Page 222 of Corrupting Camille
“We’ll go,” he says finally, reluctantly, the concession clearly costing him.
I glance back, eyes still wet, meeting his gaze. His expression is unreadable…guarded, wary…but he doesn’t look away.
“The carnival,” he repeats quietly. “We’ll go.”
It’s not an apology. It never is. But it’s Kane giving in, bending, doing something he clearly doesn’t want because it matters to me.
I swallow hard, brushing tears roughly from my cheeks, and finally nod once.
“Fine,” I whisper, voice still thick with emotion.
Kane steps closer and reaches out carefully, thumb brushing my cheek, tilting my face gently toward his.
“Don’t cry, cielo,” he murmurs, voice rougher than before, softer now, layered with quiet regret. “You’re killing me.”
I close my eyes, letting him pull me slowly back into the heat of him, feeling the shift between us, still broken, still raw, but maybe a little less cruel.
And I hate how even after everything, he’s still the only one who can make me stop hurting, even if he’s the one who caused it in the first place.
Chapter Twenty-one
Kane
The air reeks of cotton candy, cheap grease, and reckless fucking decisions.
We shouldn’t be here.
Sheshouldn’t be here.
Every muscle in my body coils tight, wired for violence, pulse pounding an angry rhythm beneath my skin. But Camille’s tears, those goddamn tears are apparently my kryptonite.
Now I'm standing in a fucking carnival, surrounded by strangers, neon lights glaring like threats, and noise bleeding from every direction. Kids shriek past wielding plastic swords, laughter crashing in messy waves, and a mariachi band making my goddamn teeth ache.
Danger. Everywhere. Fucking everywhere.
Joaquin shadows my left, expression carved from stone. Javi’s voice rumbles quietly through the comms tucked beneath my shirt, a low stream of constant intel. Four of my menweave through the crowds, civilian clothes hiding weapons and vigilance. One stays close to Rosa and Diego. Two tail Lucia and the twins. And the last—the one I’d rip apart limb by limb if he makes a single mistake stands closest to Camille.
Still not fucking close enough.
“Relax,” Reina drawls beside me, lips twisting into a smug little smirk. “You look homicidal.”
Marisol laughs lightly, looping her arm through her boyfriend’s. “Let him brood. We're just glad he brought his better half out to play.”
I don’t respond, jaw tightening, fists curling at my sides. My heart’s hammering, eyes flickering over every shadowed face, every sudden movement, every potential threat.
And then Camille turns toward me, eyes sparkling beneath the chaos of colored lights. Her cheeks are flushed, wild curls tumbling freely in the breeze. She looks fucking perfect, holding some ugly stuffed octopus like it’s a goddamn prize worth fighting for
She laughs, bright, real, raw, and for one second I forget the weapons tucked beneath my jacket, the threats lurking unseen, the violence simmering beneath my skin.
All I see is her.
“That’s three to zero!” she shouts, cocky smile curving her lips, eyes locked right onto me, daring me, teasing me, claiming me.
My chest tightens. Fucking hell, I’d burn this whole carnival to the ground just to keep her smiling like that.
She moves toward me slowly, hips swaying, eyes glittering with mischief as she thrusts her stupid octopus into Lucia’s hands. The wind tugs playfully at her hair, curls tumbling in wild abandon until she sweeps it all up into a high, messy ponytail, baring her throat.
“You know, Rivera,” she drawls, stepping into my space, chin tipped defiantly as her gaze drags over me, wicked and slow.“It’s not exactly a victory if I’m just beating Lucia. Maybe you’ll actually give me some competition?”
