This was a problem. A massive problem. And Kenny didn't have the slimmest clue how to go about fixing it. His kids were involved in Cartman's fucking schemes, unknowing participants, yes. But still, that was just way too close for these kids to be near that psychopath. He groaned, leaning back in his office chair and beating his hands against his head.

He didn't know how to tackle this. He couldn't confront any of them, couldn't risk it slipping out and getting back around somehow. He couldn't lie to Kyle and pull out some tale about how Mysterion had tracked him down and told him what was happening. He sure as hell couldn't go straight to the source and beat down Cartman for potentially risking the kids' lives, that'd just endanger them further knowing the fat asshole. Kenny let out another long-winded groan, leaning back forward and placing his head on his desk. This had been his entire morning and kept him up most of the night. He was so fucking tired, just didn't want to deal with any of this.

His office phone rang and he let out an irritated sigh, blindly fumbling his hand over to grab the device and haul it up to his ear. "What?" he muttered mostly into the desk.

"We're out of water," came Clyde's bored tone.

"Then go buy some, you have our credit card," he reminded him tiredly, propping himself up and rubbing his eyes. "Just hit J-mart. Bring some of the kids to help carry it."

"Well how much am I supposed to buy?" he demanded.

Kenny rolled his eyes. Clyde just couldn't seem to do anything without his specific directions. "Get ten cases. That'll keep us stocked for the week at least. I'll go fuckin' hit the store this weekend and buy some more."

"Kay," he said simply before hanging up. Kenny blew his bangs out of his face as he placed the phone back onto the receiver. He had shit he really should be doing; Cataloguing the pantry, going over bills, double checking with Bebe on some of their donation drives… But he just couldn't seem to get himself to do it. He was just too fucking worried. It was easy to shove himself into action when he was Mysterion, when his entire persona reflected the need for justice to be done. But now? Boring old Kenny McCormick in his oversized t-shirt and ratted jeans just couldn't seem to care less. The last month had been such a strain on his nerves. Worrying about the kids, worrying about keeping himself hidden but still getting enough sleep to function during the day, worried about Kyle.

He pouted at the thought, twisting his lips and shifting uncomfortably. Worrying about everything to do with Kyle when it came right down to it. Aside from the pure hell the redhead was going through, there was the matter of just what he was doing with him. He couldn't help but wonder just what would happen once Kyle finally knew just who it was he was macking on, if he'd be chill with the notion or do the typical Kyle-esque freakout that he'd been making out with one of his best friends. Knowing him, it could so easily go either way. Regardless of the end result, Kenny did know this much: He was going to get punched. Because no doubt Kyle would lose his shit that Kenny of all people had hidden something like this from him, made him question so much.

He sighed, shaking his head. Just too much stress over it all, but it was an element that Kenny definitely didn't want to omit. If he had to admit it to himself, the curiosity over being with Kyle had hung over his head for years. Kyle never seemed to take notice, only a few times questioning in that time why the blonde had suddenly gotten so touchy with him before just accepting it as part of their routine. He'd held off for a good year after Kyle finally meandered back home from Denver, thinking that Kyle would still be emotionally distraught over breaking off a long-term relationship. The reminder made his lip curl into a snarl. He almost still couldn't wrap his head around it, how Kyle had divulged something he'd kept so private to Mysterion, not even knowing who it was he was addressing. It'd kept him up nearly all that night, resisting every bone in his body screaming to go get Stan and take a nice little roadtrip to smash that French fuck's face straight into the pavement for what he'd done. But Kyle would never forgive him for that, no doubt just wanting to straight-up leave that past behind him as well as he could, regardless of the way it still obviously haunted him.

His phone rang again and he frowned, snagging it off the hook. "I said ten cases, Clyde, goddamn."

"…That's great, Hon but that doesn't help me file an invoice," Bebe's annoyed tone broke through.

Kenny cringed, "Sorry, Dude. Long day."

She laughed, "It's only noon."

"I know, that's why it's so damn long," he rolled his eyes. "What's up?"

She paused, Kenny hearing papers shuffling around in the background. "I got an invoice for the new computer that Token bought me… Since we didn't pay do I file that under donations or…?"

He paused, looking up in thought. "Uh… stick it under 'miscellaneous'. We'll figure it out later."

