Corrupt

by Penelope Douglas

  I could just imagine what everyone thought.

  I shifted my eyes from left to right, trying to recall what the hell the teacher had been talking about, and then I remembered the first point that had popped in my head before Damon first whispered in my ear.

  “You…” I took a deep breath and met the teacher’s eyes. “You talked about an ungrateful generation whose lives revolve around the technology yours gave us. I just don’t…” I paused. “I just don’t think that’s a useful perspective.”

  “Clarify.”

  I straightened in my seat, sitting forward, away from Damon’s touch.

  “Well, it’s like taking your child to an auto lot to buy a car and being angry when they choose a car,” I explained. “I don’t think it’s right to get aggravated with the public for utilizing conveniences that are made available to them.”

  He talked about my generation’s “bloated sense of entitlement,” but it went much deeper than that.

  “But they don’t fully appreciate the convenience of it in their lives,” Professor Cain argued.

  “Because it’s not a convenience to them,” I shot back, growing stronger. “It’s their normal, because their frame of reference is different than yours was growing up. And we’ll say it’s a convenience when our children have things we didn’t. But again, that won’t be a convenience to them, either. It will be their normal.”

  Damon and Will remained unmoving at my side.

  “And furthermore,” I went on, “this discussion isn’t useful, because it won’t change anything. You’re angry, because your generation has given mine advances in technology and then blame us for the altered reality? Where’s the accountability?”

  Will breathed out a quiet laugh next to me, while the rest of the room, including Damon, sat silently, as if waiting for whatever was next.

  Professor Cain peered up at me, narrowing his eyes as the heavy silence wrapped around the room like a rubber band, making it smaller and smaller and smaller.

  I felt like everyone was looking at me.

  But as I waited for my skin to heat up with shame, it didn’t. Instead, my skin buzzed with adrenaline, and I had to hold back a smile as I stared at the professor.

  This feels good.

  Maybe it was the bullshit with Damon and Will or the run-ins with Michael, but the end of my rope was in my hand, and I was grasping for threads. I just decided to let go.

  I didn’t drop my eyes. I didn’t blush. I didn’t apologize.

  I owned it.

  Crossing my arms over my chest, I sat back.

  “She asked you a question,” Damon spoke up, making Cain’s face fall.

  I blinked in surprise. What was he doing?

  But Cain didn’t respond, merely straightened his back and walked back around his desk.

  “Let’s think about that for next time, everyone,” he called out, plastering a smile on his face for the class as he evaded the discussion. “And don’t forget the reading assignment posted on my website. Have that ready for Wednesday.”

  The class began to rise, and I didn’t hesitate. I grabbed my iPad, hurrying to make my escape, but Damon stopped me, getting in my face as he rose from his seat.

  “No one fucks with you but us,” he warned with a sinister smile.

  And I steeled my jaw, stuffing my belongings in my bag and shooting out of my chair.

  All that time away, everything they’d lost, and this is what they indulge in when they come back? Me?

  I slung my bag over my shoulder and glared at him. “Your sense of humor sucks,” I gritted out in an angry whisper. “It’s a little early for Devil’s Night pranks. If you ever threaten my mother again, even if it’s just joking, I’ll call the police.”

  I turned to leave, but he hooked the back of my neck, and I came crashing into his chest. I gasped, my breaths shaking as students continued to filter out, seeming oblivious to what was happening.

  “Who said I was kidding?” he whispered against my cheekbone.

  I felt a body press into my back, and I knew it was Will caging me in.

  I looked up at Damon, hardening my gaze. “What do you want?” I challenged. “Huh?”

  He licked his lips, and I felt Will’s breath on my neck.

  “Whatever it is,” he taunted, “I think I’m getting it.”

  But I shook my head, feigning boredom. “A child can pick the legs off a spider,” I sneered. “What else you got?”

  His eyes narrowed on me. “You’re going to be a lot of fun, Rika.”

