Page 56 of Corrupting Camille
Chapter Six
Kane
She runs.
Not the way people normally do, not frantic, not desperate. Calculated. Like she’s got control over the situation. Like she’s making the choice.
She’s not.
She moves through the crowd fast, head high, spine straight, like she’s untouchable. Like she isn’t coming apart at the seams.
But I see it.
The way her breath hitches. The way she grips her bag too tight, like it’s holding her together. The way her heels strike the pavement just a little too hard, a little too quick.
She’s unraveling.
And I let her.
For a block.
Maybe two.
Then the Rolls creeps alongside her slow, smooth, quiet. The window glides down, tinted glass peeling back like a curtain on the next act of her unraveling.
She stops.
Goes still.
Doesn’t even have to look to know who’s inside.
I rest my arm along the door, watching her, letting the smirk tug at my lips. “Get in the car, Princesa.”
Her fingers twitch against the cab door handle. A war wages behind those sharp, brown eyes.
She wants to get in.
She wants to run.
And fuck if I don’t enjoy watching her figure out which urge wins.
She exhales slowly, voice clipped. “Go to hell.”
I chuckle, low and deep, because I expected nothing less. “Already been there,” I murmur, my voice smooth, calm, absolute. “Didn’t like it, left a few bodies there.”
A pause.
“Get in.”
Her jaw tightens. Her body goes stiff, but she still doesn’t move. “I’m taking a cab.”
“No, you’re not.”
I don’t say it loud. I don’t have to. The weight of my words settles over her like a second skin.
She knows how this goes.
“You’re getting in this car,” I continue, voice steady, fingers tapping against the leather seat. “Or, I follow you home and we finish this conversation on your front steps.”
