Corrupt Savior

by Leigh, Tara

  “What about me?”

  “How often will I have to worry about you?”

  I feel the vibration of his chuckle against my cheek before I hear it. “There’s no need.”

  I’m not sure if it’s because Damon is unaccustomed to anyone concerning themselves with his welfare, or if he’s so convinced of his own invincibility that he can’t believe anyone would doubt it.

  Probably both.

  “Don’t tell me what to do,” I say sternly. “And don’t disappear on me again.”

  Damon drops a kiss on my forehead, his lips curved into a reluctant grin. “No more disappearing.”

  For some reason, I don’t feel any relief at his pledge. If he were a little boy, I would check for crossed fingers. But Damon King is all man, and I have no reason to doubt he’ll keep his word.

  I drag my eyes to his face. “Does it hurt?”

  The fire that burns behind his dark gaze is more intense than ever, though a grin pulls at a corner of his full lips. “Yes. Terribly. I think I need a distraction from the pain.”

  I blink up at him. “I’m not having sex with you—you need to go to a hospital. You probably need stitches.”

  He doesn’t look at all concerned. “It’s barely a graze. I’ll be fine.”

  “And that bruise? You might have a broken rib.”

  “I’ve had worse.”

  I roll my eyes, going to the bathroom vanity and rifling through his drawers until I find gauze bandages and antibiotic ointment. I point to the bench in the corner of his bathroom. “Sit.”

  I rip open the bandage and dab a generous amount of ointment to the surface before laying it against Damon’s shoulder and adhering the perimeter of the bandage to his skin. “You have to take it easy until this heals.”

  “Are you ordering me to bed?”

  I concentrate on maintaining a stern expression. “I am. And there will be no funny business until you heal.”

  He arches a brow and stands up. “No laughing. I promise.”

  I squeal when he swings me into his arms, trying not to make contact with his chest or bandaged shoulder. “Damon, put me down. You can’t, you shouldn’t—”

  He silences me with a kiss as he carries me into the bedroom, breaking away just long enough to mumble, “I can. And I am.”

  He would have. And I would have let him.

  Except for the knock at the door.

  He sets me down gently despite the murderous scowl on his face and stalks across the room, yanking at the knob. “Whatever it is—handle it.”

  Burke stands his ground. “Pretty sure you’re going to want to deal with this yourself.”

  Damon’s chin lifts, his chest expanding with an imminent denial.

  But Burke speaks first. “Sebastián Cruz is here.”

  38

  DAMON

  “Get back in there and make sure the bastard doesn’t leave.”

  I jog into my closet, dressing quickly in a white button-down shirt and charcoal trousers. Aislinn appears in the doorway as I’m buckling my belt. “Are you going to listen to what Seb has to say?”

  Again with the Seb. “Like he consulted me before he took you?”

  “He brought me back.”

  I step into my shoes and pin Aislinn with a stare burning from the frustration and fear I’d battled every minute of her absence. “You weren’t his to take.”

  “I wasn’t yours, either,” she rebuts.

  I step toward her until barely an inch separates our bodies, my height casting her face in shadow. “And now?”

  Aislinn places her palms against my chest, not intimidated in the slightest by my size or my attitude. “I’m yours, Damon,” she says. “But only because I want to be.”

  The caveman deep inside of me wants to pound on my chest and roar, lock Aislinn in this room while I break Cruz in two and send his sorry ass back to his father in Mexico. I feel my jaw working as my blood pressure soars. After a long moment, the surge of testosterone abates just enough to allow me to speak. “Fine. I won’t kill him.” In front of you.

  “Well, I guess that’s a start.” There’s a teasing note to her voice.

  My eyes narrow. “Do you know why he’s here?”

  “No,” she answers. “But I’d like to find out, don’t you?”

  I offer a begrudging nod even though the truth is: Fuck, no. The only thing I’d like to know is the sound his skull makes when it hits concrete after I toss him out the window. Let the Sanitation Department scrape him off the same sidewalk Aislinn was taken from.