  He released me, and I immediately shoved him away, turning and pushing past Will. Hurrying up the stairs, I brushed past the other students to get away and barged out the door and into the hallway.

  What the hell was going on?

  WILL, KAI, AND DAMON WERE ALL OUT OF JAIL, all in Meridian City, and Will and Damon, at least, were seeking me out. Why?

  Hadn’t they done enough damage three years ago? Hadn’t they learned their lesson then? They’d gotten what they deserved, and I couldn’t say I was sorry. They’d fucked up and they’d pissed me off, so any sympathy I mustered over the years for them was minimal.

  I just wished they’d quit while they were ahead. They thought I was an easy target, and they mistook my quietness for weakness, but I was no longer their toy.

  They needed to move on.

  I didn’t have any more classes today, so I bolted from campus and rushed across the Commons to my apartment a few blocks down the busy city street.

  Walking into Delcour, I spotted Alex, the girl from class and the other night, waiting at the elevator.

  “Hey,” she greeted, turning to me and pushing her sunglasses up to the top of her head. “Are you okay?”

  She must be asking because of Damon and Will.

  I smiled weakly, hooding my eyes. “I think so. I used to go to school with them and be so curious about who they were. Now I just wish I was invisible to them again.”

  I turned my eyes, seeing the blue lights of the elevator descending.

  “Well, I don’t know Damon and Will all that well,” she stated, “but I can promise you, you were never invisible to them.”

  And I shot her a look, seeing her eyes scale down my body.

  She knew them?

  Well, I guess that made sense. If she was seeing Michael, she would’ve met his friends, I suppose.

  Which reminds me…

  “Don’t you take the other elevator to his penthouse?” I asked her, pointing my thumb over my shoulder, indicating Michael’s private entrance.

  “Whose penthouse?” she asked.

  “Michael’s.”

  The elevator dinged, and the doors opened. She stepped in, and I followed behind absently.

  “Yes, but I’m not going there,” she answered. “I live on the sixteenth floor.”

  And I watched as she pressed sixteen and the doors slowly closed.

  She lived in the building.

  “Oh,” I responded. “Well, I guess that makes it convenient to see him.”

  “I see lots of men.”

  I raised my eyebrows. Oooookay. Whatever that meant.

  I reached over and pushed twenty-one, holding the strap of my bag at my shoulder as the elevator approached its first stop.

  “Women, too,” she added, sounding cocky.

  I stilled, feeling the heat of her stare on my neck.

  “Do you like women?” she asked matter-of-factly.

  My eyes rounded, and a laugh lodged in my throat. “Uh,” I choked out. “Well, it’s never really occurred to me.”

  Damn. Got to hand it to her. She knew how to get my mind off the guys.

  She turned her head, looking at the elevator door and smirking. “Let me know if it ever does.”

  The doors opened, and she stepped out, calling over her shoulder in a taunting voice, “Hope to see you around, Rika.”

  And she disappeared down the hall, the doors closing behind her.

  I shook my head, clearing it
. What the hell was that?

  When the doors opened again, I stepped out, going straight for my apartment. Once inside, I locked the door and dug my phone out of my bag before tossing the satchel onto the sofa.

  No missed calls.

  I spoke to my mother every other day, and if she didn’t have a signal, the yacht had a satellite phone. Why wasn’t she calling me back? Damon’s threat had me concerned now, and I wanted to make sure she was safe.

  Pithom, the Crists’ motor yacht, was usually docked in Thunder Bay. They’d hosted many parties there growing up, but it was also perfectly capable of handling long ocean excursions. During the fall and winter months, Mr. and Mrs. Crist often took it to southern Europe for their annual excursion instead of traveling by plane. I guessed Mrs. Crist went ahead of her husband a little early this year and took my mother with her.

  I dialed her number, the line going straight to voicemail.

  “Okay, Mom,” I said, annoyance thick in my voice. “It’s been days. I’ve left messages, and you’re making me worry now. If you were taking a trip, why didn’t you call me?”