"Gotcha-" she paused for a moment, Kenny raising his brow. "Trouble just walked in the door," she chuckled. "And it looks like he's had a rough day. Thanks, Sweetie."

She hung up and Kenny blinked, doing the same and shaking his head, reaching over to grab his Coke can. He paused with a knock at his door, whipping his head towards it. "S'open!"

It cracked open, a frazzled redhead poking through and staring at him guiltily. "Hi."

Kenny smiled bright as the sun, "Hey, how're you-" he paused, narrowing his eyes and focusing on the center of his face. "Ky. What the fuck happened to your nose?"

Kyle blushed, touching the swollen skin and wincing as he stepped through the door. "Is uh… is it that noticeable?" he asked quietly.

"Wouldn't have said something if it wasn't," he frowned, getting out of his seat and walking around the desk, bending down to be eye level with him and cocking his head at the feature. "What happened?"

Kyle hesitated, looking down embarrassedly. "…Cartman," he admitted softly, backing up a bit at the sudden rage flaring through Kenny's eyes.

"Fuckin' Christ, let's go kill him!" he shouted, moving to get to the door before Kyle grabbed his arm.

The accountant shut his eyes and took a long breath. "Ken. No. Just… just no. I don't want to deal with him right now. I had to get out of there though, so I came here… hope that's okay," he winced.

"Dude, dude, dude," he cooed, poison in his tone dropping instantaneously. "Of course it is, you can come over here whenever the fuck you want. Hell, please move your job to this building so I don't have to keep worrying now that Cartman's beating the shit out of you," he said, voice once again picking up a dangerous snarl.

He pouted, "Well I wouldn't go that far… it's just my nose," he shrugged. "Was kind of my fault anyway. I said… some really stupid stuff," he said tiredly, looking far too worse for wear for how early in the day it was.

Kenny sighed, "You wanna go sit outside and smoke? Looks like you need a pack and a half."

"Try a carton," he smiled meekly. Kenny returned the expression, turning him and leading him back out into the main arena towards the front doors. Kenny was boiling with rage, wondering just what it was that was goddamn said. Wondering how long he could strangle Cartman and get him right on the cusp of death so he could let him take a breath and then go at it again. His hand clenched around his shoulder protectively, resisting every urge in his body to just turn him and kiss him out of his misery right here on the shelter floor.

They stepped out into the sunshine and Kyle took a deep breath, glancing around aimlessly. Kenny shook him lightly, "You all right?"

The redhead nodded softly, "Yeah… I'm fine. All things considered at least," he murmured, allowing Kenny to move him towards an array of picnic benches around the side of the building. They both took a seat on opposite sides, staring at each other for a moment before Kyle's eyes fell to the wooden surface. "I'm sorry," he muttered.

Kenny cocked his head in confusion, reaching into his jeans pocket for his cigarettes. "For what?"

"For coming here just because I feel like shit," he shrugged, digging through his workbag for his own pack. The both of them quickly lit up their respective sticks, blowing out their initial smoke aimlessly.

Ken frowned, "Dude. Don't goddamn apologize. You know you can come see me when you feel shitty. Or happy. Fuck I don't care how you feel, you can always come see me."

"I feel like every time I see you now it's because I'm having an issue," he admitted sheepishly. "Given… that's been me for the past month plus so… not too surprising how the odds are turning out."

"Exactly," Kenny said thickly. "Personally, I like the fact that I get to periodically know for sure that you're alive and haven't literally drowned in paperwork, so I'm cool with the circumstances bein' like they are."

Kyle gave him a small smile at last and he chuckled. "No such luck… But damn do I wish it some days. Today is definitely one of those days," he sighed, taking a long drag and letting the menthol smoke seep through his lips. Kenny watched with smoldering eyes, forcing himself to inhale his own to resist some certain urges popping up inappropriately. He inwardly pouted. A part of him couldn't fucking wait until Kyle knew everything. Then, should he be cool with the notion, there'd be no problem with him shoving him down on this very table and indulging his most recent addiction to take Kyle's mind far off the events of the day. Far more of a hook than the damn nicotine, that was for sure. Kyle stared back at him for a moment, biting his bottom lip gently. "Can I ask a… really weird question?"

"Weirdness is my specialty," he smirked.

Kyle cleared his throat awkwardly, looking down with heavy eyes. "If something happened and I was killed, what would you do?"