  But Aislinn has no idea about the thoughts running through my head, or the violent impulses simmering just beneath the surface of my skin, ready to erupt. “Promise you’ll hear him out?”

  Somehow, I manage another nod. “I’ll let the fucker speak.” Before I break his jaw.

  She unclenches the fingers of my right hand that are already balled into a fist, entwining her fingers with mine. I allow it, knowing I can deliver just as powerful a punch with my left.

  We walk into the corridor together to find Sebastián Cruz in my living room.

  One of my men stands sentry in every corner, and Burke guards the entryway.

  Cruz is near the fireplace, staring up at the painting. At our presence, he spins around. “You’re a collector?”

  I wave off the question. “What the fuck do you want?” The sight of him has cooled my blood, rendering my voice a quiet, steely monotone. The voice of an indifferent executioner.

  “I hear congratulations are in order.” My indifference snaps the second his attention drifts to Aislinn. I have to grit my teeth against the urge to lunge for him. “I guess you made a more convincing argument than I did.”

  “It’s not like that,” Aislinn says, squeezing my hand.

  Sebastián shrugs. “I don’t need all the details of your arrangement. I’m here on business.”

  Good. Because this sure as fuck isn’t a pleasure.

  “If your last name wasn’t Cruz, you would be dead by now.”

  “At whose hands, yours or my father’s?”

  “Whoever got to you first.”

  “Well, I’m not. My father tried doing things his way and he lost. You won, King. Los Muertos has lost too much money and too many men. I’m here to make a deal with you.”

  I like hearing this, but I’m not easily moved. “This coming from you or from him?”

  “Both. Listen, Aislinn can tell you—I wanted out. I’ve never wanted to be a part of this world. My father’s world, your world. If I had a choice, I’d be backpacking across Europe. Studying art, learning new languages, and staying the fuck out of New York and Mexico. But I don’t have that option. So, the next best thing is to embrace my legacy and rebuild Los Muertos—my way. Not my father’s.”

  I feel Aislinn’s sharp inhale in the marrow of my bones. A quick glance at her face confirms her distress. I turn back to Sebastián. “That’s why you’re here? You steal my girl and now you’re asking for my blessing to rebuild your territory—after I just tore it down?” Shit for brains.

  “You really want the Albanians to take our place? New York will be the sex trafficking capital of the world in a year, tops.”

  “I’ve got that under control.”

  “Really—how? In a few months you’ll have the Colombians going after them. But the Colombians are sloppy, and they cut corners. You can’t pay off enough politicians to cover up the spike in overdose deaths. So then you’ll send the Russians in after them. And the Russians are going to want a slice of your crypto empire. You willing to give them a cut?”

  I shift on my feet, not liking Sebastián’s tone or the direction of this conversation. “My city, my problem,” I bite out. Not liking that he’s right.

  “Sure it is.” He tips his chin arrogantly. “And you’re about to turn it into a war zone.”

  “Fuck off.”

  “If I leave, you’re the one that’s going to be fucked—”

  I drop Aislinn’s ha
nds and step forward, plowing my right fist into the side of Sebastián’s head and my left into the pit of his stomach. He counteracts with a surprisingly strong uppercut to my jaw.

  The sound of a piercing whistle makes us both stop.

  Aislinn pulls her fingers out of her mouth and puts her hands on her hips, staring at both of us accusingly.

  “What the hell is wrong with the two of you? If you want to measure your dicks, I’ll get you a ruler.”

  I take a reluctant step back, breathing heavily.

  Sebastián points at me. “That first punch was deserved, but that’s all you get. I’m here in good faith. My father has agreed to leave all operations based out of New York in my hands.”

  “If I agree to work with you.”

  He nods. “Yes.”

  “No.” Aislinn’s skin still has an angry flush. “If you want Damon to consider your offer, you need to come clean about everything. Give him the name of your father’s spy.”

