Corrupt Savior

by Leigh, Tara

  “Stupid stones,” I mutter, hopping back onto the luxurious lawn. I circle the house several times, crossing the front yard by walking across the narrow Belgian block bricks. There is a wide flagstone path I could use, but I don’t. Instead, I concentrate on my balance, on putting one foot in front of the other, without falling, without so much as a wobble. It’s an oddly soothing exercise.

  I don’t see Michael, but I do catch sight of Carlos’s men as I roam around the grounds. They don’t say anything to me, but from the way their sunglass-covered eyes track my steps, I’m sure that if I took off running, I would be tackled to the ground in minutes.

  The illusion of freedom is just as abrasive as the obvious absence of it. At least in the basement, I knew I was being held captive. Here, I can run and jump and scream—but I cannot escape.

  Sebastián is watching me, too. I saw him from the corner of my eye, looking down at me through a window at the back of the house.

  His forehead rests against the glass pane, his hooded eyes and pensive scowl giving the impression that he feels just as trapped as I do.

  The sun is almost directly overhead, and I am warm in the heavy robe as I meet his eyes. I am about to jog up the back stairs when Sebastián comes down. “What’s your end game here?” I ask. “I haven’t seen you since the day we graduated and now you expect me to believe you’re on my side.”

  “I am on your side.”

  “Prove it. Let me go.”

  He shakes his head slowly. “Don’t you see—if I let you go, you’re just returning to captivity. But together, we can be free. I’m offering you a new life, Aislinn. You can make your own rules. Do what you want, when you want.”

  “That doesn’t sound like a marriage.”

  “Sure, it does. In name only.”

  I tell myself not to be offended that Sebastián barely hints at commitment to any degree and to consider his offer with an open mind. What is tying me to New York? My mother probably won’t realize I’m gone. And my father definitely won’t care.

  A new life. Somewhere, anywhere.

  It is tempting.

  And I am tempted.

  For a moment. A very long moment.

  What would it be like to start over? To not be known as Aislinn Granville, James Granville’s daughter. I could go back to school, study …

  My mind draws a blank. Given the choice to do anything, I don’t know where to start.

  Think, Aislinn. What would make me wake up with a smile on my face?

  Damon.

  The answer is immediate. And so painful a hand flies up to my mouth to stifle a cry.

  The last time I smiled was the last morning I woke up in Damon’s bed.

  It’s been days. Is he still looking for me? Does he miss me?

  Before I saw Chad’s texts, I’d been happy. More than just happy. I’d been content.

  I had rolled over and pressed my face into his pillow. Breathing in the scent of whiskey and wood and pure, ambrosial masculinity. Eau de Damon.

  If I take Sebastián up on his offer, if I leave, I will never wake up in Damon’s bed again. I will never kiss him again or smell him again or be bent over a table by him again. There will be no more battle of wills or verbal sparring.

  Do I want a life without my dark king?

  No. Hell, no.

  With a jolt, I realize that I do have something keeping me here, something to stay and fight for. Someone.

  Damon King.

  My devil. My monster. Mine.

  “I’m sorry that I can’t be the one to help you escape from your cage, Sebastián. I am. No matter where I go—I’ll wish I was with Damon.”

  “He is not as powerful as he thinks he is. In fact, King’s about to be dethroned.” He chuckles. “I almost felt sorry for the poor bastard when I ran into him yesterday.”

  I gasp. “Yesterday? You saw Damon yesterday?”

  He frowns, a vein pulsing at the edge of his temple. “I wouldn’t read too much into it, Aislinn. He can’t offer you what I’m offering—freedom.”

  “I don’t care,” I screech, finally losing my temper. “Where? What did he say?”

  “He came to see me, at The Cloisters.”

  Hope strengthens the tattered remnants of my composure as understanding finally dawns. “And that’s why you moved me.”

  A reluctant “Yes” makes it through Sebastián’s pursed lips. “But, Aislinn, use your head. King can’t win against Los Muertos.”

