Page 151 of Morally Corrupt

I swear, nowhere did it mention you had to be a professional to do this.

Not one to despair in times of need, I put my apron on once again and start on the frosting. This should be easier as it doesn't involve any funny oven business.

I end up concocting some type of frosting that is a bit overly sweet but passable. I spread it on the non-burnt parts of the cake after cutting them in small shapes.

Satisfied with my work, or as confident as I can be, I decorate a plate. I fill a glass with lemonade, add some ibuprofen for good measure, and then go to the office.

"Adrian?" I ask as I kick the door open with my uninjured shoulder, careful of the tray in my hands. "I made you a cake." I smile, proud of myself.

Adrian's plopped face down on the desk, the half-empty bottle next to him.

I frown for a second, then sigh and put the tray somewhere else before going up to him.

"Adrian?" I gently tap his shoulder, but he doesn't reply, merely giving me a half-moan.

"Okay, mister, you're going to bed." I try my hardest to lift him, but he's double my weight and then some more, so it's not that easy. "A little help would be appreciated," I mumble, but he doesn't seem to rouse.

With great hardship, I manage to get him on the bed or throw him on the bed when I'm within distance. Taking his shoes off, I try to make him more comfortable.

"B?" he groans, shifting around in bed.

"You're wasted," I say, matter of fact.

"I fought for him… I made himmoney," he mutters, clearly referring to Jimenez and his days in the ring.

While I don't know a whole lot about his life as Adrian Barnett, Vlad has implied that he was a successful fighter, often having weekly gigs with barely a respite between. So, Jimenez or Andrew or whoever he is undoubtedly aimed to squeeze him dry.

Or was that his attempt at killing him, but it just backfired when Adrian wouldn't lose?

I stroke his forehead lightly and place a kiss on his brow. Now more than ever, I'm set on making sure Jimenez won't live for much longer. I know that Adrian wants to get him to pay for his crimes in a court of law.

But how can I allow a man who's mademy husbandsuffer like this live?

I can't.

The following day, I try to get Adrian out of bed, but he shuns all of my attempts. He's even taken to ignoring me, sulking all day under the sheets.

When the same behavior, coupled with excessive drinking, continues the next day, I'm out of options.

If cake can't solve this, I don't know what will.

And he doesn't even get to eat my cake!

So, I take to browsing the internet for solutions to my problems once more.

The more I read, the more I know what I need to do. I smile mischievously at the screen. This should get Adrian out of bed with a bang.

Or a meow.

I'm lucky enough that in this country, money can solve everything. It's entirely too simple to make an appointment the next day with a doctor.

"You want me to give you something for your allergies, is that correct?" The doctor, a bald man in his sixties, studies me with narrow eyes. What's so hard about this request?

"Yes," I reply.

"Now?"

"Yes."

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