Corrupting Cinderella

by Autumn Jones Lake

  Whispering that I can’t make out reaches my ears. Hope whines.

  Fuck caution.

  Inside her office, a guy I don’t recognize has her bent over and pinned to her desk. White-hot fucking rage slams through me at the sight. Only concern that I’ll accidentally shoot Hope makes me tuck the gun back in my pants. From this angle, I can’t tell if he has a weapon. I’m worried if I startle the fuck, he’ll end up seriously injuring her.

  “Get off me!” she screams, throwing an elbow back into the guy’s gut. He jumps back enough for me to tell he’s unarmed, and I hurl myself at him, grabbing him around the neck. Hope shakes free just in time, because the motherfucker is on the floor with my knee in his chest within seconds.

  “Rock! Thank God,” she gasps.

  She’s reaching for her cell phone. To call the police, I assume.

  “Wait.” I glance down at the scrawny fuck beneath me. “Who’re you with?”

  “What?” he gasps out.

  Leaning over so my knee grinds into his chest a little harder, I yank his shirt up to check his ink.

  No ink on his front. I push up his sleeves. No ink on his arms. I’m about to turn the sniveling fuck over when Hope’s hand clamps down on my shoulder, pulling me back.

  “He’s one of Adam’s clients, Rock. Don’t hurt him. I don’t think he’s well.”

  No fucking shit he’s not well. He’s about to be really fucking unwell in a minute.

  The guy is sobbing under me now, chanting “I’m sorry” over and over again.

  Christ.

  I ease up my hold on the little fuck, then stand. “Move and I’ll shoot you,” I growl down at him.

  With my heart hammering away, blood thundering through my ears, I almost don’t hear Rock threaten to shoot poor David.

  Poor David, my ass.

  My cell phone is still clutched in my hand, and I uncurl my fingers to hand it over to Rock. I’m shaking way too much to make any sense on the phone.

  He gives me a tortured look, as if calling the cops offends him on some basic level. A complex mish-mash of emotions forces me into hysterical giggles. Oh boy. He hates when his friends look at me in a way he thinks is inappropriate.

  “You okay, baby?” Rock asks as he curves his arm around my waist, pulling me tight to his side.

  I bury my face in his shoulder and nod. He shifts his body a bit. “Don’t test me, motherfucker,” he snarls. Then I hear the distinct sounds of him dialing 911. He gives them a brief, clipped version of the story, the address, and hangs up. I’m sure they loved that.

  After a few minutes, he squeezes me a little tighter. “You got any zip ties here?”

  “Huh?” I shake myself out of his arms, meeting his questioning eyes. Dropping my gaze, I take in Rock’s big-booted foot, pinning David to the floor. The corners of my mouth turn down.

  “Don’t,” he warns.

  “Is that really necessary?”

  His jaw clenches. “Yes. But my leg’s getting tired, so, you got any zip ties?”

  I shake my head because I’m not even sure what the hell he’s asking for.

  It’s moot anyway, because the banging at the front door signals Empire’s finest has arrived. Rock jerks his chin in the direction of the commotion.

  “Let them in.”

  Scurrying down the hall, I smooth my hands over my clothes, wincing at all the sore spots along my body. I take a few deep breaths and pray I won’t burst into tears and make a fool of myself in front of the cops.

  Dealing with the bastards in blue wears down my last bit of patience for this entire day. The fucker questioning Hope at the moment is dangerously close to having my fist rammed down his throat. Especially if he insinuates one more time that she and that whimpering pile of shit were somehow “involved.”

  “Miss Kendall, maybe we should speak privately,” he suggests while throwing me a glance.

  Yeah, ‘cause I’m the problem.

  I honestly don’t care if I get carted off to county when I jab my finger in his chest, knocking him back a few steps. “You got a woman?”

  Fucker has the nerve to sneer at me. “Yeah, a fiancée.”

  “What would you have done if you walked in on her bent over a fucking desk, begging some creepy asshole to let her go, ‘cause he was hurtin’ her?”

  The cocky smirk slips off his face, replaced by something a little darker that I recognize and actually respect.

