Page 39 of Corrupted Tyrant

I stow his duffel in the rear as he slides into the back seat.

“You must be Candy.” His voice is a low, gravelly rumble as he blatantly assesses her. “Heard a lot about you.”

Candy arches a brow. “All good, I hope?”

A hint of a smirk tugs at Fury’s mouth. “Mostly.”

As I’m escaping the cluster fuck that is passenger pickup, Candy’s phone chimes with an incoming message. My hands tighten on the steering wheel as I wait for her to say something, then my face pales as she reads it aloud.

“‘Tick-tock, Candy girl. Clock’s running out. You really want to play this game with the big boys? Because we’re done playing nice. You won’t like the consequences if you don’t call Broken Starlets and tell them to destroy the recording.”

A growl builds in my chest, echoed by Fury’s low snarl. A depth charge explodes deep in my belly as the reality hits—they know Candy did the interview.

“We need a plan,” I mutter, mind already racing. “We need to tighten security, cover our bases.”

Fury nods grimly. “I’ve got some ideas. Protocols we can put in place. I talked with Stealth before I left.”

I explain to Candy, “He’s our tech guy.”

“He had some very specific suggestions,” Fury adds. “He sent me with gear.”

Candy is quiet, mindlessly staring out the windshield, clearly deep in thought. I reach over, lacing my fingers with hers. “We’re going to get through this. I promise.”

Her gaze meets mine, fear and determination warring in her eyes. She shakes her head, as though she can dislodge all her fears. “As Maury would say, ‘From your mouth to God’s ear’.”

“Or Goddess’s ear, as the case may be.”

Although our terrible jokes are an attempt to lighten the mood, a sense of grim resolve settles over us. The game has changed, the stakes raised. But we’ll face it together, as a pack.

And Goddess help anyone foolish enough to stand in our way.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Candy

The drive back to the hotel is tense, my phone burning a hole in my lap like slow-release toxic chemicals. Glancing into the back seat, it’s clear Fury’s already on the job. His piercing gaze is scanning the passing landscape for any sign of trouble as though our lives depend on it. I guess they do.

“We should call the cops,” I suggest, breaking the heavy silence. “Report the threats, show them the messages.”

Courage glances at me, his brow furrowed. “I hear you, babe. Let’s think this through.”

Fury nods, his jaw tight. “Involving the authorities too soon could spook these bastards. Make them do something rash.”

I slump against the seat, frustration burning through me like wildfire. “But isn’t that the police’s job? To protect people from shit like this?”

“In theory, yeah.” Courage sighs, navigating the predawn streets as though he’s traveled them a hundred times before. “But in practice… Cops tend to get twitchy around Others. Especially ones sticking their noses into human affairs.”

Fury grunts in agreement. “And let’s not forget, these KEN fuckers have money and influence. They’ve been covering their tracks for years. Who’s to say they don’t have some boys in blue in their pocket?”

“So what do we do? Just let them keep terrorizing me, wait for them to make good on their threats?”

“No.” Courage growls, his grip tightening on the wheel. “We handle this ourselves. On our terms. One way to stop this once and for all is to draw them out, gather evidence, build an airtight case.”

“And then with taped evidence in hand, we nail their asses to the wall,” Fury finishes, a vicious glint in his eye.

Back in the hotel room, we huddle around my phone as another message comes through, a chill running down my spine as I read it aloud.

“Time’s up, Candy girl. You wanna play hardball? Refuse to tell Broken Starlets to pull the plug? Game on. Jefferson Memorial Park, 11 p.m. tonight. Come alone, or the whole world sees what a filthy little slut you really are.”

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