Page 276 of Corrupting Camille
I pull the trigger, putting a bullet directly between his eyes.
He drops instantly, skull splattering the wall behind him.
I lower the weapon, breathing steady, the scent of blood and burning flesh filling my lungs. Flames roar suddenly behind me, engulfing the warehouse in blistering heat, consuming every secret, every corpse, every shred of evidence.
Men scream somewhere behind the smoke, swallowed by fire and pain.
This is my message.
Written in blood.
Signed with flames.
Touch what belongs to me, and I will raze your world and salt the earth beneath it.
Without hesitation, without remorse, I turn my back on the inferno, stepping calmly into the night, death and vengeance trailing me like shadows.
Camille
I wake up wrapped in silence so deep it feels wrong, like someone’s holding a breath, afraid to shatter whatever fragile peace remains.
Rosa sleeps fitfully in the guest wing, Lucia curled tightly into her side, sedatives finally dragging them beneath the weight of their grief. Lena had kept vigil beside me until exhaustionwon, her face pressed into the plush velvet cushions, mascara-streaked cheeks and messy hair telling the story of her effort.
But sleep won’t come for me.
Instead, I sit on the balcony alone, wearing nothing but one of Kane’s shirts. It’s oversized, worn soft from his body, holding his scent, warm, dangerous, painfully familiar. I breathe him in like oxygen, hoping it’s enough to quiet my racing heart.
The moon watches from above, heavy and full, casting silver shadows across my skin. My hand settles protectively against my stomach, over a tiny, barely-there curve. It feels surreal, fragile, impossibly precious. But I can feel it, the life humming quietly beneath my palm, Kane’s child, our child.
I understand him now. Why he went out tonight. Why he’s hunting and bleeding for vengeance.
But God, I wish he didn’t have to.
I wish he were here, safe, not staining his hands with blood for us. For me.
The balcony door creaks quietly behind me, but I don’t move. Soft footsteps pad across cool marble, and Lena slips quietly onto the seat beside me. She’s barefoot, wrapped in my robe, mascara smudged beneath tired eyes. Without a word, she hands me a warm mug of tea. I know she didn’t make it, she probably cornered Leo in the kitchen, demanding comfort brewed into a mug.
“You okay?” she finally asks, voice gentle.
I shake my head, throat tight. “No.”
She nods slightly, bumping her shoulder against mine. “Wanna talk about it?”
“No.”
A pause. Then softly, “Want to talk about literally anything else?”
I glance sideways, my lips twitching despite everything. “You called Kane ‘Daddy Death Vibes’ earlier.”
She lifts a brow, smirking softly. “Tell me I’m wrong.”
I laugh quietly, a fragile, fleeting sound. It helps, even if it hurts.
Silence settles again, softer this time. Lena leans her head lightly against mine, our bodies sharing warmth.
“He’s coming back, Cam,” she whispers. “He’s got too much to lose. He’s coming home.”
“I hope you’re right.” My voice cracks around the edges, betraying every fear I’ve fought to bury.
