Page 256 of Corrupting Camille
Can’t get to her.
Can’t tear his throat open with my hands the way my body is begging to.
Rojas looks up at me, still straddling her, still pressing his forearm into her throat like it’s a game. He’s smiling, sweating, wild-eyed now, but still smiling.
“Tell me, Rivera,” he pants, blood smeared across his mouth from where she bit him, “what’s it like to watch someone else fuck what’s yours?”
My jaw cracks as I clench it. Vision blurring at the edges, fury climbing to a place beyond rage, something ancient, something feral, something that doesn’t fucking speak. It devours. It burns.
He’s touching her like he doesn’t know I already marked her with blood. With fire. With me.
I don’t breathe. I calculate.
Because Camille’s still watching. Not sobbing now…staring. Her eyes lock with mine and tell me everything I need to know:
Don’t fall.
Don’t fold.
Don’t give him anything.
Be the monster I know you are.
And that’s when I smile.
Just a flicker.
The kind of smile that means death. That means this ends here, badly, for everyone who ever dared breathe near her.
I reach under my vest. Pull the detonator. Cold plastic. One press.
The eastern wall detonates three stories below concrete and steel erupting in a thunderous explosion. Sirens scream to life, lights burst, alarms shriek.
Rojas flinches.
So do his men.
That single second?
Is mine.
Two shots.
Head. Throat.
The guards drop without a sound.
I breach the override. The glass groans, retracting fast.
I move.
Fast.
Deadly.
Camille coughs, tries to roll, but she’s pinned, so I grab him by the collar, wrench him off her with every ounce of force I have, and slam him into the nearest wall.
His skull cracks against the metal, blood spraying. He hits the floor hard.
