I somehow became the "dream girl" of a cold, dangerous villain straight outta a novel.

Well—technically, it was my mini burritos that did the damage.

Hot, cheap, and hit like a hug.

The year his whole world crashed, Rory Roth showed up scrawny and wrecked, clutching three crumpled bucks.

"Can I get one mini burrito?"

I stood there with a spatula in hand, staring at the kid who'd one day become some criminal mastermind genius.

But right now? No threat, no swagger—just a shivering kid with wary eyes.

"I'm not tryna scam you. If it's not enough, I'll wash dishes, mop floors, help with customers—whatever. Once I make up the rest, c-could you make me a mini burrito then?"

That's when it hit me.

This so-called villain... was just a starving, beat-down kid.

I laughed. "Three bucks is enough. You're even getting shrimp and egg."

Rory blinked, stunned. "Seriously?"

I grabbed a few tortillas from the warmer, slapped them on the griddle. "Seriously. Go grab a seat."

He picked a corner spot, rubbing his hands and watching me like I was magic.

As I flipped the tortillas, I glanced over.

The book said his stare "could slice through steel."

But right now? His school uniform hung off his bony frame. Bruises peeked through the fabric, and cigarette burns ringed his wrists.

Kid had clearly been through hell. And still—he trusted a stranger.

If I hadn't read the novel, I never would've guessed this sweet, starving kid was supposed to grow up into some criminal mastermind... a future serial killer.

I tossed a handful of shrimp on the griddle—they curled fast, turning that soft pink.

The tortillas were warm, lightly toasted. I loaded them with shrimp, scrambled egg, and salsa, then threw in extra beef. Kid was way too skinny.

Rolled them up tight, sliced each in half, and hit them with a drizzle of my amber house sauce. The smell kicked in right away.

I set the little mountain of mini burritos in front of him.

His stomach growled loud, but he just sat there, too embarrassed to touch the food. "Ma'am... this is way too much. Are you sure three dollars covers it?"

"Big portions are kinda my thing." I grinned. "If you like it, tell your classmates. Free promo, right? I'm basically saving money."

He hesitated, then handed over his crumpled, sweaty dollar bills.

I took them like it was no big deal.

"Dig in. Gotta eat it hot—cold just doesn't hit the same."

He licked his dry lips and grabbed a plastic fork.

His hands were shaking as he took the first bite.

The second that hot, flavorful burrito hit his mouth, his eyes went red—and the tears just fell.

"Ma'am... it's really good."

My chest tightened. I kept thinking about the boy from the novel—

A drunk, gambling dad. A mom who died way too young. And Rory, left in pieces.

After she passed, his dad got meaner with every bottle. Beat him, cursed him, starved him.

Once in a while, the guy got lucky at cards, tossed Rory some cash to go buy more booze.

Rory would pocket a buck or two each time.

Took him a whole month to save up those three bucks—for one set of mini burritos.

"Take your time. No one's gonna snatch it. If you want more, I've got plenty on the grill."

I kept my tone soft. He wiped his face and kept eating, head down.

I turned back to the grill, already prepping another set.

Kids that age—twelve, maybe thirteen—they're still growing. They need real food, not junk.

I was just about to drizzle the sauce and bring out the next round when—

Smack!

A small table near the cart flipped over outta nowhere.

"Look at you. No mom, crappy dad, and you're out here eating like you matter?"

A bunch of kids had crowded around Rory, all looking for a fight.

"Boss told you to wait by the gate after school. You stupid or something?"

One of them—buzz-cut, uniform half-untucked—stepped forward, smirking.

"Since Rory's so into burritos, let's give him a little extra. Make sure he's real full."

He yanked the tray out of my hands, dumped the burritos on the ground, and smashed them under his shoe.

"You think some charity case like you can go after the girl I like? Nah. Time for a reality check. Get him!"

The other boys clamped down on Rory's shoulders.

He was too small, too worn-out to fight back—just totally helpless.

"Let me go!"

"Let you go?" Buzz-cut snorted. "Yeah, right. I brought you something SPECIAL today."

He grabbed a fistful of burritos mashed with dirt and moved to shove it into Rory's mouth.

