looks like you achieved the opposite reaction." The father paused, trying to puzzle out his son's life. "Which makes me think this wasn't an accident, no matter what you told the media. Do you in fact have a heart for this woman still, to lie as you did?"

The young man began to lose whatever patience he had left. "What the hell would suggest I lied?"

The knowing father began to smile. "You're protecting her. Not pressing charges. Bestowing mercy in your silence?"

"You know it wouldn't be worth the hassle to sue," he said shortly. "Now leave me alone—I'm working on something important."

Vlad seemed about to tease him further when suddenly, Dan's phone rang. In relief, the younger man grabbed his phone and pushed the button to talk, shoving away from his father.

"This is Masters," he said.

"Daniel Masters?" said a weak, gravelly male voice.

He shouldered the phone between his good shoulder and ear. "Yes, what do you want?"

"I want my sweater and wallet back that you stole, young man. And I want it back first thing tomorrow morning. Also, your jacket has a big coffee stain that isn't from me, so don't charge me for it."

Suddenly, Vlad reappeared behind him. "Who is that?" he asked curiously.

"Nine tomorrow," Dan said shortly into the phone. "I'll be there." And then he ended the call to glare at his father. "I'm in the middle of setting up important appointments."

"And I am concerned about your increasing level of recklessness." Vlad grabbed the phone from him. "Did I hear something about you stealing a wallet?"


Early the next morning, Valerie stood on the street corner, holding onto the last piece of her dead mother's jewelry. A wedding ring. It was rent day, as well as the deadline for a minimum payment on her father's hospital bills. Her eyes were red-rimmed as she approached the gold pawn shop. "I don't wanna do this," she whispered to herself.

She'd spent the better half of the night in a daze. She had looked for every dime and penny from her serving days, only to still come up several hundred dollars short to pay for all the bills. Even if she had not been fired, the odds were that she'd still be in this same position.

She'd decided that her mother would want them to survive instead of hold onto trinkets. The diamond ring would fetch a good price, even from the sharks of the pawn shop.

But she'd still cried because it'd been her mother's last gift.

Defeated, Valerie crossed the street to the Gold and Pawn Shop, her eyes lowered. She didn't want anyone to recognize her as the server who'd "accidentally" ruined Dan Masters' face. She'd been relieved he'd upheld his part of their deal, but there were still more than enough suspicious and wicked fan girls and reporters. Valerie didn't want to guess what they would do for their obsession, or for money.

It was then she saw a black Cadillac pull up to the curb. From the back, a rather familiar man emerged—Vladimir Masters, the mayor of Amity Park. Her eyes widened in surprise at the sight of him.

The man, nearing his fifties now, was known as something of a silver fox—dashingly handsome like his son and aging like a fine wine. He looked to be ready for a business meeting of some kind, even as he walked toward her in that ghetto, wearing his signature sunglasses. "Valerie Gray?" he called to her, his voice a smooth chocolate, cultured.

She froze where she stood, gripping her mother's wedding ring tightly. "M-Mayor Masters," she greeted, her voice halted. Inside, she was panicking. Oh my god, she thought. Terror overwhelmed her. He knows the truth. He's here to kill me. Blackmail me. Something.

He immediately noticed her tense body language and said, "Oh, come now, dear. I just want to have a little chat with you before you sell another piece of your mother's jewelry. What do you say to humoring me, hmm?"

Valerie hesitated, feeling horrified. "Another piece?" she repeated dumbly.

"I checked your profile with my banks," the mayor said, waving a careless hand. "I saw quite a few transactions from this very pawn shop. I assume that is your mother's jewelry, unless my son attempted to proposition you with more than just words."

That this man knew the level of her debt and desperation made her face color with a flush of embarrassment. She asked fearfully, "What do you want?"

"The fact is this," he said, pulling off his sunglasses. His eyes were a lighter blue than those of his Dan's, but even more piercing. "My son is a great businessman and a terrible human being. I don't doubt he said something very cruel or uncouth to you, to inspire you to burn his face."

This man before was so nonchalant that it was almost unreal. "You're not…mad?" she said incredulously.

"Oh, by heavens, no," he said, a dark glint of amusement in his eye. "I'm fascinated, really. Perhaps a little thankful that it was you and not some foreign female dignitary. You clipped his wings, Valerie. I've been trying to figure out how to do that for the last several years."

