Page 10 of Morally Corrupt

"There, there, did you miss me that much?" Dropping my briefcase, I stoop down to take them into my arms. It's not that easy to juggle four cats in my arms, but our daily routine is already established, so they know not to squirm.

I take them with me to the couch, and I make sure to equally pet each one. One shelter I volunteer at seems to always have too many cats and too little funds. Somehow, I always end up adopting the cats that have nowhere to go. I'd told myself I would stop, especially since they are awfully competitive about my attention and can get quite mean. But last time, when I'd seen an injured white kitten on the verge of being booted, I couldn't find it in me to say no — especially since it reminded me of my childhood cat, Spot.

Taking out some cat food, I lay it on the floor and watch, amused as they fight over who eats first.

Thinking of taking a shower, I head to the bathroom. Seeing the house so empty, so bare, I'm struck by how bleak my life is. What do I even do? I wake up, go to work, then back home and sleep again. It's all a never-ending cycle, a self-imposed routine that I'd drilled into my skull for years now. Maybe my encounter with Pink did more than awaken my dead libido. Maybe I'm finally allowing myself to consider what it would be like to have a warm body to wake up to in the morning, someone to share happiness and concerns.

Not for the first time, I have to wonder what I'm doing with my life. Is it even worth it? This revenge I set out to deliver more than a decade ago?

What will happen when I'm done? The wind will still howl through the hallway and the rooms will still be empty.

I have to admit there is a side of me that yearns for a partnership, for family and for kids . . . but there's also the other side of me that vowed to see justice made. And somehow, they don't seem to be mutually compatible.

I can't ever, in good faith, invite danger into my home, knowingly put my wife and kids at risk.

***

The following day, I head to the mayor's office for a short meeting on Romina's case. I'm ushered inside by his secretary, but I'm surprised to see he is not alone. Martin Ashby, renowned billionaire and the financial force behind the mayor, casually turns to me.

"Hastings, long time no see," he exclaims, rising to his feet to shake my hand. I'd run into Martin quite a few times since working with the mayor. You could say he knows everyone who is anyone in the city, and I get the feeling a lot of them owe him favors.

I don't exactly know how the mayor and Martin met, or the extent of their relationship, but it is unusual to see them together in his office. Such meetings are better relegated for more private quarters.

"Mr. Ashby." I incline my head. He motions me to the settee and the mayor hands me a drink.

"I was just asking Justin to join me on the golf course this weekend. Why don't you come too?" Martin adds, nodding toward the mayor.

"If I am free." I attempt a smile. Golf is boring. Golf with these people would be even more boring.

"Come on, Hastings. It's a miracle I bumped into you. It's been what . . . a year? Yeah, one or two years since I saw you last. Don't tell me you're purposefully avoiding me." His tone is joking, but I can see the underlying threat. Martin enjoys keeping tabs on everyone, and that seems to include me too.

"I'll make an effort," I amend, hoping this answer is better.

"You should drop by my house sometime, meet my daughter. You're single, right?" he continues and I maintain my expression.

"Indeed," I answer, gritting my teeth. I don't like where this is going.

"Marvelous. I think you'd like my daughter. Meek little thing, and very sheltered. She'd make the perfect housewife." He praises her attributes, and I have to stifle the urge to roll my eyes. Has anyone told him we're not in the fifties anymore?

"Yes," he continues, looking me up and down. "I think you two would suit just nice."

"And how old is your daughter?" I try to shift the conversation a little, not wanting him to proclaim me his son-in-law in the next second.

He pauses, narrowing his eyes as if trying to remember. "She just turned nineteen. Ripe for the plucking." He raises an eyebrow at me suggestively and I nearly gag. Nineteen? That's way too young for me — there's almost a decade standing between us.

I force a smile and try to steer the conversation in a different direction. The last thing I want is for Martin to offer me his barely legal daughter. But then, looking at his sleazy ass, I guess it's to be expected he'd try to pimp out his own child. I suddenly feel sorry for the girl and for whatever awaits her.

4

BIANCA

Sucking my cheeks in, I apply more contour, wanting my cheekbones to be more defined — and my age hidden. Pouting, I angle my face in the mirror so I can check if it's blended well. When I'm finally satisfied, I put on red lipstick and it's done. I hurry outside and hail a cab toward The Palace.

Hard to believe it's been almost a year since I first saw Theo at the club. That time in which I met with Theo weekly, sometimes even more often. I've gotten so used to having him close that the thought of it ending terrifies me.

No! Never!

Who am I kidding? I'm becoming greedier. Once a week is no longer enough. Just like my coke addiction got out of control, so did my yearning for him. I want him with a passion so strong, I'd kill anyone who dared interfere. I long for him and even sleep eludes me when he's not around — ok, maybe the coke has something to do with that too. That doesn't change the fact that I need more.

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