  I don’t care about some battle with a drug lord. I’m preoccupied by the proof that Damon hasn’t forgotten about me. He’s still looking for me. The flame of passion that ignited between us hasn’t burned out.

  I can’t give up on King. I won’t.

  A decision that has come solely from my heart.

  An organ that shudders inside my chest when Sebastián adds, “Whether you go back to him or not, Damon King’s days are numbered.”

  I choke on a breath. “What?”

  “King has built his empire on cryptocurrency mining. Controlling crime is just a side hustle for him. And because he’s one of the richest men in the world, in completely untraceable currency, he has almost limitless influence and power. But my father has finally infiltrated his organization. Once he gets access to his accounts, King is as good as dead.”

  “He’s … what?”

  Sebastián’s gaze turns suspicious. “I shouldn’t have told you.”

  “But you did.” My voice is a hushed whisper as I stare at him, trying to convince myself that his defiant, almost prideful expression doesn’t mean what I know it does.

  Damon has a mole.

  My knees feel like they’re about to buckle. I need to get back to him. Immediately.

  I spin away from Sebastián, chewing on an already ragged cuticle and trying to figure out what I can say to make that happen. “If I agree to your terms, what then? We can leave?”

  “Then we get married.”

  “Today, in front of the goons your father hired?” I will agree to anything if it means returning to Damon. I have to warn him. Save him.

  “No, of course not.” He reaches his hand out for mine. “It will be the kind of wedding you deserve. We’ll invite everyone who’s anyone. How about the Plaza, or the St. Regis?”

  That kind of wedding will take months of planning.

  Hope flutters on tentative wings. “Fine,” I say quickly. “Tell your father I agree and let’s get out of here. Or just give me a phone. I can start calling around, interviewing wedding planners.” Give me a phone so I can call Damon.

  Sebastián chuckles. “I sent Michael and one of the men into town to pick up some supplies and clothes for you. When they return, I’ll have them get a message to my father and start coordinating our return to New York.”

  “Why can’t we just leave now?”

  “Because this is my cage too. I can’t bring you back to New York unless my father approves it. And because of King’s stranglehold on our communications, we can’t just pick up the phone and call him. It’s going to take time.”

  Time Damon may not have. I stumble to the nearest chair and fall into it, taking deep breaths until I can look up at Sebastián again. “How long will it take?”

  He shrugs. “A few days.”

  “What about your client? Won’t he come back soon?”

  “Not for weeks yet. And his caretaker has been persuaded to take an extended vacation.”

  Sharp little daggers of anxiety attack my lungs with each indrawn breath. I struggle to my feet, hauling myself up the stairs with the help of the banister. It’s not until I reach the second-floor landing that I decide to explore the house while I have a chance.

  I walk past the door of the bedroom I woke up in and keep going. I have to find a way out of here.

  I race from bedroom to bedroom—looking for a phone or a way to escape without breaking my neck. I find a phone … but there is no dial tone.

  Disappointment crashes into me like thunder, but I pu
sh through it. Emotions are a luxury I can’t afford right now.

  I hit pay dirt on the third bedroom. A balcony!

  With my heart in my throat, I pull at the handle.

  It’s not locked.

  I hesitate for just a second, expecting an alarm to blare, or one of Cruz’s men to appear. But neither of those things happens.

  I slip outside quietly, tightening the belt of my robe and peering over the edge. I am directly above the stone patio. Too high to jump, even if I dangle from the railing.

  But just to the right is a pediment that extends over a window. It’s several feet lower than the balcony.

  My pulse is roaring inside my ears as I mentally chart a path from the balcony to the pediment, then a drop to the patio. It’s doable. Barely.

  A crow is perched on the roofline, watching me. It lifts its feathered wing and squawks as if urging me on, encouraging me to escape my gilded cage to freedom.

  I hesitate. Should I wait until dark?

  Probably.

  But I can’t be sure that I’ll have access to this room again. And since Michael and one of his men are gone now, there’s at least a possibility that this side of the house isn’t being watched.