"What?"

"As a matter of fact, you're the only woman I've heard of who's given him a hard time. I think you're just what he needs to wake him up from his questionable activities. I also know you've lost your job at the restaurant—for understandable reasons. And that's why I would like to offer you a job."

Valerie paused in surprise. "A job?"

"Yes, a job, in which you could perhaps continue challenge my son's sense of recklessness."

"…What? No, I don't want your charity or your pity," she retorted skittishly, walking away. "I just want to do business here, and leave."

"My dear, this is neither charity nor pity." Vlad continued to walk beside her. "This is an intervention on behalf of my prodigal son. A mutually beneficial deal, you see."

"I'm not interested." Her heart was pounding in embarrassment and fear. Mayor Masters was an intelligent businessman and one of the reasons she was poor to begin with. Even if she desperately needed a job now, she couldn't take his proposition without further destroying her pride in several ways. "And no offense, but if the job's just to get me in the same room with your jerk of a son, then I really don't want it."

"I will triple whatever you made as a server," he offered, giving her a curious look. "Surely, if you are pawning off jewelry, you could afford the extra cash? And I understand your sentiments to my son. But I believe you already put quite the damper on his…usual hobbies and manners."

Valerie's face burned. The offer itself had its potential upsides. She thought of her father coughing in his hospital bed, failing to walk once again in his rehab sessions. She swallowed hard, clenching tight to her mother's wedding ring. "I'm not comfortable around him."

"I'm not asking you to put up with his insanity," Vlad deadpanned. "I need you to help me give him a conscience."

"Nothing good comes out of him and me talking. And I'm pretty sure he hates me now as much as I hate him."

"I have a feeling he doesn't."

"And I don't have a lot of education. I can't do business mumbo jumbo," she admitted shortly. She'd quit high school early to work double jobs. College had been so far of a dream that she didn't even know what the word meant.

The man, oddly enough, did not seem to mind. "What kind of job would you feel qualified for?"

She looked away, pressing her lips tightly together. She'd worked in fast food and had been a maid before that business had gone under. "Service jobs?" she said quietly. Then she remembered what kind of family the Masters were and added more forcefully, "Like, cooking and cleaning. Not prostitution."

The mayor gave a soft laugh, and the small lines on his face seemed to melt away in delight. "Oh, my dear. We Masters are not that bad. Now come with me—I'll give you an advance payment so you can keep that ring, and you'll start cleaning today. How does that sound?"

Valerie was about to respond that it sounded too good to be true. But then Vlad cut in an added, "I should probably also tell you that the mansion is said to be haunted. I hope that doesn't deter you."


Back at the hospital, nurse Karma Jones looked Dan over once more. "Your skin clotted overnight, that's good," she said distantly as she inspected the deep wound at the corner of his eye.

His eye itself was still puffed shut. "I hardly slept," he said hoarsely. "Those pills you gave me were shit."

She raised a brown, sculpted brow. "Oh?"

"They worked for all of fifteen minutes, and then I was in agony for the next six hours," he complained. He shoved the pill bottle at her and added, "Get me something better."

The nurse grabbed onto the bottle and lifted it up to read the label. "…Hmm, oh dear," she said without sympathy or surprise, "it appears you were given the children's dose of medication as opposed to a dose for your age. No wonder it had such little effect."

"What?" Dan snapped. His good eye twitched. "You mean I skipped out on regular pain meds in favor for a kiddie dose? I am in pain, woman."

"I'll have to log a complaint about the nurse assistant who filled your prescription, what a pity," she said without emotion. "Don't worry, Mr. Masters, I'll get it taken care of for you."

He scoffed. "Oh, I'm sure you will. What'll you have them fill it up with this time, huh? Sugar pills? Laxatives?"

"No, that would be considered a misuse of my license as a registered nurse." There was almost a sing-song tone to her, as if she enjoyed his discomfort. "But really, I will fix the problem. Now take off that shirt of yours—I need to check your other burns."

"I don't trust you to do anything," Dan said, eyes narrowed.

She gave him a flat look. "I'm the only nurse around who won't try to jump you while you're vulnerable. My guess is, another nurse gave you the wrong prescription to force you to come back here more. So don't hold that against me."

