Page 35 of Corrupted Tyrant

“This better be fucking good, pup. I’m in the middle of a game of Texas Hold’Em. There’s a lot of money in the pot, and I’ve got the winning hand.”

I picture his smirk and I imagine he’s saying this for effect to the males listening in. By the tone of his voice, I’m one hundred percent sure he’s bluffing. Rolling my eyes, my lips twitch with fond exasperation. “Good to hear from you too, old male. Listen, I need a favor…”

As I explain the situation, the threats against Candy, and the need for reinforcements, Fury’s grumbling fades into a steely resolve. By the time I finish, his tone is sharp with barely leashed anger.

“Those fucking bastards,” he snarls, the sound echoing my own protective fury. “Threatening your female like that… it’s unforgivable.”

I glance at Candy, trying to read her bland expression to see if she picked up on his “your female” statement. I haven’t told anyone back in the Zone about my feelings for Candy. They must be obvious even half a continent away.

“So? Ready to leave the Zone for a little… adventure?” When he doesn’t immediately say yes, I know I’ll need to goad him. “Ready to come out of retirement?” I ask, even though he’s as strong and effective as any other Wolven Warrior.

“Retirement, my furry ass,” Fury scoffs. “I’m still in my prime, pup. And you better believe I’m ready to put the fear of the Goddess into these spineless worms.”

A grin splits my face, fierce and feral. “Glad to hear it. Maury’s assistant will contact you with flight details. And Fury? Thank you. I owe you one.”

“You owe me a fucking case of beer and a week off from Bold’s bullshit,” he snarks, but beneath his gruff words, I hear the unshakable loyalty, the packmate bond that transcends distance and time.

We say our goodbyes, and I turn to Candy with a renewed sense of determination. “Backup’s on the way,” I tell her, squeezing her hand. “Between Fury and me, those KEN fuckers won’t know what hit them.”

Candy’s answering smile is a thing of beauty, bright and brave and brimming with a fierce, defiant love.

“Bring it on,” she says, her voice ringing with conviction.

KEN may have hidden cameras and incriminating footage. They may have power, influence, and a veritable army of soulless lackeys. But they don’t have what we have—a good cause and a connection I’m convinced is love.

I have no fear about fighting the enemy, I just have to muster the courage to tell Candy I love her.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Candy

The open road stretches before us, the midday sun casting a warm glow across the dashboard. Fields of golden wheat and towering silos roll by outside the window, a picturesque Midwestern landscape straight out of a postcard. It should be idyllic, peaceful. But I can’t shake the knot of tension coiled in my gut.

Courage’s hands are steady on the wheel, his eyes fixed ahead, but I can see the tightness in his jaw, the slight furrow between his brows. He’s on high alert, every sense tuned to the potential danger lurking just out of sight.

I absently run my fingers over the phone in my lap, half dreading the next hateful message or ominous threat. Part of me wants to toss the damn thing out the window, leave the ugliness and bad blood far behind. But I know that’s just a fantasy. This is our reality now—looking over our shoulders, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Courage reaches over, giving my hand a reassuring squeeze. “Hungry, rock star? You’re not the only one in this car who knows how to Google. There’s a great little diner about an hour up the road. Best cherry pie in three states, or so it says on Yelp.”

I muster a smile, trying to match his lighthearted tone. “Well, if it’s got the Courage seal of approval, how can I resist?”

The diner is a charming relic, all neon and chrome with red vinyl booths and a jukebox in the corner. The comforting scents of coffee and frying chicken wrap around us as we slide into a booth, a welcome respite from the road.

Courage orders for both of us, flirting shamelessly with the grandmotherly waitress until she’s giggling like a schoolgirl. I can’t help but grin, marveling at the easy charm he wields so effortlessly, even in the midst of our private turmoil.

Perhaps telling my truth during the Broken Starlets interview allowed Courage to make his own public statement about his authentic self. Although until this morning he’s worn a hoodie even in the sweltering heat, today he’s in a t-shirt, his gorgeous wolven ears on full display.

Our waitress initially did a double take, but her anxiety disappeared the moment Courage poured on the charm. Other reactions in the diner seem to be mixed. Everyone who sees him does a double-take, which makes sense since almost every Other on Earth is locked in the fenced Integration Zone in LA.

After their initial surprise, about half the people huff, turn the other way, and sometimes mutter something insulting. The other half give him shy smiles, then go about their business.

Our order arrives. This is a down-home diner, so we took the waitress’s suggestions. One of us ordered fried chicken, the other ordered meatloaf. We’re going to share. The promised pie is indeed a thing of beauty—flaky golden crust, plump cherries glistening with syrup, and a generous scoop of vanilla bean ice cream slowly melting on top.

“What the hell, Candy. What do you say we live dangerously?” His tail thumps mischievously against the sparkly red vinyl booth seat. “Should we eat dessert first?”

“Wouldn’t want the ice cream to ruin the crust, right?” I take a bite and can’t hold back a rapturous moan. “Oh, my god. I think I just had a religious experience.”

Courage chuffs, his ears flicking. “Should I leave you two alone?”

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