Page 100 of Corrupt Me

The streetlights swept over us in quick, flashing intervals. Tristan drove at rule-breaking speeds to get his brother to the hospital, where Preston was admitted and treated. It took hours to get him seen, patched up, and admitted for at least the night. Perhaps two.

There were questions. And police. The answers were the tricky part.

But Tristan and I agreed on the drive that we wouldn’t say anything about the warehouse or Angelo. He didn’t want me involved, and the less we told the police, the safer we’d be. Giving up Angelo’s name would only put a bigger target on our backs. It wasn’t just Angelo we had to worry about but the entire Crow crew.

That was a problem I didn’t need.

So once Preston was safe inside, I made myself scarce, hiding out in Tristan’s car until he was finished speaking with the cops and giving his statement.

If the hospital parking lot hadn’t been packed with cars, well lit, and busy despite the late hour, I would have been a wreck sitting in his car alone, but that didn’t mean I still wasn’t nervous as hell. I’d locked and checked the doors at least a dozen times.

But no one came after us.

No one showed up to drag me back to the warehouse.

And with each passing hour, I grew a little less afraid. I even fell asleep for a short period, my weary eyes unable to remain open any longer. I was fucking tired.

When I opened them again, sunlight streaked through the front windshield. Curled on my side into a ball, I stretched my legs and turned my gaze to the driver’s seat. Tristan was there, watching me.

His head rested on the back of the seat, his blue eyes brightened by sunlight. Shadows darkened under his eyes.

“Hi,” I greeted, giving him a soft smile. I wanted to erase the seriousness in his features.

Frowning, he reached over and brushed a piece of hair off my forehead. “You need more sleep.”

“I’m not the only one. Have you slept at all?”

“I will later.”

We were still in the hospital parking lot. Raising my arms over my head, I stretched my back before sitting straight. There was no chance I would go back to sleep now, not knowing Tristan was back. He needed to rest but wouldn’t do so while we sat outside exposed.

“Preston?” I inquired.

“In agony, but the idiot will live.” Affection and relief edged into his tired tone. Despite his words, Tristan had been worried.

“What did you say to the police?” I asked, concerned if Tristan or Preston might be in trouble. Tristan might be no stranger to a night or two at the police station, but Preston wouldn’t survive an hour. Never had to, thanks to his brother.

At some point, everyone in Preston’s life had to stop covering for him.

Tristan gave a half-hearted shrug as if his shoulders couldn’t muster anything further than the least amount of effort. “Just that he was jumped by some guys. That I didn’t see it happen but found him nearly unconscious.”

“Do you think they’ll investigate?”

Tristan started the engine and reversed out of the parking spot. “Doubtful. Preston isn’t looking to press charges or file a complaint.”

I chewed on the inside of my cheek. “What happens next time? Won’t Angelo just beat him again? How do we know he won’t kill Preston?”

As he drove toward the exit, his jaw tensed. “We don’t, Shortcake. But Preston’s going to have to do his part and stay away from the tables. No more gambling.”

“And if he can’t?”

Using the palm of his hand, he turned the wheel, taking a left onto the road. “I have a guy.”

“What does that mean?” I complained, uncertain if I should feel good about this guy or worried. I’d seen the people Tristan associated with.

“Someone who will watch Preston. Make sure he stays out of trouble,” he replied.

“Like a bodyguard?” I said, trying to put the idea into perspective.

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