  I nod at the crow. This is my chance, and I’m taking it.

  I throw one leg over the railing, balancing my weight on the decorative stone ledge that protrudes from the house facade.

  Freedom is so close.

  I swing my other leg up.

  And I almost make it.

  A scream rips from my throat as I am yanked backward by a hand wrapping around my ankle. The crow takes flight, squawking and flapping its wings in protest.

  My back slams against a hard chest, one hand clapping over my mouth while another wraps around my ribs and through my robe, his fingers painfully squeezing my breast. “Te tango ahora.” I’ve got you now.

  I recognize the voice. It’s the same one that said, Let’s fuck her now. No one will know, not even her. The same one that said, She can’t scream if my dick is in her mouth.

  Anger floods my veins. Fuck. Him.

  Today, I am not drugged into submission.

  Today, I am not a helpless target.

  Today, I am no one’s victim.

  The self-defense skills I learned from Burke kick in automatically. I thrust both feet forward, pushing off the railing. The man holding me staggers backward. I dig an elbow into his ribs and bite his hand at the same time.

  “Puta!” he howls, releasing me.

  But there’s nowhere to go. He is standing between me and the doorway. And a barefoot jump to the stone patio isn’t an option. “Move.” I issue the command like it’s a foregone conclusion that he will obey me.

  He doesn’t.

  He lunges forward just as a grin reveals yellowed teeth and a missing incisor.

  This time, I am the one caught off balance. He pins me against the wall, gripping my neck and squeezing as he yanks at his belt buckle.

  I can’t scream. I can’t breathe.

  I claw at his hands with one of mine, the other digging into my pocket and for the cuticle scissor. It’s not much, but it’s all I’ve got. I jam the pointed blades between his ribs. Although they aren’t long enough to inflict serious damage, he grunts in outraged surprise, loosening his grip on my neck.

  I wriggle out of his hold, sucking in shallow breaths as I dart around him into the corner of the balcony. Blood is gushing from his nose, hatred blazing from his eyes. Before I can scream, he charges at me.

  At the last second I duck down, sidestepping him.

  Forward momentum pushes his chest over the bar but he catches himself just in time, grabbing the wrought iron with meaty paws that were intended for me, one of his feet off the ground.

  I stare at his shoe for just a split second, at the scuffed sole with a tiny white pebble stuck in the black rubber tread.

  This. Is. My. Chance.

  I grab for his ankle, giving an upward shove with every bit of my strength.

  There isn’t much resistance. I have the advantage.

  He cartwheels off the balcony with a loud bellow, landing on the stone patio, head first.

  “Oh my God.” It is a shocked rasp through trembling fingers. What have I done?

  Below me, Sebastián appears beside the body and looks up.

  I’ve killed one of Hugo Cruz’s men. It doesn’t matter that he was going to rape me. It doesn’t matter that I acted in self-defense. My punishment will not be determined by a judge.

  The adrenaline rush that allowed me to defend myself against a man twice my size—to kill—dissipates, leaving me weak. I sink to the balcony floor, dropping my face into my hands as the tears come, shivering in my bathrobe.

  I don’t see the hand that grabs my hair, and I’m not at all prepared for the shocking burn of it. I cry out, simultaneously rising to my knees to relieve the pressure and flailing at the source of my pain.

  “You are a curse! How many more men will die because of you?”

  I’m trying to get away from the other guard, squirming and thrashing. But it’s not working. His hand is a tight fist I can’t escape.

  And then I hear it. A quiet click that makes every cell in my body freeze, followed by the cold press of metal digging into my forehead.

  It’s almost like a thick cloud passes over the sun, or a shade spanning the globe is flipped. Instantly, everything becomes gray and colorless. Nothing else matters but the barrel pressed against my skin, the scent of fear that fills my lungs, the acrid taste of terror rising up my throat.

  “Please.” My heart flails inside my chest. I’ve made some stupid, impulsive decisions in my life … but I’m not ready for it to end. Not here. Not today.