The man grumbled and then began to unbutton his shirt, wincing as the material rubbed on the sensitive burns on his neck and chest. "This fuckin' hurts to do, you know." And then he begrudgingly pulled his shirt down to reveal his still-mottled, naked chest.

True to her word, the nurse peered at him in a purely clinical way, disinterested in his chiseled muscles. "You've not been putting that burn ointment on this one. It's blistered more."

He rolled his eyes, disliking being scolded like a child. "I did put it on—it just didn't work like you said it would."

The nurse pressed her lips together to avoid scathing remark. As she began to grab for some supplies, she tried to make more painful small talk. "You chat anymore with the woman who did this?"

Dan's body tensed. "Briefly," he said, voice halted.

"I was listening to the news," she said, looking up at him. "You told Channel 4 it was an accident, but you definitely didn't say that to me in the ER yesterday."

He looked away, and a flush colored his sharp cheeks, bleeding into the harsh red of his injured face. It appeared more and more obvious that his lie was just that. He said nothing to further implicate or absolve himself, which implicated him more.

The nurse searched his eyes, and something in her gaze softened. "You still kinda care about her, huh?"

Dan's face twitched. "How about you stop trying to read between lines that aren't there."

She fell silent as she used a sponge to dab at the burn on his chest. The ointment she spread on was clear and cold. "Whatever you say."

His skin and muscles twitched at the feeling, pain inspiring his grimace. For a time, they remained silent. Then he said, "I don't want you to go to the news and tell them what I said yesterday."

The odd nurse named Karma suddenly gave him a genuine smile as her eyes flickered to his. "Why? Because she'd become the target of all your adoring fans? And you'd be a liar?"

The blood-encrusted mess of his face made him seem even more demonic than usual. "Do not test me, woman. I own a percentage of this hospital's stocks. I can get you fired and blacklisted."

Her scarred lips stretched even farther in merriment. "Aww, you do have a heart for her. That's cute." She pulled a roll of gauze out of her pocket and tore off a piece, dabbing at some of the extra ointment around his wound. "Don't worry; I believe in patient confidentiality. And even if I didn't, the government does. Now let that stuff dry before put your shirt back on, Casanova."

Dan grumbled. He sat there, feeling as if she had played a game on him. Valerie was a sore spot for too many reasons—that did not necessarily mean he cared for her.

Did it?

As the nurse began to apply a bandage to his temple once more, she swept back his hair and said, "About this face of yours. You might have a little trouble growing the edge of your eyebrow back, but your skin will look much better in a few weeks—a little discoloration and scarring, at the worst."

Her honesty did little for him. He did not even look up at her. "And my eye?"

"The swelling should go down by the end of the day. I've got some drops I want you to use starting tonight. Your vision shouldn't be affected, but let me know if it's blurry at your next appointment."

He carefully touched his chest, feeling that the ointment had dried. He grimaced as he pulled his shirt back on, his face shadowed. "Yeah, yeah." This woman was part of his increasing conspiracy to hide the true events at that slum restaurant. That meant he did not want to piss her off too much.

But now, his brain was swirling with the concept that perhaps he did in fact still have a soft spot for one Valerie Gray.

The nurse handed him a card. "I'll see you two days from now. Stick around the hospital for a bit, and I can get your prescription filled right. Do you have a way to kill some time?"

He grabbed onto the appointment card. "That's one way to put it," he muttered, touching his new bandage on his face and disliking how she'd caught a few of his sensitive hairs in the adhesive edge. "I need to know the room number of a patient here—Damon Gray."

The nurse gave him a surprised look. "I'm not allowed to give out information on another patient unless you've been cleared by the family or patient himself."

"Dammit, don't give me the two-step on this. I know who he is just as much as you do, and I need to talk to him."

"You're not seriously going to harass her father too, are you?" the nurse deadpanned.

Dan hissed, "No. I owe him something. That's it."

The woman searched his unbandaged eye and hummed in suspicion. "Owe him what?"

"His sweater back," the man snapped, pointing to the brown sweater he'd set on the coat rack. "Jesus, you want my whole life story?"