Kenny jerked back with the brute suddenness of such a quandary. "I'm fuckin' sorry, what?" he pressed.

"If I died… because I was killed, what would you do?" he asked again, more timidly than before.

"Kyle, holy shit," he gaped at him. "Dude I don't wanna think about-" he stopped as green eyes flickered back up to stare at him sharply.

"Just answer," he pleaded.

His shoulders sank, unable to imagine such a scenario. Unwilling entirely to allow himself to comprehend that potential reality. But Kyle was sitting there, waiting on an answer, the cherry of his cigarette leaving a soft glow against his cheek, a bright red spark alit in his eyes from the reflection. He gulped. "If you were killed?" Kyle nodded. "Then someone else would be dying, too," he murmured. He set his lips firmly, "Did Cartman threaten to kill you?"

"Not in words, no," he shook his head. "But… I don't think it's far out of his scope…" he trailed off with a sigh. "I'm sorry. That was… a stupid thing to ask I'm just… really on edge right now," he said softly. "I mean, I have been. But him hitting me just… I don't know it just kind of really made it all sink in, ya know?" he winced. "Like it didn't at first, but after I got cleaned up and on the drive over here I kind of zoned out and… and it's like it was this fucking door opening," he gestured around aimlessly. "Like I've been saying it over and over for a month and I even got fucking assaulted but it didn't really sink in until he was the one who hit me. It just got way too real way too quickly I guess."

Kenny's heart was breaking, unable to think of just what he could even begin to say that would offer some degree of comfort to his… boyfriend? He frowned. No. No Kyle was Mysterion's boyfriend or whatever. He was just Kenny. Plain old best buddy Kenny that had never gotten his chance with the redhead across from him. "Ky… Bud," he started slowly, moving over to sit beside him and rub his shoulder comfortingly. "I won't let him hurt you."

"You're way too late for that," he smirked sadly. "And I don't expect you to protect me or whatever. I don't want you to. I just… I don't know." The tiny grin fell and he took a deep breath, "Ken, there's more to this money thing than I've been telling you. And I feel really shitty since so much of it is yours."

The blonde shrugged, taking another hit. "Dude if you don't feel comfortable telling me then you don't have to. I trust you over the whole thing."

"I know, but-"

"You two are setting a shit example for the kids," a teasing tone popped up. They both shot their heads over, cocking their brows at Stan meandering towards them and taking a seat on the opposite side of their bench.

Kenny smirked, "Shouldn't you be out solvin' mysteries?"

Stan shrugged innocently, "I make my own schedule… when it's lunchtime," he added in a mutter. He glanced up at Kyle and tilted his head, "I called your office and Butters said you were here… I'm going to assume that it has to do with your nose," his tone fell darkly.

Kyle took a deep breath and nodded. "Yeah. Yeah there was… an incident," he said slowly, glancing down at the fiery cigarette clutched between his fingers. "Why uh, why are you looking for me?"

Stan hesitated, glancing at Kenny who backed up a bit. "You need me to scram for a few?" Ken asked. "'Cause if so I can go-"

"No," Kyle said hurriedly, fingers snaring his sleeve and keeping him seated. "It's fine. What is it, Stan?"

The detective cleared his throat, glancing down and tapping his finger on the picnic table. "Kyle, I had to tell Murphy what I know about your problem," he murmured, feeling the air turning tense on a dime. "I didn't really have a choice. It's too personal, a good cop can't shoulder that kind of thing on their own," he winced, glancing up to see Kyle staring at him in horror. "But don't worry," he assured him hurriedly, "Murphy would never say anything. He just wants to be sure I didn't… overlook anything or that I'm making the right choice. And he says that from what you've told me I made the right one keeping it quiet for now. He's on your side, Dude."

The redhead glanced between the both of them, taking a shaking breath and nodding. "Okay. Fine. But…" he leaned his head back and groaned, tapping his filter on the table rapidly. He tilted his head back down, the end of his rope finally prevalent in his eyes. "I think I need to tell you both what's been happening," he finally said quietly. "Because… it's gotten a lot worse."

"Ky," Kenny started softly, "If you don't want to, no one is forcing you to."