They were bullying him—right in front of me.

Like I wasn't even standing there.

I grabbed the kitchen knife from the side and slammed the flat of the blade against one kid's wrist.

They all jerked back, stunned. The muddy burritos hit the ground again.

"Are you crazy, lady?!"

"You trying to kill someone with that knife?"

I lifted the blade again. "You mess with people just 'cause you can? Cool. I can do the same to you. Fair trade."

Buzz-cut froze. "What's he even got to do with you? Stay out of it!"

I slammed the knife against the table beside me. The wood splintered with a sharp crack.

"I'm his mom. Touch my kid again, and I'll be on you with this knife every single day."

Everything went dead quiet.

Next thing they knew, I was swinging the knife like a maniac.

The punks scrambled back.

I yanked Rory behind me. "Get lost. Or you want a few cuts to go?"

Buzz-cut sneered but backed off. "You losers can't even handle one chick?"

His crew muttered, trembling. "Bro, forget it... She's really swinging that thing..."

Still grumbling, they finally took off.

I exhaled hard.

When I turned around, Rory was staring up at me, eyes red and glossy.

"Ma'am... I'm sorry for the trouble."

"What?" I brushed my hair out of my face, faking a dramatic sigh. "I was AWESOME back there. Aren't you gonna say something nice?"

I grinned. "Just kidding. Maya Murphy. You can call me Miss Murphy. I'm twenty-three—not that much older than you."

He smiled, and just like that, his whole face softened.

I packed up the cart, ready to bounce. "If you're ever hungry, come find me. I'm here after school."

He tugged at his shirt, eyes down. "But... I don't have any money left."

Watching this kid—who'd one day wreck the world—treat one meal like it was gold, I blurted, "Spring break's coming. Want to help at the stand? I'll cover your food."

His whole face lit up. "Really?"

"Yup. We'll be at the tourist spot. It gets insane, and I need backup." I ruffled his wild hair. "You're hired. Kill it and I'll throw in extra shrimp."

He snapped to attention. "Miss Murphy, thank you."

I meant to walk him home, but he wouldn't let me—insisted on pushing the cart instead. Only when we got to my place did he finally take off, backpack slung tight.

I watched his skinny frame fade down the street, this ache curling in my chest. Whatever it took, I'd rewrite his ending.

He wasn't a villain yet. Just a broken kid trying to survive.

Spring break hit, and Rory showed up before sunrise. Every. Single. Day.

He'd scan yesterday's numbers like a tiny CEO, then pick the best money spot. Wiped tables, cleared dishes, scrubbed plates—fast, smooth, like he'd done it forever. Kid had just turned thirteen, but he moved like he was twenty-five.

The mini burritos were flying. After the rush, I handed him a set and wiped the sweat off his forehead.

"Eat. I've got cleanup."

Out of nowhere, he said, "Miss Murphy... you remind me of my mom."

I kept it light. "Yeah? What was she like?"

He froze mid-plate. "She was kind. Treated everyone right... just not herself."

The novel mentioned her—every time her drunk husband got violent, she'd throw herself between him and Rory.

She did that for ten years.

But even the toughest break eventually. After a lifetime of work and beatdowns, she just... couldn't anymore. She died before she could protect him one last time.

Tears welled in Rory's eyes. I didn't even think—just said, "Then take care of yourself. That's what she'd want."

He nodded, a small smile breaking through. "Yeah. I will."

I ruffled his hair again. "If you're ever hurt or hungry, come find me. I don't have much, but I've always got burritos."

He ducked his head, ears going red. "Miss Murphy... you're really nice."

How did a kid this sweet end up the story's big bad?

The novel barely touched his past. I had no clue what came next.

But I knew one thing—I was gonna protect him anyway.

***

Last day of spring break, I waited by the cart.

Rory never came.

A tight, ugly feeling crawled into my chest.

I went to the address he gave me.

Even from down the block, I heard the yelling.

"You little bastard! I'm drowning in debt! Mr. Menzer doesn't care that you're a boy—he still wants you! Just spend a few nights with him and I'm off the hook! And you refuse? I raised you for what? You're just like your useless mother—ungrateful trash!"