  I hadn’t meant to yell, but I was already frazzled. I pulled the phone away, hanging up.

  My mother was flighty and not at all self-sufficient, but she was always available to me. She was always in contact.

  Walking to the refrigerator, I dialed Mr. Crist’s office and stuck the phone between my shoulder and my ear as I plucked out a Gatorade and twisted the top.

  “Evans Crist’s office,” a woman greeted.

  “Hi, Stella.” I took a quick sip and replaced the cap. “This is Erika Fane. Is Mr. Crist in?”

  “No, I’m sorry, Rika,” she replied. “He’s already gone for the day. Would you like his cell number?”

  I sighed, setting down my bottle. Stella had worked for the Crists and been Mr. Crist’s personal secretary my entire life. I was used to dealing with her, since she also handled most of my family’s finances for Mr. Crist. Until I graduated from college anyway.

  “No, I have his number,” I told her. “I just didn’t want to bother him on his private time. Could you please ask him to call me at his convenience when you speak to him next? It’s not an emergency, but it is kind of important.”

  “Of course, dear,” she replied.

  “Thank you.”

  I hung up and grabbed my Gatorade, moving to the window to look out into the courtyard and the city beyond.

  The sun was starting to set, thin slices of it peeking through the skyscrapers as I took in the clear sky and purple hues in the distance. The lamps outside in the garden, sensing the disappearance of sunlight, suddenly lit up, and I raised my eyes, seeing the windows of Michael’s penthouse.

  It was dark. I hadn’t seen him in a several days, not since the episode at Hunter-Bailey, and I wondered if he was off training or out of town. The basketball season would be starting in the next couple of months, but it wasn’t uncommon to have exhibition or pre-games before the regular schedule began. He’d be very busy and most likely away a lot between November and March.

  I turned on some music—Silence by Delirium—and took off my scarf and kicked off my boots and socks as I spread out at the kitchen island with my laptop, working on the assignments I’d accumulated today.

  In addition to the anthropology class, I’d also started Statistics, as well as Cognitive Psychology today. I still had no idea what I wanted to do for a career, but since I’d already taken so many courses between Brown and Trinity that focused on Psychology and Sociology, I was pretty sure I’d declare my major soon.

  The only thing I knew for certain was that I liked learning about people. The way their brains worked, how much was chemical and how much was societal, and I wanted to understand why we did the things we did. Why we made the decisions we made.

  After I’d finished reading, highlighting more lines than I hadn’t, I worked on the statistics problems assigned and then made myself a chicken Caesar salad as I finished a few chapters for my history class tomorrow.

  By the time I was done, the sun had set, and I’d repacked my school bag for tomorrow’s classes and hooked up my iPad to charge. Walking to the windows, I dialed my mother again and gazed outside, the city glittering with life.

  The call went immediately to voicemail again, and I clicked End, dialing Mrs. Crist right after.

  But she didn’t answer, either. I left a message, asking her to call me and tossed the phone on a chair in defeat. Why couldn’t I reach my mom? She called nearly every day when I was away at Brown last year.

  I glanced up, doing a double-take and noticing Michael’s apartment all lit up. He was home.

  I twisted my lips to the side, thinking. I couldn’t reach Mrs. Crist, and her husband was a busy man. I hated bothering him or even dealing with him if I had to. Michael was slightly less frustrating, and he probably had the number to Pithom’s satellite phone.

  Spinning around, I headed out the front door in my bare feet and took the elevator down to the lobby.

  I wasn’t calling him. He’d just brush me off. I had a better chance if I asked him in person.

  Stepping out of the elevator, I spotted Richard, the doorman, standing outside, and I quickly glanced around, looking for a desk clerk. It was after hours, so the lobby rarely had an attendant, but I was sure I needed a card key to get me into Michael’s elevator.

  I jogged toward the front doors, ready to sweet-talk Richard into giving me access, but then an elevator dinged behind me, and I turned around, seeing a two tall gentlemen stroll out of Michael’s elevator. They were huge, at least four inches taller than him, and even he was big. They half-laughed together and half-played on their phones as they walked through the lobby, one of them giving me a smile as he passed.