"I know, I know," he held up his hand lazily. "But it involves your money and Stan's got the best chance here of putting something together… So long as we agree that this information stays here," he looked between the both of them, getting sharp, affirmative nods from the both of them and two sets of attentive blue eyes. He shifted uncomfortably at their undivided attention and looked down again. "Cartman is stealing money from the charities to run a crime ring," he said quietly. "I don't know who all is in the ring, I don't even know all of what they do. But it's a widespread problem. The only thing I can assume is he chose to take from the charities because it's a cash-only operation, so it's easier to snag from the profits."

Stan took an angry breath, bringing a hand down to rap against his knee. "How do you know it's widespread?"

He let out a small, sad huff. "Well just last night I discovered a whole new slew of names that he's swiped to expand the operation. But mostly… because he's storing money in Europe. In my name."

The detective froze, Kenny just staring at him brokenheartedly. "Your name?" Kenny repeated. He hated having to run this all down again, but it was beyond necessary considering the circumstance.

Kyle nodded, "He stole my information, set up the accounts posing as me. He's been stealing identities of missing persons in cold case files, set up some of his fucking lackeys with their info and put them on as my 'co-signer'," he air-quoted. He shook his head in disbelief, "He managed to keep his name off of absolutely everything."

Stan leaned forward, folding his hands and resting his chin atop them, staring at him intensively. "How does he get the money? Don't you count it out?"

He nodded, "I do. But he has a little friend in the bank. Some fucking bitch who takes the money from my deposit and diverts it to one of his foreign accounts. So she tells me the entire drop was made, but omits the portion being transferred elsewhere."

"Jesus," he breathed out, looking down and shaking his head. "Any idea why he got you assaulted before… this?" he gestured towards his nose.

Kyle frowned, "No. That's one of the few things I can't figure out. He sent two guys in and they were doing something, but I guess I got home too early and they ambushed me. They weren't trying to kill me, they were just trying to knock me out, so I interrupted something I guess."

"Maybe they were tryin' t' steal somethin'," Kenny offered with a shrug.

"Maybe," he agreed. "But I didn't find anything missing, I've torn apart my fucking house time and again looking for like, cameras. Since he stuck one in my office I wouldn't be surprised if I found one in my goddamn living room… but I can't track anything down, so I'm just not sure of what they were doing there…" his shoulders fell a bit and he took the last drag of his cigarette before snubbing out the cherry onto the cedar. "They were… in the office today," he said quietly, Kenny and Stan jerking a bit and watching him worriedly.

"Did they hurt you?" Kenny demanded.

Kyle shrugged, tucking stray curls behind his ear. "They just kind of… cornered me in. Cartman did all the talking and whatever… But the one who tried to choke me, I think he wants to hurt me again. Maybe because I kicked him so much. Maybe because... the guy I'm working with," he said slowly, "saved me. But either way, he doesn't look very happy with me."

Stan tapped his finger on the desk, "Kyle I don't want you alone," he said quietly.

"I won't be," he promised softly.

The detective's face fell darkly, "No. I don't mean with him. I want you with someone you can trust."

Kyle's eyes flared defensively, "I am with someone I can trust, Stan!" he hissed. "We went over it and I'm not fucking going through it again!"

Kenny glanced between the two of them and cleared his throat. "So… mind keeping me in on the loop or do I need to sashay away?"

Stan shook his head slowly, "Kyle's decided it's a good idea to be working with a vigilante."

Ken turned to look down at the younger and elbow him softly, "Not the smartest of choices."

"Actually it is," he said quietly. "I certainly wouldn't know as much as I do if I was working with, say, a cop," he glared up at Stan who returned the expression.

"Kyle, I just don't want you to turn around and this guy use you as like… a symbol of the victims he saves or something," Stan waved his hands around a bit.

Kenny somehow, surprising to even himself, managed to keep his infuriated scowl well under control. Kyle, however, was not so subtle, teeth gritting and fingers clenching around the edge of the table. "Stan," he said sharply. "You don't know him."

"Neither do you," he replied coldly. "What if the mask comes off and you find out you've been working with a criminal this entire time? Maybe not to the extent of what Fatass is pulling, but some guy who runs around taking money from old people or something?"

"He's not like that," Kyle glowered.

Stan rolled his eyes, shooting his gaze to Kenny. "Ken, tell him he's goddamn stupid for working with some anonymous guy in a cape."

