A/N: WARNING: LOTS OF PICTURES. This chapter is going to have quite a few messages between Amber and Mysterious Fucker, soooo internet connection is required and while you're at it, hit that little star and vote. 

Enjoy the chapter!

(PS: It's 3:45 AM. I probably wrote like shit, so please correct anything you don't like.)

I'm sitting next to Lynch's hospital bed when the guys get back.

Sitting, not sleeping, I'd like to point out, because I want to be awake when he opens those lovely bright brown eyes.

"Amber, we're back," Blake says when he walks into the room.

"Uh-huh," I answer and stay in the very comfortable position on the chair.

"Amber?"

"Uhmmm..."

"Amber, you're drooling." Blake sighs.

I sit back up straight at that and wipe the drool away. Oh my god, I was actually sleeping. I was sleeping on the world's most uncomfortable chair. And my back agrees!

"Urghhh," I complain and try stretching myself. "So, you guys are back?" I yawn.

"Yes, that's what I said," Blake sighs again.

"I should probably go back sometime," I mumble. Aunt Tessa and Uncle Anton would be worried sick! Sure, Jessy is a little mad at me, but they're still my legal guardians until I turn eighteen - which is three weeks away.

"Actually, you're going to have to stay here until the North is dealt with," Blake says.

"WHAT?" I ask and I swear that if I was drinking something, I would've spit it out right now.

"Amber, don't be stupid. The North is watching the place. They'll follow you back to Jessica's place and then they'll hurt them. You don't want that, do you?" Blake asks.

I go a little quiet, because the guy is right. As little as I'd like to admit it.

"What about my stuff? I'm getting Blakey-coodies!" I complain and refer to his boxers and sweater that I'm still wearing.

Blake wants to chuckle, but he keeps it in. "Sean has already fetched all your things. They're up in your room," Blake explains.

I nod, "Well, that's convenient."

We stand there. Not sure what to say next with everything that has happened mere hours ago. The crying. The piano. The kiss...

"How's Lynch?" Blake asks.

"Well," I sigh, "still trying to be sleeping beauty over here," I attempt at humor. 

Blake smiles. "We can only hope he wakes up soon," he says.

"Or..." I suggest, "we could get him a true-love kiss from a willing prince," I say and bat my eyes at bleak boy on his silver throne.

"Darling, I'm afraid you're much worse off than Lynch. You got shot right in the brain," Blake chuckles.

I nudge the West-side's gang leader. There's something different between us. Like static air or something - making this moment seem important.

"What is it, Darling?" Blake asks with a shy smirk as I lean in closer.

"You, Blake Bowmen," I say seductively, "need to get me some food."

Blake rolls his eyes and the static air is gone. Thank God. With a vulgar gesture, he's off to the kitchens and I'm left grinning like an idiot in the hospital room.

My phone buzzes - making my smile grow even bigger.

Last night, well more like this morning while I was supposedly sleeping on the living room couch, I was talking to Mysterious Fucker. It wasn't the usual: Be here, be there. Don't go, don't stay. It was an actual conversation.

I told him all about my painting and how much it means, but how I can't seem to do it anymore.

Eager to see what he has to say, I open the message.

I smile at the message, because he's been telling me to get painting again. I know, I have no idea who this guys is, but I mean, it's not like he can be an over-weight forty-year-old man that lives in his mother's house. We danced at Tan Cam's party while I was in my drunk haze.

I quickly respond.

I smile. So much to never responding. This guy's a great listener! And surprisingly, knows just what to say as well.

You have to be smart with this guy. He's not one for revealing too much. I feel like an idiot for literally spilling everything that was bothering me earlier when I though Lynch was Mysterious Fucker. He knows more about what's really going on inside my head that anyone I know at this point.

Of course he's in a bloody gang. I won't be surprised if Miss Sauvage was in a gang! I roll my eyes at that and text back:

He takes a little while to respond - which makes me nervous. I lean back against the chair next to Lynch's hospital bed and wait impatiently for his reply. I swear to God, if he disappears again, I'm going to feel like a bloody idiot-

Not a high-born gang member... This is valuable information to figure out who he is, but I made a promise not to use what he says against him and, well I can't break promises. 