  “Thought so. Be fucking grateful my girl calmed me down. The way I wanted to handle this was very different.”

  He knocks my hand away from his chest. “I’m sure it was, Mr. North.”

  I can’t tell if he thinks he’s intimidating me or he actually agrees.

  Hope’s soft hand against my chest breaks my focus. “Rock, it’s okay,” she says softly.

  It is most certainly not okay. Nothing about this is okay.

  She turns her head, and in a stronger voice says, “Officer, I’ve told you everything I know. I only met Mr. Greybell once before. He’s attorney Braydon’s client. Adam assured me the guy was a little weird but not dangerous. I have no idea why he attacked me.”

  A prison psychologist once taught me these breathing exercises to calm myself down when the need to kill someone struck me. I’d never admit it, but they worked well enough to keep me from acting irrationally more than once in my life. I’m employing one of those techniques right this second, because Adam just walked in and I’m pretty sure if I kill Adam, Hope’s going to be pissed with me.

  “What the fuck is going on?” the cocky shit asks.

  Since I’m still busy counting to ten in my head, I let Officer Might-have-some-balls answer Adam’s question.

  Hope shakes herself free from my hold and storms over to Adam. She’s still not wearing shoes so Adam’s got a good six inches on her, but it doesn’t stop her from smacking his arm. Or yelling at him. “Your harmless client fucking attacked me, that’s what going on!”

  The look of worry, alarm, regret, whatever it is that passes over his face is probably the only thing that keeps him off my “people I need to kill” list.

  “Jesus Christ, are you okay, Hope?” He pulls her in for a quick hug, then pushes her away to look her over. Officer Dickface quirks an eyebrow at me, and I shrug.

  Adam’s gaze lands on me, and he groans. “Fuck, you’re not going to kill me, are you?”

  “Not today.”

  Hope glares at both of us.

  The officers who were in the back with Greybell walk him to the front door. They nod to Officer Dickwad. “Taking him in to process.”

  “Officer, is jail really appropriate? Maybe he should be sent to a hospital or something?” Hope asks.

  Good fucking God, what am I going to do with her?

  “Let his lawyer worry about that, Miss Kendall,” the officer says gently, then glances at Adam. “That you?”

  “No, sir, I’m an estate attorney. David, is there someone you want me to call?” Adam asks the piece of shit who attacked my woman.

  Okay, the fucker just earned himself an engraved spot on my list.

  The guy must be in shock, because he doesn’t answer or even acknowledge Adam. The cops shrug and lead him out the door, steering clear of me for some reason.

  “I’m taking her home,” I tell Officer Donutdick.

  He opens his mouth to protest, then thinks better of it.

  One look at Hope, and it’s clear why. Although she was ready to pound the crap out of Adam a minute ago, she’s pale everywhere except her cheeks, which are an unhealthy shade of red. There is some slight discoloration forming on her cheek and around her neck, which sends me into rage-y caveman mode all over again. Her glassy eyes meet mine, and she visibly shivers.

  “Can you give me a number in case we need to reach her?” Officer Working-my-last-nerve asks.

  After wrapping Hope in my arms, I rattle off my number and address to the cop. Hope, thank fuck, doesn’t contradict me. I’m sure soon she’ll remember we
were in the middle of a huge fight, but right now she’s not doing so well. Fight or not, she’s coming home with me, because I’m not letting her out of my sight.

  When I finally get her outside, she sucks in the cool night air in greedy gulps. The sun has long since set.

  “I don’t feel well,” she whispers.

  My girl is proud, so she must be feeling pretty damn bad to admit that.

  “When’s the last time you ate something?”

  The fact that she has to stop and think about it is all I need to know. I’ve got fuck all in the way of food at my house, so once I get her settled in her car, I tap out a few texts to remedy that situation.

  I get Hope inside my house and settled on the couch before she conks out. After covering her with a blanket, I walk back into the kitchen. I’m not waiting long before Hoot shows up with a bag of Chinese takeout.

  “Axel should be by in a few with groceries,” he huffs out after setting the bag on the counter.