"No." She rolled her eyes. It seemed for a second she wouldn't say anything. And then, "….It's Room 203. Don't make me regret telling you—sign in at the desk so it at least looks official, okay? And if you do anything to raise his blood pressure, you'll be answering to me."


One bandaged and disgruntled Dan followed the signs to room 203, still grumbling under his breath about nurse Karma Jones and her crusade to make him either fall in love with Valerie, or drag his pride through the mud. He didn't know which was worse. He knew only that her manners were even uglier than her scarred face, which made him self-conscious about his scarred face, which made him think about Valerie all over again in a mix of absolute fury and loss.

He clenched Damon Gray's sweater in his hands, then realized he was wrinkling it. "Dammit," he muttered. "I don't like Valerie. Fuckin' ruined everything."

He found her father's room and then knocked on the door.

"Yes?" came a muffled, weak voice.

"I'm here," Dan said shortly, wanting nothing more than to leave. "I've got your sweater."

"And my billfold?"

"And your billfold."

There was a pause, then, "What are you waiting for? Come in."

Dan closed his eyes in a quick attempt to rein in his irritation, and he opened the door. The private hospital room was sparse with two beds and a curtain between them. On the first bed was a skeletal, old white man sleeping while hooked to a dozen tubes—the sight of which disturbed Dan. He looked away and moved forward.

Beyond the curtain, one Damon Gray sat up in bed, a book on his lap. It appeared one of the nurses had pinned back the empty left sleeve of his robe. His voice turned dry, "Don't mind the roommate. He's been in a coma since he hit stage 4." Then looked Dan up and down with his singular, sharp eye. "Don't suppose you'd know what real suffering is, though."

The boy rolled his eyes, and he tossed the brown sweater onto the bed, right into Damon's lap. "Your problems aren't my fault, old man."

"I beg to differ." The man winced as he set down his book and then reached out to the sweater. His dark hands had gnarled knuckles from hard work. "Get my billfold out of this thing. I wanna check something, and I can't reach it."

Dan stood there.

"I said, help me," the man said more forcefully this time. "Or are you too much of a show pony to do that?"

Dan's good eye twitched. Then he moved forward and snarled quietly, "I'm not a hospital aid." He grabbed the billfold from one of the sweater pockets and tossed it into the man's lap. "I'm just here to return your stuff and get my jacket back."

The father's lips stretched. He somewhat liked ordering around Dan Masters. "How about you get me a glass of water too, young man. Your face looks a little shot, but you can still move better than I can."

A murderous darkness overcame Dan. "What did I just say?" he hissed to Damon, his face flushing in self-consciousness.

"That you're in debt to me for letting you borrow my nice, new sweater?"

This time, when Dan clenched his fist, his knuckles cracked. "Get it yourself."

The tension between the two increased as Damon smiled without humor. "Hn. You're right. With your eye all bandaged up, you're probably not used to the change in depth perception. You're just trying to save yourself from embarrassment."

That did it. "I am not an invalid," Dan snarled, his eye lighting with fire. "Unlike you, lying in bed with a missing arm and eye. What did you do, anyway—piss off your own daughter too much?"

The man raised his stump of an arm merrily. "This is an old war wound, son. I fought in the Gulf. Something your green ass wouldn't know about because you're too busy harassing girls." He turned his head to eye the boy. "Don't think I don't know what happened yesterday."

Dan's handsome face flushed again. "Well, I—"

"—What I don't understand," Damon cut in, "was why you told media it was an accident."

He looked away, feeling strange about the question that haunted him now at every turn. "Dammit, I just want my jacket back," he snapped. "Where is it?"

"I'll tell you after you tell me what I want to know." That old Gray stubbornness seemed to be just as strong in him as it was in Valerie. He leaned back on his pillows and eyed the boy.

Dan raised his arms in irritation. "What does it matter? You're obviously too poor for a lawsuit. I'd get hospital gowns and bills in return. I just want you all out of my life."

Damon tilted his head in thought, as if having ignored Dan's response. "Did she offer you something? Seemed awfully quiet about it yesterday."

The enigma who was Damon Gray seemed innocent and feeble on the outside—but every word he spoke was calculated with intention.

Dan had a terrible feeling his father and Damon would get along just fine.

