Page 41 of Morally Corrupt

"Whatever," he repeats almost in wonder. "B… I would destroy you."

I look at him, expecting him to laugh, but he's earnest. My eyes meet his, and I see the truth. He would, in fact, destroy me.

Ah, how I wish he would.

15

BIANCA

I leave for work as usual and stay for a few hours. Then I head to my apartment to get ready for the meeting. I'd barely slept last night. Even after Theo's surprise, I was still anxious about today's meeting. I know Berserker would never contact me if it wasn't something I needed to know. Which makes the anticipation worse?

I get inside my apartment and head for my closet. I put on a pair of leather pants, a black tank top, and a leather jacket with a big bow and arrow on its back. Turning towards the big mirror, I add a long, red wig with big curls and silver contacts. Sheathing a good number of knives in my combat boots, I also add a small gun, just to be sure.

I'd gotten my code name Artemis due to my perfect aim. I've never actually used a bow and arrow, but my reputation for hunting down targets has made sure the name is deserved. Stopping by the bedroom for a dose of magic powder, I then take the elevator and go to the parking lot where my Harley is waiting for me. Whenever I venture into the underground world, I hold onto my Artemis persona, so my disguise always needs to be impeccable. It isn't as if Berserker doesn't know who I am, but the rest of the people do not. And it's better if it stays that way.

After getting on my ride, I speed through the highway and head towards Brooklyn. It doesn't take me too long to reach the club, given that it's still daytime. There are a few outsiders around. I park my Harley and head towards the entrance. A big guy stands outside, but he just nods and opens the door for me.

"The boss is in his office." is all he says.

I nod and enter. On my way to the office, I pass a few tattooed guys who give me odd looks. When I am in front of the door, I knock three times, slowly withdrawing one of the knives from the hiding place.

"Come in."

I enter the room and see him behind his desk, his long legs propped on the table in a relaxed manner.

"Punctual. What else is to be expected from a goddess?" He gives me one of his wicked grins.

"Cut it," I reply and throw the knife an inch from his head. He doesn't flinch. His expression doesn't change. He just watches me. And then he laughs.

"Ahhhh, heavenly love. Of course." He takes his feet off the table and stands, coming around the desk to give me a big hug.

"It's been what… three weeks?"

"Four. But who's counting." I smile and return the hug. "Okay, so spill, what happened."

"Little goddess, so impatient." He shakes his head. He knows that anything Theo related makes me lose control.

"Come on, Vlad. Out with it. You wouldn't have asked me to come if it wasn't serious."

"That's the issue. I don't know how serious." He stops smiling and motions me towards the computer on his desk. He presses a key on it, and a video of me in my Chanel dress from when I'd gone to scout locations for the shooting plays on the screen.

"What's this?"

"This is you being irresponsible. Fucking irresponsible," he says, and I can tell he's disappointed.

"Why do you have this?"

"Because," he starts in an exasperated tone, "Marcel, your husband's dear friend Marcel, asked me for footage in the region related to some shooting. Now, if you'd told me of your plans, I would have known not to give them the footage. But you never ask for help, do you? And now, you're on camera, going inside a seedy hotel a few days before a shooting that resulted in three fucking corpses. Care to tell me what your excuse is? Damn it, B, you're smarter than this."

I'm shocked at his outburst. But more than anything, I'm appalled at what he's saying. I look again at the video and realize that you can tell it is me, especially when I'm leaving the hotel. This is bad. He's right. I was careless. Fucking hell. My hands clench at my side.

"Did my husband see this?"

"He did, and he recognized you."

"Fuck," I curse and kick the desk with my foot. "Fuck, Fuck, Fuck!" Shit… was this why he was behaving so oddly? No fucking way. He can't know.

"Did he make the connection?" I ask, and I'm almost afraid to know.

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