  “Good. I need one of you to go down to Hope’s office, grab my bike, and bring it here.” Hoot seems a little shocked I’m willing to let either of them near my bike, but it’s the last thing I’m worried about.

  “No problem.”

  Like a good little prospect, he goes outside to wait for Axel.

  Kicking off my boots, I contemplate the wisdom of waking Hope. She needs her rest, but she also needs to eat something. As I pad back into the living room, I’m struck by how fucking tiny and fragile she looks burrowed into my couch. All the awful possibilities of what could have happened had I not been there tear through my brain. The irony of the attack having nothing to do with me or the club is something I set aside to examine later.

  Hope looks so peaceful, I don’t want to startle her. Gently, I brush my fingers over her cheek, pushing her hair behind her ear. “Hope, baby, dinner’s here.”

  “Hmmm,” she mumbles. She blinks a few times before looking up at me. A soft smile is the first expression she has when she meets my gaze, and my heart jumps.

  I’m almost too choked up to speak. “You want to eat here or in the kitchen?” I ask while nodding at the coffee table.

  She throws back the blanket and sits up. “Kitchen. Let me run to the bathroom, and I’ll meet you in there.” She stands and winces, then rolls her shoulders. “I hurt everywhere.”

  I’m itching to run my hands over her, but I don’t want to add to any of her aches.

  She glances down at her rumpled clothes. “Do you have something I can change into?”

  “Yeah, of course. Give me a sec.”

  She runs down to the bathroom, and I dig through some clean laundry in the mudroom. I tap on the bathroom door, and she answers in her underwear. Normally I’d be primed to jump her, but the bruising over the delicate skin of her stomach, thighs and upper arms has me knotted into such a murderous fit I can’t even think straight.

  “Christ, I’m going to kill that fucker.”

  Her eyes widen in surprise. “It looks worse than it feels.”

  I know she’s lying because she told me not five minutes ago how bad she was hurting.

  I hand over the clothes and press a quick kiss to her cheek. “Hurry, dinner’s getting cold,” I croak out.

  “Okay.” She doesn’t bother closing the door, just slips into the long T-shirt and shorts I gave her.

  She curls her fingers around my hand and tugs me to the kitchen. “I’m so far past hungry, I feel sick. But I know I need to eat something,” she says over her shoulder.

  Right. Food.

  Feed my girl now.

  Murder guy later.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  My mind is a mess as we sit down to eat. My stomach rolls, and I’m not sure I’ll be able to keep anything down. Rock pries the lid off a plastic container of wonton soup and nudges it in front of me. Not really caring what I look like, I pick up the container and suck down a good portion of the broth.

  “Stop staring at me, and eat your own dinner,” I mutter, which makes Rock chuckle.

  We eat in silence. After the day we’ve had, I’m not sure there’s a whole lot to say.

  Rock heard me recount my story to the officers over and over, so nothing needs to be said about that.

  The whole incident with Tony seems rather insignificant now. Maybe tomorrow when I reflect on it again, I’ll feel differently, but at the moment I can’t muster up any feelings on the subject.

  Rock’s entire body is tense as he watches me.

  When I finally push my food away, he puts his hand over mine. “Feel better?”

  “I do, actually.” Well, except for the soreness prickling my stomach and legs.

  Fear slams into me, and an image of David grabbing me and throwing me against my desk makes me shudder.

  “Hope?”

  I open my eyes and meet his concerned, stormy-gray stare. “I’m okay.”

  Someone bangs on the back door and I rocket out of my seat, slamming my knee into the underside of the table in the process. “Ouch!”

  “Shh, calm down. It’s one of the prospects.”

  He shouts “come in,” and Axel walks through the door carrying two handfuls of grocery bags. He sets them on the counter and starts quietly putting things away. It amuses me that he seems to know the layout of Rock’s kitchen better than I do, and I drop back into my chair.

  “Hey, Axel,” I call out. He turns and glances at Rock before answering.

  “How you doin’, Hope?”

  I’m not sure what Axel knows, so I just say, “Okay.”

  When it looks like he’s almost finished, I ask, “Is Heidi with you?”

