Page 246 of Corrupting Camille
“I don’t enjoy it,” I say, raw truth spilling from my lips. “Not this. Not when it’s personal.”
Her mouth twists slightly, understanding etched painfully clear in her gaze. “It always feels personal.”
“With you, it fucking is.”
Something shifts in the air, and she moves toward me, pressing her forehead gently against my chest. It’s tender, unbearably gentle, and every defense inside me splinters. My body fights to stay upright, when everything inside me begs to collapse at her feet.
“I wasn’t taught how to love safely,” I whisper hoarsely, a confession scraping the bones of my past. “My father taught me loyalty and survival. Protection at all costs. Sacrifice. Violence is the language I speak fluently because it’s the only one I ever learned.”
She lifts her head, staring at me fiercely. Eyes wide open. Fearless.
“Then teach me your language,” she breathes, words cracking me wide open. “Even the violent parts.”
She doesn’t promise to fix me. Doesn’t beg me to stop. She just wants to understand the wreckage that made me.
I wrap her in my arms, careful, trembling. My hands are unsteady, gripping her waist like she might vanish into smoke.
“I don’t want youeverspeaking this language,” I murmur roughly into her hair, breathing her in. “That’s why I exist…to shield you from having to learn.”
“I’m stronger than you think,” she murmurs into my chest, quiet and certain. “But I understand.”
I press my lips gently against her temple, lingering in the safety she offers me, savoring this stolen peace. “Let me keep at least this promise to you.”
She nods slowly, heartbeat thrumming in perfect rhythm with mine before she steps back. Brave. Beautifully defiant.
“Do what you have to do,” she says, voice steady. “Just make sure you come back to me.”
I nod sharply. A promise carved from steel and blood. “Always.”
I’ll return. Every goddamn time.
Because Camille didn’t choose me for my light.
She chose me with blood staining my hands and violence seared into my bones.
Now I have to prove I’m worthy of that choice.
***
The warehouse air tastes metallic, thick with blood and fear. Concrete walls swallow screams exactly why I chose this place. No echo. No escape. Just merciless silence and the low, relentless hum of machinery.
Luis Torres kneels before me, battered and broken. Blood spatters the cement beneath him, dripping slowly from his split lips. His face is swollen, eyes bloodshot, panicked. Tremors ripple down his spine as I circle him, slow, deliberate footsteps echoing softly around us.
“You won’t even fucking look at me, Luis?” My voice cuts through the silence, quiet and lethal. “After everything?”
His jaw clenches weakly, teeth bloodied, mouth trembling. Pathetic.
I crouch down, forcing myself into his line of sight. My fingers curl under his chin, bruising bone beneath my grip as I jerk his head upward. He flinches violently, a sharp hiss escaping him.
“There you are,” I murmur softly, coldly. “See, I want you looking at me while we talk about this betrayal.”
“Kane, p-please…” he rasps, blood bubbling at the corner of his mouth. “It wasn’t…t wasn’t personal…”
I tighten my hold brutally, silencing him, forcing his face closer to mine. Rage simmers just beneath my skin, ice-cold fury. “Oh, Luis, betrayal is always personal. You thought you could take from me…my money, my business, my woman…and not feel it?”
Fear floods his eyes, stark and raw. He knows there’s no escape now. His desperation fills the air, rank and sour, as I release him abruptly, rising to my feet.
“Bring it,” I command.
