Page 91 of Corrupt Me

“Shortcake,” Tristan growled, the muscle at his temple pulsing faster.

I ignored him. “Do we have a deal?”

Angelo nodded. “Sure, why not, sugar.”

With my head high, I walked over to the chair and sat down, crossing my legs as if every fiber of my being wasn’t screaming at me to run. I placed my wrists on the armrests and waited.

“I’ll be back tonight, Shortcake” Tristan said before locking eyes with Angelo. “I need your word no one will touch her. I mean no one.”

“Not a single hair on her pretty head will be harmed until you return.” Angelo’s choice of words wasn’t lost on me. Once Tristan returned, all bets were off, and I’d be fair game again.

Fuck that.

Fire flickered in Tristan’s eyes, but I refused to look away. Every inch of him was burned into my memory, yet I couldn’t stop from taking in every detail of his face. “Don’t say anything that will get you killed.” And with those parting words, Tristan left.

I sank into the chair a second time, fully anticipating being restrained until Tristan made good on his deal with the devil, but Angelo only pulled a chair up across from me, the legs screeching against the concrete. “You don’t seem like someone who is into brothers.”

The last thing I wanted was to banter with a criminal. What I craved was a dark corner where I could curl up and cry. The sleeve of Tristan’s hoodie fell past my fingertips, and I toyed with the hem, tugging on the material. “It’s not like that,” I insisted.

“So, you aren’t fucking them both?” Angelo bluntly said.

I coughed. “No. Just Tristan,” I snapped. Why did I feel the need to reply? It was none of his business, but then again, Angelo knew way too much information about me. But how? Tristan was our only connection. Why would Tristan give him such detail? Or did Angelo do a thorough investigation on the people with whom he did dealings with? If so, how very responsible for someone in Angelo’s…business.

“Interesting,” he mused.

“Why is that interesting?” I couldn’t believe I sat across from the guy who held me hostage, talking about my sex life. What was my life?

With his elbows propped on his knees, Angelo cradled the gun between his legs, a not-so-subtle reminder of who was incharge. “Since we have the time, how about a little proposition?” he suggested.

“Go get fucked.”

Angelo chuckled, leaning back into a relaxed position in his seat. “I can’t figure out if I should pity or congratulate Tristan. You are?—”

A disruption stirred outside the warehouse, and Angelo and I looked toward the side door. He reached for his gun at the scuffling sounds. Whoever lingered outside wasn’t alone. Had his guys found the man following Tristan and me?

On a gust of wind, the door blew open, sending the lights dangling from the ceiling, swaying and flickering light over the floor. The stale air circulating inside the warehouse hinted at elements of damp pine from the breeze. The woods weren’t the only thing the breeze brought with it.

My heart thudded in my chest as two figures appeared in the doorway, cloaked in the shadows of night.Please let it be Tristan. Please.

Even as I pleaded, my mind rationalized it was too early for him to have returned. He’d only been gone twenty minutes at most.

And still, disappointment weighed heavy in my heart when a man I didn’t recognize barreled into the warehouse, and he wasn’t alone. Hope kicked up in my chest, only to be crushed a second time. Angelo’s thug shoved the second man roughly inside, sending him sprawling onto the floor.

The hinges on the door squeaked, the wind blowing it open and closed before it slammed shut with a bang.

Although I couldn’t see his face, it was evident the second man had been beaten just shy of unconsciousness. He reeked of booze. Blood stained his white shirt, splattering the material.

He crumbled on the ground a few feet in front of me, and I inched my boots back, not wanting to risk getting blood on them.Did Angelo plan to torture him in front of me? Could I stomach that? Instinct told me intervening would be a bad idea. Would this be Tristan’s fate if he didn’t succeed on whatevererrandhe’d been sent to do? Would this bemyfate? Angelo might have given Tristan his word. He wouldn’t hurt me, but trusting Angelo would be like putting my faith in a politician. He would backstab Tristan without blinking. I knew it. Tristan knew it. Fuck, Angelo knew it.

I’d been amusing to Angelo up to this point. That was my role, and now was not the time to deviate. I’d have to stomach what happened next like a girl who wore iron panties.

Groaning and moaning, the newcomer sloppily tried to sit up. His face was a mess of bruises and blood. One eye was swollen nearly shut, his lip split and bleeding. His clothes were torn, stained with dirt and blood, and he held his side as if he were barely keeping himself upright. He looked like he’d been through hell, and he probably had.

My stomach churned at the sight.

I took a sharp inhale, and his face angled toward me.

Holy. Fuck.

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