  His mouth turns down. “No. She’s home.”

  “Teller with her?”

  “I think so.”

  When all the bags are empty, Rock kicks a chair at Axel. Although he seems surprised, he joins us.

  “Teller been up to the clubhouse today?” Rock asks Axel.

  “Yeah, but he left so he could meet Heidi at the bus stop.” He rolls his eyes.

  “I’m sure she loved that,” I say with a snort.

  Axel cracks a smile. “Uh, she was pretty pissed. Called and gave me an earful.”

  Now Rock chuckles.

  “He brought her to see their grandmother,” Axel says with a serious expression, “but I guess that didn’t go too well.”

  I raise an eyebrow for him to continue, but he shrugs.

  “She didn’t give me any details.”

  “Are you hungry, Axel?” I ask, gesturing to the table. It seems rude to have all this food laid out and not offer him any.

  “No, thanks, Hope. I already had dinner.” He glances at Rock. “Hoot said you need us to pick up your bike?”

  “Yeah. Leave it here.”

  Axel nods and stands.

  “Give me a second, babe,” Rock says and follows Axel outside.

  While they’re gone, I clean up the kitchen. Peering into the fridge, I find that Axel brought over skim milk and some other things that Rock must have told him I’d want. Such a small thing, but it touches me for some reason.

  The door bangs shut, and I hear the snick of the lock. Then Rock is wrapping his arms loosely around me. “Baby, I want you resting, not cleaning up the kitchen.”

  He steers me into the living room, and we settle on the couch to watch a movie. I barely make it through the opening credits before I’m out. In the distant recesses of my mind, I register the rumble of a motorcycle, Rock speaking softly on the phone, and then nothing.

  In the morning, I wake up in Rock’s bed. He’s curled so tight around me, it takes a second to extract myself so I can run to the bathroom.

  When I return, he’s sitting up waiting for me. He holds out his hand, and I hurry to wrap myself up in his arms.

  “How do you feel today, baby doll?” he rasps in his morning-rough voice.

  “Better.” It’s not quite a lie. Almost.

  “Do you want to talk about yesterday?” he asks.

  My h
ead is resting on his chest, so even when I tip my head up, I can’t really see his face. I trace my fingers over the stubble along his jaw.

  “Which part? The attack, or the fact that you’ve been lying to me for a while?”

  Whoops. That came out harsher than I meant. Underneath me, Rock’s body tightens, and for a second he stops breathing.

  “Wherever you want to start, doll,” he finally answers.

  Propping myself up on one elbow, I move so we’re facing each other. “Why didn’t you tell me you knew Tony?”

  He seems surprised. “When? Back then, or now?”

  “Don’t be dense. Now.”

  His jaw ticks, and I think I might have accidentally insulted him.

  “Honestly? It never occurred to me.”

  I turn that over in my head. He seems sincere.

  “What if we’d run into him somewhere?”

  “Babe, we did run into him somewhere,” he answers with a wry twist of his lips.

  “What made you think you could manipulate my career? Back then,” I add.

  He seems puzzled by the question.

  “I liked you.” He presses a finger against my lips when I go to speak. I sit up so I can see him better. “Let me finish,” he requests, “I thought you were smart, and I wanted to do something to help you.”

  “So, it wasn’t a way to get in my pants?”

  Now I think I’ve offended him. It’s pretty clear from his expression that had never occurred to him.

  “No.” He sits up quickly and takes my hand. “Fuck, no, Hope. I told you how bad I wanted you, but I also respected you. You know loyalty means something to me.” He taps his fingers against his chest, right below his “Strength from Loyalty” tattoo. “Christ, my ex cheated on me left and right. I knew that day we first kissed you were struggling.”

  Heat races across my cheeks as I remember that illicit kiss. Guilt rushes through my gut because at the time I had no business wanting Rock the way I did.

  He places a finger under my chin, tipping my head up. “You were struggling, but you said no. I respected that. A lot, Hope. You know as well as I do, you can’t help being attracted to someone, but you can chose whether you act on it or not.”

  “God, you’re full of yourself,” I grouch.