  They had to be basketball players. Probably teammates of Michael’s.

  Shooting my gaze over the elevator, I saw that it was still open, and I didn’t wait. I hurried over, dived inside, and pressed the button for the doors to close. I didn’t even check to see if Richard had spotted me, too scared I’d look like I was doing something wrong.

  The doors closed, the elevator immediately began ascending, and I locked my hands behind my back, breaking out in a smile at the rush.

  It felt like forever, my stomach flipping and my heart racing, but when the elevator finally stopped, it was like no time at all. I was here.

  The doors opened, and I raised my eyes, steeling myself.

  It was dim. Like a cave.

  A gray wall sat just ahead, and despite the drumming in my chest, I stepped out onto the black hardwood floors and crept slowly to the left, the only way I could go.

  It smells like him. Spice and wood and leather and something else that I could never pin down. Something that was just him.

  Slowly walking down the small hallway, I heard Godsmack’s Inside Yourself echoing through the penthouse, and I stepped into a large living area, taking in the beauty and the darkness all around me.

  There were only dim lights on, and blue neon glowed from behind the black boards mounted along the walls. The living room dipped, and he had a whole wall of windows just like mine, but his was twice the length of my entire apartment. The thousands of lights of the city spread before me, and with the elevation, I could see more and more in the distance. It went on forever.

  Everything inside was black and gray, and everything shined.

  I walked into the living room, grazing my fingertips over a long, black glass table he had sitting against a wall, feeling something tingle deep in my body.

  But I stopped, hearing the pounding of a basketball. The sound heated my blood, bringing back so many memories. Michael was always dribbling a ball growing up. You could hear it echoing throughout the house.

  I followed the sound as it led me to the railing off the side of the living room.

  Of course.

  A private, indoor basketball court sat below in a sunken room, and while it wasn’t as large as an average court or his cou
rt at home, I was sure it served its purpose anyway. There were two hoops, a pristine, shiny hardwood floor, and plenty of basketballs on racks.

  It was state-of-the-art, like everything else in the apartment, and I didn’t know why I wouldn’t think Michael would have a court in his apartment. When he wasn’t playing basketball, he was almost always carrying one. Playing was the only time he ever really smiled.

  My eyes fell on him as he jogged and dribbled and then shot the ball, landing it right in the hoop. He wore long black mesh shorts and no shirt, sweat shining across his broad, toned chest and tight abs, and I watched as he spun around, grabbed another ball off the cart close by, and continued his drills.

  The muscles in his long back flexed, and I watched his arms tighten, every thick cord defined as he raised his arms again and shot the ball, sending it flying through the air.

  A ding went off behind me, and I tore my eyes away from him, casting a nervous glance over my shoulder as I remembered that I wasn’t supposed to be here.

  Shit.

  I tensed my legs, ready to run…but it was too late. Kai, Will, and Damon strolled in, immediately slowing when they spotted me. Their eyes locked on mine, and my heart dived into my stomach.

  “You okay, Rika?” Kai asked, his gentle eyes from three years now cold and hard.

  I swallowed. “I’m fine.”

  But his lips tilted in a knowing way. “You don’t look fine.”

  He continued to approach me, and I watched as Damon and Will took seats on the couch, relaxing as they hooked their arms around the back. Damon blew out a cloud of smoke, and I recoiled into the railing, suddenly feeling caged.

  It had been so long since I’d seen them all together. I wanted to leave.

  For some reason, I thought they’d grow apart over the years, but here they were, together as if nothing had changed.

  All of them were dressed in black suits, looking like they were heading out for the night, and I tucked my hair behind my ear, trying to find my voice.

  “I’m just surprised, that’s all,” I told him, straightening against the railing. “It’s been a long time.”

  He nodded slowly. “Yes, it’s been a very long time since that night.”