Page 97 of Corrupt Me

“I thought I made it clear before I left…no one touches her.”

That voice. That sweet fucking voice.

I slumped into Angelo, sweet relief tearing through me like nothing I’d ever felt. “Tristan.” I sighed.

twenty-seven

Cold blue eyes flicked to me at the whisper of his name from my lips. His teeth ground against the rage consuming him as moonlight streamed in from behind him, accentuating the strain of his muscles. The hand pointing the gun at Angelo was steady, but Tristan’s voice shook with violence. “Let. Her. Go.”

“Don’t get trigger-happy on me, Malone.” I couldn’t see Angelo’s face, but I swore I heard the smug grin in his voice. His hands were rough on me as he secured an arm around my waist, taking advantage of my momentary surprise at Tristan’s arrival.

Tristan pointed his gun straight at my captor despite at least five of Angelo’s men having drawn their weapons and aiming at him, yet he didn’t seem to notice them. Or didn’t give a shit. “You broke your word.”

Angelo put his other hand at my throat, fingers splaying out, easily encircling my entire neck. “It couldn’t be helped. Besides, you broke our agreement when you brought her here.”

I yanked my head to the side, attempting to shake his grip off me. Each second he touched me, the revulsion churning in my gut doubled.

Tristan’s gaze shifted to me. “Are you okay?” he calmly asked.

Forgetting about the hand imprisoning my neck, I tried to nod, but the movement was quickly cut off by the pressure of Angelo’s fucking fingers. He kept his hold firm but wasn’t choking me. “Preston needs help,” I croaked.

Tristan didn’t acknowledge he heard me. His glower zeroed back onto Angelo. “Nobody fucking move. Only her. Is that clear?”

“You forget who makes the demands. I’m not done with her yet.”

“I got what you asked for.” Still pointing the gun at Angelo, Tristan reached into his back pocket and pulled something out…something so small I couldn’t see what it was. He tossed it to one of Angelo’s guys who caught it. A key. “I left the package in the storage unit. Give me what’s mine.” A growl built inside him.

Angelo laughed, his fingers twirling in my hair until a chunk of it was in his grip, causing uncomfortable pain in the follicles. “If you shoot me, one of my guys will put a bullet in your head. You’re screwed in this situation, Malone. Either way, she’s no longer yours.”

I whimpered from the tightening of Angelo’s fingers as he jerked my head back, exposing the long column of my neck. It made me wish those fucking fingers were still wrapped around my throat.

The muscle along Tristan’s throat pulsed, hammering hard as his eyes darkened, brows plunging. “I’ll take my chances.” That was my only warning —if you could even call it one. His gun discharged, and I squeezed my eyes shut.

Angelo’s body jerked behind me. My ears buzzed like I had a nest of angry bees inside my head. I swore I heard someone bellow my name. The hand in my hair released me with a shove, and I stumbled forward, catching myself on the trunk of Preston’s car.

As I steadied myself, a mess of emotions popped off inside me like the Fourth of Fucking July. I noticed blood drops on the concrete. Although I couldn’t feel pain anywhere but my throbbing cheek and fiery scalp, I couldn’t be sure the blood wasn’t mine.

Then I glanced at Angelo, and a look of anger and disbelief distorted his pretty-boy face. He stared at his thigh where his black pants were wet, soaking with what I assumed was blood. Angelo’s gaze lifted, and he narrowed his eyes at Tristan. “You fucking shot me.”

Tristan’s composure cracked, and as I stared at him, I thought for the first time he could kill if it meant saving someone important to him. I was important to him. “I told you not to fucking touch her.”

Why weren’t any of Angelo’s men doing anything? I figured by now one of them would have shot at Tristan in retaliation and shit. Tristan had shot their boss.

Pressing back into the car, I glanced around the warehouse and blinked.Holy shit. Where did all these extra bodies come from?

Every one of them was armed, guns pointed in every direction. Some of them on Angelo’s men and others on the men I didn’t recognize, but the gun that concerned me the most was the weapon pointed at me.

Angelo might have been shot in the leg, but it didn’t impair his ability to hold a gun, and that gun was aimed at me.

What the fuck is going on?

“Boss?” Beefcake prompted, his finger on the trigger, ready to pull when given the word. If that happened, an all-out war would follow.

Tristan had brought friends. Perhapsfriendswas a stretch. Regardless, they looked mean and out for blood. The Crows’blood specifically, but where did that leave me? In the crosshairs.

What about Preston?

And Tristan for that matter?

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