He suddenly thought back to his run-in with Valerie in the alley, the pleasant smell of her damp hair as he'd leaned in—

"It's none of your damn business," he hissed to the father. "The important thing is, you should be weeping at my feet for not throwing her in jail."

Damon's eye narrowed. "You think if you did, I'd be any less proud of her for protecting herself?"

The boy fell silent, again faced with the concept that someone thought his crude flirtations with Valerie were wrong.

The father said, "Now tell me what she offered you, and I'll tell you where your jacket is."


Later, Dan shoved through the doors of the Masters Mansion, face still lit with fury. "Father!" he called. "I must speak with you. Right now."

Vlad was sitting at his desk in his office, working on reviewing various city bills that needed his signature. "Hello, Dan," he called distractedly. "I'm busy."

His son appeared around the corner, slamming open the office door. "Not for this," he said. "There is a patient at Amity Park General who must absolutely be moved to the shittiest care facility in the country."

"Hmm." The father did not look up from his work. "That sounds like an abuse of stakeholder power, unless they're a criminal."

"He's the family of that bitch who burned my face—is that not enough?"

Vlad paused, realizing the level of Dan's fury. Then he looked up and pulled off his reading glasses, sighing. "Since you've been in one of those breeding grounds for illness, why don't you go get a shower. Then return to me afterwards, and we'll discuss your issue further."

Dan's fist clenched. "Dammit, don't give me your business bullshit. You're just trying to divert me."

"And you're obviously in one of your moods again. Go and come back when you can form sentences without curse words."

"I can't even take a shower yet." He waved to his face and chest.

"A bath, then. It'd be good for you."

Dan pressed his lips tightly together. And then he huffed and turned away, grumbling under his breath. He slammed the office door shut to make a statement.

And then a sneaky, mischievous smile stretched Vlad's lips, and he returned to his work.


A short while later, Dan returned to his father's office. His dark hair was wet in places. He wore only loose, black pants, his torso naked and still shining with water. He still seemed angry enough that water rose from him in steam. "I've bathed," he said flatly. "Now will you listen to me?"

Vlad was packing away papers into his briefcase at that moment. "What is it that has made you so irritable?"

"The Gray family," Dan said shortly. "I want to make them go away."

The father raised a silver brow in amusement. "Go away?"

"They're infuriating and not worth the air they breathe. Call up all their loans right now."

Vlad clicked his briefcase shut. "Out of curiosity, I did check their credit with us. Perhaps you should have more sympathy, my son."

"Since when have you ever cared about people like them?" Dan hissed, narrowing his good eye as he leaned over the desk. His hair dripped water onto the rich wood. "Usually, you're all for revenge."

Vlad frowned. "Good grief, Daniel. Burying political rivals is different than destroying a bankrupt family. Have some class."

"Did any of your political rivals ever permanently scar your face?" Dan retorted hotly. "And stop calling me by my full name like I'm 10." There was an unsteady fear in him. He just wanted all thoughts of Valerie and her father to go away. He wanted to pretend he had never met her.

The father gave him a flat look. "I would have more sympathy for you if you hadn't harassed her."

"Harassed?" he repeated, his voice rising. "I complimented her! I gave that bitch more attention than she was ever worth, and you think that's harassment?"

"I have a feeling your compliments were not perceived as such," Vlad said dryly. "You're terribly vindictive and oppressive when you don't get your way, do you realize that?"

Dan slammed his hand on the desk. "They said I could have permanent scarring from this."

"And a poor girl lost her home and her job because of you. So I've remedied it."

"You what?"

Just then, Valerie herself appeared through the door, wearing old jeans and a tank top, her thick hair held back by a bandana. In her hands were a mop and a bucket. "Mayor Masters, where do you want me to—"

And then her voice trailed off as her surprised gaze landed upon Dan, who had immediately stiffened and turned around.

"You?" he whispered.

Vlad began to smile brightly, his delight so genuine as to rival sunshine. "Ah, yes—you two have met before. Dan, you'll be pleased to know that Valerie Gray is now in our service as our housemaid, given her need for honest work."

"What?" Dan said incredulously, turning around to face him.

The older man stood up, grabbing his suitcase. "Unfortunately, I have a pressing meeting at the court house, last-minute. I'll be gone for several hours, so I assume that you, my son, will be able to show Miss Gray around. Do try to avoid a lawsuit."