  I look from Aislinn to Sebastián and back again, keeping my face tight and mouth shut, unwilling to show weakness of any kind. “You heard her, Cruz.”

  Reluctance bleeds from his pores. “There is no spy. I was bluffing.”

  I don’t want to believe that Los Muertos has managed to infiltrate my organization, but Cruz has backed down too easily. It doesn’t sit right. “I don’t work with liars.”

  Not true. I work with liars all day, every day. It’s the nature of my business.

  A vein pulses at Sebastián’s temple as he stares unblinkingly. “I don’t have a name. All I know is that it’s a woman.”

  39

  AISLINN

  I feel my heart cracking. A woman. Finley?

  Is her loyalty to Damon a lie?

  Has she been using me for information against him?

  Pretending to be my friend while stabbing me—and Damon—in the back?

  I study Damon’s expression as he absorbs Sebastián’s admission. But his face shows absolutely nothing. It’s a stunning landscape carved from granite. High, wide forehead. Strong, aristocratic nose bracketed by the diagonal slash of his cheekbones. The deep groove of his philtrum that leads to a generously sculpted mouth. Damon King is more beautiful than any piece of art I’ve ever seen. And here, in the fading light that shines through the windows, his brow furrowed in concentration, his lips a bold brushstroke of color over that sexy cleft chin, I want to know what is going on behind his stony facade.

  What are you thinking, Damon? Are you hurting? Can I comfort you?

  Will you let me?

  The tension in the room is thick and impossible to ignore, surprise and dread keeping me rooted to the spot.

  I can feel Sebastián’s eyes on me, but I purposely don’t look his way. My sole focus is Damon right now, the energy between us a visceral thing. Something in his stance, in the onyx glow of his eyes and throbbing vein that curves beneath his jaw, has me permanently entranced.

  When Damon mutters an “excuse me” and stalks across the room for a quiet exchange with Burke, Sebastián appears at my side. “It’s not too late,” he whispers.

  “For what?”

  “We can still run away together. Away from all this.”

  Away from Damon.

  Reading the pinched expression on my face, Sebastián adds, “Is this really the life you want, Aislinn? Do you love him enough to live a life you hate?”

  I shake my head, feeling almost sorry for Sebastián that he doesn’t understand the way I feel about Damon. The way I believe he feels about me. “Our relationship is … unusual. But Damon would never ask me to do something I believe is wrong. He respects me.” Unlike the other men in my life.

  But does he love me?

  Damon returns, scowling at the closeness between Sebastián and me until we both take a step apart from each other. “If I let you run Los Muertos in my city,” he finally says, “I’m going to ride your ass until I’m absolutely sure you’re not just a straw man for your father.”

  “You can keep tabs all you want. I have my own agenda here.”

  “What makes you think your father’s soldiers will give you their loyalty?”

  Sebastián’s answer comes smoothly. “Because they live here, in New York. They don’t want a turf war with rival gangs and syndicates. They want to make fucking money.”

  “Hugo knows you’re here?”

  “Yes.”

  “And your brother?”

  “Joaquin knows everything.”

  Damon’s eyes narrow. “Tell me, who’s really running the show? Your father or Joaquin?”

  “Joaquin handles the day-to-day business of Los Muertos. My father gets involved in what interests him.”

  “Particularly your relationship status.”

  “Yes. Now that you and Aislinn are married, he’s probably looking for some young virgin from the country.” He shrugs. “You would think he was born in the eighteen hundreds.”

  “Did he arrange your brother’s marriage too?” I ask.

  Sebastián’s face pinches tight. “I’m not sure, but Joaquin’s wife died less than a year after their wedding. He hasn’t remarried.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say automatically, my voice soft.

  He waves me off and turns back to Damon. “So, do we have a deal? You will rescind your orders to wipe out Los Muertos from the streets of New York?”

  Damon counters, “In return for your continued cooperation and intel on any matter I deem of interest.”

  “Within reason.”

  “No. No stipulations.”