Kenny looked down at Kyle and his lips tugged upwards. "A cape huh?" He nudged him. "Kyle, do you have a danger kink and you never told me?" he cooed. He grinned wider at Kyle's face bursting with color, diverting his eyes back to the table and glaring at the sanded surface. "I'm not hearing a nooooo," he sang.

"Kenny, shut up," he snapped.

Kenny flashed a shit-eating grin to Stan staring at his best friend in nauseated shock. "Staaannnn," Ken continued on, relishing in the unbeknownst victory he was seizing over the moment. That'd teach Stan to put his goddamn morals into question. "Stan I think our little Kyle has a crush," he pinched Kyle's cheek, laughing at him snarling and smacking his hand away dramatically.

Stan observed the way Kyle was tensed, cheeks beaming red as his hair, eyes flittering around nervously at the accusation. His stomach dropped, shaking his head. "Kyle… Is he right?" he asked quietly, voice sturdy and stern.

Kyle cleared his throat, "We're working together to solve a case," he forced out.

"Uh huh," Kenny smirked, leaning his head in his palm and turning a bit to face him. "And just what are you doing in your off-time?"

"Ken, shut up," he repeated.

"Oh my god," Stan bemoaned, pinching the bridge of his nose and shaking his head. "Godfuckingdammit, Kyle. You know goddamn better than this! You don't know who this fucker is! What if he's a sex trafficker or something?!"

Kyle rolled his eyes, "He's not a fucking sex trafficker, Stan, Jesus fucking Christ. I mean he hasn't even fucking pressured me into… anything." He trailed off and slapped his hand over his eyes. "Goddammit."

Kenny burst into obnoxiously loud laughter, putting his arm around his shoulders and shaking him. "Awww Kyle! Look at you! Goin' for the mystery man, I'm so proud."

"Knock it off," he muttered, allowing the blonde to continue shaking him, just far too tired to fight his grabby touch at this point.

Stan shook his head angrily, "Kyle, you're being fucking stupid!" Kenny's laughter stopped abruptly and the both of them looked up at the noirette who was on the edge of fuming. "You know so much fucking better than pulling something like this!"

Kyle scowled, "What, do you think you're my mother or some shit?!"

"Seriously," Kenny cocked his brow. "Ky's a grown-ass man, Stan. Let him fuck all the caped guys he wants."

"A grown-ass man wouldn't be cool with working this closely and getting involved with someone they don't know," he drawled.

"Stan, back off of him," Ken warned, feeling Kyle tensing under his hold. "He knows what he's doing."

"Does he though?" he hitched his brow. "Kyle, what's this guy's eye color? Favorite food? Fucking name? Hometown?-"

"Here," he interjected with a point at the man. "He's from here. He's our age. Boom, good enough for me." He held up his hands with a sneer. "I don't fucking owe you an explanation or a reasoning or anything, Stanley. I'm allowed to be involved with whoever the fuck I want."

Kenny nodded in agreement, though the back part of his mind was screaming bloody murder at him. Why did he have to push? Now if this was all wrapped up and he and Kyle became public with his regular persona, Stan would know in a goddamn instant who the vigilante was. Oh well. That could be figured out down the road. Too late to back the fuck out now. "Well, I'm happy for ya, Ky," he drawled, looking back at the redhead. "Havin' someone right now is a good idea considering how shit things are for ya."

"Exactly," he said thickly.

Stan rolled his eyes and shook his head. "You two are fucking morons," he said irritably. "Kyle, you're in enough danger, this isn't a good move."

"It's the best move I've had in six years, Stan," he said exhaustedly. Kenny's heart pounded wildly at the statement, fighting like a goddamn gladiator to keep the smile from beaming onto his face and blinding all those within a two-mile proximity.

Stan scoffed, "So what, you into gimps now?"

"Oh don't fucking start with me," his tone dropped flatly. "I very highly doubt he's on that end of the spectrum." Kenny contained his snort. At least Kyle knew that much. The redhead sighed tiredly, slumping in Kenny's hold. "Stan, please. I have enough going on right now. Don't do this to me," he begged. "Just be happy that I'm not with… with another fucking Christophe," his face twisted. "It's weird, I fucking know, but just… let me figure it out on my own," he winced.

Kenny nodded along with his words. "Seriously, Stan. We've been tellin' him for years to snag himself a guy, he finally did. I say we take our victory and move along. You know, focus on the fact that Cartman's wanting to kill him," he said through gritted teeth. "That seems a little more important than who's in his damn pants."