The mop nearly fell from Valerie's slack grip, which echoed the lines of Dan's jaw.

The son sputtered for words. "You must be kidding."

"I'm afraid not. Especially about that lawsuit part—I just won't have it." He grabbed his overcoat and began to head for the door.

Valerie looked like a deer in the headlights, suddenly feeling fooled. She nearly ran after Vlad. "No, no, no," she begged. "I'm working for you. Please stay here."

"My dear," Vlad said, "your salary is coming out of his inheritance, so one could easily argue you work for him as well. Now play nice, you two."

The office door shut behind him.

Valerie, very slowly, turned around to Dan, as if expecting a tantrum.

For a time, there was great silence between them, with Dan caught in surprise, Valerie flushed in horror at Dan's half-undressed state, and the both of them frozen at the implications of the other's presence.

Dan stared at the woman for whom he still felt great attraction, and his own traitorous emotions stirred his anger. He flung some of the books off his father's desk and said, voice halted, "Pick those up." And he turned around to walk away as papers fluttered about him, eyes dark.

Valerie gave a huff of indignation, shaking off her initial horror. "Excuse me?" she called. "I'm here to clean, not act like a slave. You made that mess for the hell of it, so you pick it up."

He inhaled sharply and turned around. His body shadowed over her. "I don't think you realize the level of my irritation with you," he said. "My face hurts. My body hurts. My reputation is being questioned. I can't even get a normal shower. All because of you."

Her eyes lit hot with fire. "Oh, don't even try to give me that static. I already said I'm sorry."

"You didn't," he said with a snarl. "You begged me not to sue, and I gave you far more mercy than you deserve. In the meantime, you've turned everyone against me, and I'm permanently disfigured because you simply couldn't handle words."

She slammed the mop down hard on the tile. "Words?" she hissed out. "You think harassing me for sex while stealing my money and kicking me out of my house is just words?"

His good eye narrowed at her in fury. She'd struck a nerve. "You—"

She straightened her chin and cut in, "—I don't care how much money you have or how hot you think you are, or how many lawyers you got." Her voice tightened. "You've already ruined my life enough. And Mayor Masters has at least given me a job that pays decent. So I'm not going to let you ruin this for me, and I'm not gonna put up with your shit either."

Valerie's teal eyes were lit with fire.

Like this, their faces were close.

For a second or two, Dan dared to think that Valerie's lips looked kissable, even in his revulsion at her unbridled spirit.

The wayward heir of the Masters empire searched her eyes. "Well then, Miss Gray," he warned softly. "Be prepared to work hard for that salary of yours."

She scoffed. "Your dad already gave me the list of what I need to do today," she hissed quietly. "So don't think you can just order me around."

He raised his uninjured brow. "You're not even in uniform to work here, much less worthy to scrub our floors."

"…Uniform?" she deadpanned in suspicion.

Dan's lips stretched. "Oh, Valerie. How about I make another deal with you—one that will guarantee me not to...add to your work list."

The woman narrowed her eyes. "In exchange for what?"

"In exchange for wearing a rather standard uniform," he said, voice nonchalant. "All maids under 35 wear them around here. Especially if they're from France."

It took her a second to catch up to his insinuations. When she did, she snapped. "You've gotta be kidding me," she cried. "A French maid outfit?"

He tilted his head, his lips stretching even further into a demonic smile. "If I have to be miserable," he said in dark delight, "so do you."


A/N: And thus ends Part 1 of this human!AU saga, which will likely have 3-ish parts in its entirety. Again, this is a birthday present for Lady Audentium, who has poured several hours of time into drawing Deliverance fanart, including this collection's cover image. She requested a plot intertwining a human Dan with a semi-Beauty and the Beast theme, Dan as Vlad's rich son, shameless Dan/Val shenanigans, and her OC Karma Jones. Happy birthday, Lady Audentium! I hope you like this story!

This story also represents the first appearance of a truly human!Dan in the Deliverance collection, way outside the confines of the TUE universe. I had a fun time trying to translate TUE Dan's personality into a non-homicidal modern man, so I hope you all enjoyed it too. If this mini-thread goes well, I'll consider including other AU stories I have in mind.

Please review with your thoughts, constructive criticisms, ideas, and questions! Thank you!