  Sebastián looks away for a moment, pushing out a heavy exhale. “Six months, King. You get six months of this, then we renegotiate.”

  “Fine. Because if you’re not good for my city, you’ll be out of here in less than that.”

  “Not going to happen.”

  “We’ll see.”

  Sebastián grunts. “Now that Lytton’s gone—”

  “What do you mean gone?” I interrupt, my head swiveling back to Damon. “Did you kill him?”

  “No,” he says quickly.

  “He skipped town after your father informed him we would be married.”

  I bite the inside of my cheek, glaring at Sebastián. After my father agreed to pimp me out like a prize broodmare.

  I don’t mind that Chad’s gone though. Maybe my father’s next chief of staff will be a straight arrow and put an end to the corrupt practices of my father’s administration. A girl can dream.

  “You need someone on the inside, King. Someone who will—”

  “Aislinn will do it.”

  My stomach clenches at Damon’s quick answer, the air in my lungs evaporating at his utter disregard for my opinion. “No.”

  Sebastián’s expression brightens. “Jesus Christ. It’s brilliant.”

  “It would be just for a little while, until we get someone through the vetting process,” Damon says, his stare a painful Taser that annihilates my equilibrium. “I’d like you to do it, for me.”

  “No,” I repeat, my voice now a breathless rasp.

  “It’s the perfect solution,” Sebastián adds.

  “Exactly. No one will think twice about you stepping in as your father’s chief of staff.”

  I look at Damon in utter shock. My belief in him, in us, has shattered.

  A minute ago, I was telling Sebastián that Damon respected me. I was wrong.

  “Perfect?” I shake my head vigorously. “It’s far from perfect. And it’s not happening.”

  40

  DAMON

  Fuck. That didn’t go over well.

  I hadn’t planned on asking Aislinn to step in for Chad. But Sebastián was right. It made perfect sense.

  Temporarily.

  Once we found a suitable replacement, we’d leave on our honeymoon. Her stint as Granville’s chief of staff would have been a distant memory by the time we arrived in the tropics.

  But Cruz hadn’t softened the blow at all and Aislinn stormed from the roo
m, furious.

  “Are you a fucking moron? Please tell me your people skills are better with Los Muertos soldiers, because when it comes to women, they suck.”

  Sebastián’s brow lifts. “Like you’re a ladies’ man?”

  No. Not anymore. I belong to exactly one lady … who hates me right now. “Fuck off.” I pivot on my heel and catch Burke’s eye. “Get him out of here before he causes me any more problems.”

  The sound of a slamming door to my right has me heading back to my bedroom. “Aislinn?”

  She doesn’t answer, but I hear sounds coming from her closet. My stomach sinks when I get to the doorway. Aislinn is pulling clothes off their hangers and shoving them into a leather bag. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “What does it look like? I’m leaving.”

  “For fuck’s sake—again?”

  She spins to face me. “This isn’t like last time.”

  I shove my hands into my pockets and lean against the wall. “It sure as hell feels that way.”

  “I’ll tell you what it feels like.” Her eyes glitter with unshed tears. “It feels like manipulation. It feels like disillusionment. It feels like you don’t give a shit about me, or anything I believe in.”

  “Because I asked you to step in as your father’s chief of staff?”

  “Yes!” Aislinn flings her hands into the air. “I’m not a cog in your greasy Tammany Hall political system.”

  “Fine. I asked, you said no. Let’s move on.”

  Aislinn grabs another set of clothes. “That’s what I’m doing.”

  “You’re still packing.”

  “Because I’m still leaving.”

  I want to growl in frustration. “You’ve made your point. I get it.”

  The empty hangers she’s holding drop to the floor. “No, you don’t.” Aislinn takes a few steps toward me before stopping herself, her chin trembling as she looks into my eyes. And for a moment, I think she sees whatever she needs to see. Reassurance. Comfort. Security. But then she blinks and the moment is gone. “I’m not running away because I’m mad at you. I’m leaving because you’ve shown me I have nothing to stay for.”