"He's not in my pants!" Kyle protested, smacking Kenny's chest with the back of his hand.

"Yet," Kenny finished with a sly smirk.

Kyle glanced up at him with another blush and rolled his eyes. "Yeah. Yet."

"Atta boy!" he smirked, shaking him again, trying desperately to direct some flowing blood onto some other activity than what it seemed to be trying to go for. He settled and sighed, squeezing him lightly. "Ky, what can we do? You want us to go smash in Cartman's face?"

"We'd happily do so," Stan said coolly.

He looked between the both of them and shook his head. "No. No what I want the two of you to do is keep what I told you to yourselves. Unless… you know… I end up dead or missing," he said quietly. "It sounds overdramatic, but I really don't think the possibility is that far-reaching."

"Not from the way you're talkin', no," Kenny agreed sadly. "We won't say a thing, Ky."

The redhead glanced to his best friend, staring at the table studiously. "Stan?" he asked softly, getting blue eyes to shoot back up and meet his gaze. "Please. You told Murphy enough. At least for now."

Stan bit his lip, "It's someone you work with," he said quietly.

Kyle cocked his head, "Whaddya mean?"

"The name you gave me. It's someone you work with. Someone with black hair and brown eyes. And olive skin. It's someone that holds a grudge against you."

Kyle and Kenny's breath both hitched, getting only one clear picture in their mind: Larson.

He nodded slowly, biting his lip. "All right. Thank you."

"You know who it is?" he questioned.

"Yeah. Yeah I know exactly who it is. Now I just need to figure out where to go from here," he murmured, snagging his phone and glancing at the time. He let out a long sigh. "I need to get back to work. Last thing I need is for Cartman to send someone to 'escort' me back to my office," he rolled his eyes, shrugging off Kenny's hold and getting to his feet, the other two following suit.

Stan nodded, "Yeah, same here… You gonna be okay? Want me to tag along with you and just call it in as patrol?"

Kyle shook his head, "No. I'm going to just stay in my office and call fucking Butters in if anyone comes in that I don't trust. Hopefully he'll stay this time," he grumbled, swinging his workbag over his shoulder. He looked between the both of them and smiled sadly. "I'm sorry you two are mixed up in all this shit."

"Not like it's your fault, Man," Kenny shrugged. "Sooner it stops though, the better. For your sake and my kids," he shook his head bitterly.

"Oh, that reminds me," Kyle reached into his bag and pulled out an envelope, handing it to Kenny. "One of your kids helped me with figuring something out. Bryce," he elaborated. He paused and gulped, "Ken, some of them are working with one of Cartman's fronts. They don't know that's what it is, and I was promised by Bryce that they're all safe. They're just there for appearances, so you take that information and do with it what you will. But either way, I owe him some money for helping me, can you give that to him?"

He smiled and nodded, sticking the packet into his pocket. Well that would make it easier to bring it up to the kids at the very least. "No problem…" he paused and took a deep breath. "Look, the minute Cartman comes at you again, call one of us," he gestured between himself and Stan. "We'll get you out."

He snorted, "I appreciate that, but I really don't think it'll make a difference. In fact, knowing Cartman, that'd make it worse." He sighed, backing up and nodding. "I'll talk to you guys later, thanks," he said, waving as he turned and started heading back around the building.

Stan glanced over at Kenny and crossed his arms, "Ken, we need a plan."

"For what?" he asked, breaking from watching Kyle walking off back towards him.

"If something happens to Kyle," he said quietly. "What if he's right? What if Cartman makes him go missing? He's getting closer towards it; the signs are pointing in that direction."

Kenny twisted his lips, "You think even with the bank situation he'd get rid of Ky?"

Stan shrugged, "I hate to admit it, but he's kept his hands goddamn pristine in this whole mess. If he found a way… he'd use it. But I don't know how much Kyle is still keeping to himself." He rolled his eyes, "I'm willing to bet the only person who knows everything is his fucking vigilante boyfriend or whatever the fuck they are."

Kenny took a deep breath, looking back in the direction Kyle walked towards. "Well… maybe. But Kyle trusts him, so I'm sure he'll do what he can to keep him safe."

Stan scoffed, "You willing to bet on that?"

The blonde's eyes smoldered lightly, chest expanding with another long, purposeful breath. "Yeah. I am."