I’m about thirty seconds from a toe tag and my own freezer at the mortuary when he materializes from the shadows and fights like hell to keep me breathing.

I had no idea homeless disasters like me got guardian angels—or that guardian angels punch people and smoke—but suddenly, there he is: a hero dressed all in black who ghosts me so hard I consider calling a medium.

But that would be a waste of money I don’t have.

I thought I’d never see him again, but just as I’m about to eat a bullet, he appears, using his body to protect mine. I might have swooned—okay, fine, I do but only on the inside—if it weren’t for the fact he thinks bleeding is an adequate apology for implying I’m a prostitute and running off with my heart.

Spoiler alert: It’s not.

Now the man with a PhD in vanishing, a tattoo that totally offends me, and eyes with their own force of gravity is suddenly stuck to me like glue and being wildly inconvenient about it.

And he won’t stop calling me a pipgeek. What even is that?
He insists I trust him, but I can’t trust anyone, not even my own body. Unfortunately, when the resident drug lord calls in that favor I foolishly owe, things go from bad to catastrophic with alarming enthusiasm.

On the upside, having a hero with a villain complex for a stalker means staying alive will be easy.

But not getting hurt again is a whole other story.