Also, he's an orphan... If he's 'made' into the gang life, he can't be high up in the ranks either. Chances of him even being in an inner-gang is slim, but... But I'm still keeping my eyes open for someone in this house.

Realizing, that neither of us have parents, I suddenly feel a wave of sympathy wash over me.

And I really do hope Mysterious Fucker has made himself a family. Because even though I've lost my parents, I still have Aunt Tessa and Uncle Anton and Jessy and... and... whoever this stranger is, he has nothing...

His words shake me till my core. I'm not good. I try to be kind and not to judge. I try being good, but I fail so much... I almost killed Tan Cam. I wanted to... Jessy hates me... I'm... I...

I respond with something a little lighter:

I ask this, because I need to be sure Mysterious Fucker is on my side. Friend or foe is something I've been asking myself for a while - even when he clearly told me not to go to the Northern ball... 

I wait for an answer, but it doesn't come. Frustrated, I get up, spare Lynch one last lingering look, and then head upstairs to find my new room.

I get to the hallway Blake described and stand before two identical doors that are next to each other. Refreshing my memory, I remember the door on the right should be mine.

Tired, I open the door and head inside. My bags are on the bed, so I know Sean got all my stuff. Feeling weird to still be in Blake's clothes, I zip open my bag and grab some leggings and an over-sized vintage sweater. 

I still feel sticky and dirty from everything that happened last night. Lynch's blood is all over me from where his head was rested on my lap on our way here.

I quickly jump into the shower and try scrubbing my skin off while I'm on there. No amount of soup seems to wash away the sticky feeling of blood.

I turn off the shower when I think I hear something coming from the room.

I pause, realize I'm being paranoid, and then climb out of the shower. Feeling weird to be in a foreign house, I rub my hair a little dry with the towel, wrap myself in the towel and then step outside of the on suit bathroom. Just as someone else opens the door.

"AHHHH!" I yell when the collide makes me slip and trip. 

Of course I fall right on top of Owen Rhodes.

He falls down hard onto his back while I have an equally hard fall on top of his chest. Damn, I saw him without a shirt when I watched his boxing match, but I guess I never exactly felt just how (literally) rock-hard his abs are. 

Owen's own face mirrors my surprise and there's a moment where we stare at each other in disbelief, before I realize I'm just in a towel.

"Eek!" I exclaim and scramble off of him. I have to fight to keep my towel up, because the fall made it go loose.

"OUT!" I yell at Owen.

"I swear, I didn't know you'd be there," he says.

"You heard someone in the bathroom and didn't think that oh, because Amber's things are on the bed, that she'd maybe be using the bathroom?" I ask sarcastically.

Owen rubs at the back of his copper hair. "Uhh, I guess I didn't think... The back door was open and Blake told us to scan the place because one of the Northern thugs might have gotten in. I heard someone in here and well, just assumed..." Owen explains.

I narrow my eyes at him. "Well, take a good look, pretty boy. This is the most you're getting."

Taking my offer literally, Owen starts checking me out. He takes his time at my very, very exposed legs.

"PERV!" I yell and shove him out of the room.

"We should do this again, next time, Goldy!" Owen laughs.

I shut the door and then lock it.

Huh, someone getting in the house?! What an excuse that was to spy on me, I remark to myself.

I walk past the bed to get my leggings and jumper, but then pause and reverse at something that catches my eyes.

There, on the bed, is a bright orange marigold flower with a note.

Slowly, I step closer, pick up the paper and read.

I would be melting at the kind words, if not for the scary, yet somehow comforting fact, that Mysterious Fucker was in this room mere seconds ago...

And since he's not high-born, I know he can't be Owen or Blake. He has to be someone in the house!

Forming a plan, I quickly grab a pen from one of my bags, turn the note around, and scribble my question down - asking when I will get to know who he is.

With a nervous knot in my stomach, I head downstairs and gobble down the breakfast Blake made his chef prepare for me. I thank him, but the feeling in my stomach only grows.

Could be because I ate thirteen pancakes after eating my actual breakfast as well.

But when I get back to my new room, my heart completely drops when there's an answer scribbled under my question.

I quickly sprint out of the room and spot Mysterious Fucker round a corner at the end of the hallway. He's quick, but I've seen enough of his back to know who's suddenly at the very, very top of my suspect list.

I don't