Page 55 of Surrender

He only makes a noncommittal sound. No praise telling me I did good, no words of encouragement or satisfaction.

“Somebody there said something strange though,” I continue. “He called me robin.”

“On account of your red hair?” Corbin suggests. “Guess I’m not the most creative guy out there.”

He finally turns to look at me properly, and I can tell he’s not buying my stories. “Why are you here, Robin? I half expected you to run away this time.”

“I…” Fuck. I’m a fucking assassin. I’ve killed so many people. I just escaped an entire room full of armed mobsters, yet this one man terrifies me so much more than anything else.

“How did he know? Did Silvano Cresci hire me to kill Cristiano Fiore?” I keep my voice as steady as I can.

“Does it matter?” Corbin’s show comes back on, but he hits the mute button. “You do your job. Don’t think about why. I’ve told you twenty million times to not ask questions.”

“But I almost got killed this time,” I argue. “That fucking warehouse was rigged. And if Silvano Cresci knew I was going to be there—”

“Silvano Cresci is none of your business,” Corbin snaps at me. He gets up and grabs my arm to shake me violently. “You want me to hurt you? Is that why you’re here? Then take off your shirt and line up against the wall.”

Fuck. I reach for my shirt almost instinctively—but it’s not my shirt. It’s Briar’s shirt, and Briar’s jacket. My ass is still tingling from the belting Cristiano gave me.

I lower my hands and shake my head. “No. I came for answers. I’m tired of fumbling around in the dark.”

My refusal pisses Corbin off, and he snarls at me. “Get up against the wall, Robin.”

That doesn’t even feel like my name anymore.

It isn’t my name. It’s just what Corbin decided to call me when he took me in. I don’t remember what my parents had called me. I barely remember anything before that day when I met Corbin.

I’m not Robin. I don’t have to be Robin.

I get up, but I shake my head. “No. Tell me the fucking truth, Corbin. Who the fuck tried to get me and Fiore killed? Why are you so fucking insistent about this—”

The punch isn’t a surprise. I know Corbin, and I know what sets him off. I know his limits. I know what I can say to make him really mad, to the point where he breaks out the belt or the cane or the whip and hurts me so badly that I can’t move for days.

I hate it—but sometimes I want it, too, because it makes me forget about all the fucking feelings whirling around inside me.

I stumble back only a few feet and clutch my jaw, breathing through the pain. Then I stand up straighter again and look him in the eyes. “Who ordered the hit, Corbin?”

“None of your fucking business,” Corbin answers. He’s unbuckling his belt now. “You’re really trying my patience, Robin.”

A gunshot rings out.

Corbin cries out in pain. I look down and see that a perfectly timed shot had gotten his knee, blood blooming out from the wound. Corbin collapses onto the ground, and before he can recover, Cristiano strides in and goes straight for him.

He makes quick work of one wrist in a cable tie before Corbin understands what’s happening and starts to fight back.

Corbin collects himself fast enough. He looks up at me and starts laughing. “You fucking piece of trash. You brought him here? I told you not to bring any fuck toys home.”

Cristiano grabs for Corbin’s other wrist, but Corbin is quick to dodge. Instead, he grips Cristiano’s wrist, for all that he can’t keep the hold on it when Cristiano twists it out of his grasp. He doesn’t respond to Corbin’s words, which almost makes me wonder if he agrees with what Corbin is saying.

I throw that thought off and grab the belt Corbin had dropped. While Corbin and Cristiano struggle with each other, I loop the belt around Corbin’s neck and pull it tight. His eyes widen, and he tries to punch me again, but Cristiano grabs his wrist and finally manages to get both hands tied behind his back.

I keep pulling the belt, watching Corbin’s face turn redder and redder. He makes little raspy, gasping motions, but without air he can’t make any sounds.

It’s so fucking easy. I should have done this years ago.

But where would I have gone, years ago?

“Fox! We still need him alive!” Cristiano barks, and I snap out of it enough to loosen the belt.

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