  And certainly not at the hand of someone whose first name I don’t even know, whose reason for killing me isn’t my fault. “You can’t kill me. Not without—”

  “Shut up,” he spits, pulling the gun back just enough that I’m staring straight into the barrel. “You aren’t worth—”

  Damon, I’m sorry I couldn’t find my way back to you. I’m sorry I failed.

  My apology is silent. I close my eyes, summoning the image of his face. The last thing I see will not be the gun that kills me.

  If I have to die, I will descend into eternity by falling into the fierce darkness of Damon King’s penetrating gaze. That blistering combination of lust and intrigue and even irritation. The piece of Damon’s soul that, at least for a short time, burned for me. His warmth will carry me away.

  A shot pierces the air, the grip on my hair releasing. I crumple to the ground, my head slamming into the cement paving stones.

  My temple throbs. My shoulder aches. My knees burn.

  But I am not dead.

  15

  AISLINN

  “Fuck. We have to get out of here before the other two get back.”

  I stare at Sebastián’s extended hand, not taking it. “You—you shot one of your father’s men for me.”

  “I told you. I would never let any harm come to you, Aislinn. Never.” Sebastián lifts me to my feet, a gun dangling from his right hand. “And right now, we have to get out of here.”

  I am shaking, trembling all over. But I stumble after him into the house. At some point in the last few minutes—because that’s all it has been, just minutes—I’ve lost the belt to my robe. I don’t even bother pulling the two ends together.

  My mind is a hive of activity, so frenzied it’s impossible to make sense of any of it. My breath is ragged and loud inside my own ears, amplified by the bass drum of my urgent heartbeat. Go, go, go.

  We fly through the foyer and kitchen. Then a wood-paneled library that could be the same one I recently pinned to a Pinterest board and an entertaining space the size of a ballroom, skirting sofas and knocking over chairs. And finally, a cavernous mudroom that leads to a six-bay garage.

  Sebastián slams a panel on the wall, raising the garage door behind a BMW. It looks like a concept car featured i
n commercials and car shows, one not meant for the road.

  I expect it to growl when Sebastián starts the engine.

  It kind of does. A loud rumble that vibrates through the leather seat beneath me. He reverses onto the white stones that had tortured the soles of my feet just an hour ago, maybe less. They spray from his tires like the wake of a speedboat when he shifts into gear and darts forward, down the long driveway.

  We soar through a set of stone pillars, which is where the stone driveway becomes paved asphalt. It feels like a mile before a set of wrought-iron gates appear. Tall and imposing, each vertical black bar ends in a sharp spike that points up at the sky. Gold accents and a bold crest make the gate impressive rather than merely foreboding. And the gates are … opening!

  Relief bubbles up from the adrenaline swimming through my veins. Go, go, go.

  And then I realize why.

  The nose of a dark blue Jeep edges through them, heading our way. Even from a distance, I recognize Michael and the other man inside. “Shit,” I breathe, my fingernails digging into the armrests.

  Sebastián doesn’t slow down or pull over.

  I dare a glance at him. He is staring straight ahead, his jaw carved of granite, a vein throbbing at his temple. Both of his hands are wrapped tightly around the leather steering wheel, the knuckles of his fingers turning white.

  Sebastián speeds up, keeping the car in the middle of the driveway.

  He—we—are playing a game of chicken. Except it’s not a game. And the death grip Sebastián has on the wheel could result in actual deaths. His. Mine. The two men in the Jeep.

  But not a single ounce of me wants to shrink into my seat. I lean forward, my eyes laser-focused on the men behind the windshield of the Jeep.

  Game. On. Motherfucker.

  I’m mentally cheering Seb as he shifts into the highest gear, the BMW’s engine a throaty purr.

  Sebastián and I may have not kept in touch over the years but he is right about us leading parallel lives. We’ve both been pushed to the brink by forces beyond our control, and right now, we are totally in sync. We are pushing back. Hard.