Corrupt Savior

by Leigh, Tara

  I don’t know whether I gave it to Aislinn or she took it—but a piece of me belongs to her all the same. That spitfire stole a piece of my heart.

  And I haven’t been whole since she left.

  Did I evade the question that was really on her mind yesterday? Was “You make me everything” too vague? It’s true … but is it enough?

  I could have been more specific. I could have said I love you. That would be the truth too.

  I don’t know how I know, since I’ve only witnessed the romantic kind in the most unromantic of ways. The love between my mother and stepfather was sick and twisted. The love between Ace and Aislinn’s mother was sad and unfulfilling. And I’m sure my grandparents loved each other, but my memory of them is faded and brittle.

  Love. Such a simple, complicated word. A cliché.

  It’s instinctive, though. And it’s true.

  I love her.

  I want Aislinn back because I’m in love with her. I need her back because living without her is untenable.

  But I don’t know how to address our last, heated exchange at my apartment. I don’t know how to explain my epic failure to make Aislinn feel, not just safe, but safe with me.

  Most importantly, I don’t know how to fix it. Getting in touch with my emotions has never been high on my priority list, and it makes understanding Aislinn’s actions and reactions—which do not seem to follow any linear string of logic I can pinpoint—damn near impossible.

  However, I’ve beat impossible odds before. And yesterday, watching Aislinn playing with the kids, seeing the way they opened up to us, gave me an idea.

  Today, Aislinn and I are going to play. I’ll observe her strategy, get inside her head. Understand her.

  There will be no crankiness involved at all. I’ve rented the VIP Room of a bar in the meatpacking district that is known as a millennial playroom of sorts. Full bar, pool tables, foosball, board games, and a DJ at night.

  I am going to win Aislinn over.

  While kicking her ass at Monopoly. And Jenga.

  My mind drifts back to Aislinn’s ass as I remember to grab the laptop she requested. Fuck, I miss the feel of her nestled against me during the night. The fullness that just exceeded my hands when I bent her over my lap. The smooth curves that look so damn good from every imaginable angle.

  I open the desk drawer I’d shoved it in last week, but it’s not there. Nor is it in any of the other drawers in my desk. Or my closet.

  “Finley,” I call as I walk out of my office. “Aislinn’s laptop—have you seen it?”

  Wholly engrossed in a spreadsheet on her screen, she glances up with a blank look. “Hmm?”

  “Aislinn’s laptop,” I repeat.

  “What about it?”

  “Have you seen it?”

  “It’s not still in the office upstairs?”

  I’d forgotten about the workstation Finley had set up for her there. A few minutes later, I’m staring at an empty docking station. No laptop.

  I rub at my ears, trying to think through the buzzing. If I’d linked it with our in-house network, I could trace its location. But, since Aislinn specifically requested to stay off the grid, I have no way to ping its location.

  I’m sure it will turn up somewhere. I buy computers by the dozen, and every one of my employees uses more than one. It’s probably a simple mix-up.

  The flash of my watch catches my eye as I run a hand through my hair.

  Shit. I’m going to be late.

  I arrive at Finley’s apartment building to find Aislinn already waiting downstairs for me. I’m not sure whether to take it as consideration, or an unwillingness to invite me into Finley’s apartment. She’s wearing a sexy black jumpsuit, which hugs her curves in all the right places, but is just about the most inconvenient article of clothing ever invented.

  An enticing challenge.

  Her eyes drop to my empty hands. “You forgot the laptop, huh.”

  I feign contrition. “Shit, sorry.”

  “It’s fine. I can have Finley bring it to me later.”

  To prevent her from texting or calling Finley immediately, I outstretch my arm and wriggle my fingers. Aislinn entwines hers with mine, our palms pressing together. I lead her to the car I’ve parked out front and open the passenger door. “No chauffeur-driven Navigator?” she asks, surprise threaded through her words.

  “No tinted windows,” I point out.

  I bought the damn thing this morning.

  Once we’re both inside, I shift into gear and breathe in the new car smell mixed with Aislinn’s particular honeyed scent. I don’t drive myself often and I don’t remember the last time a woman other than Finley was in the passenger seat. But I’d like to get used to it. At a red light, I move my hand to Aislinn’s thigh, swiping my thumb over her knee.

  Damn jumpsuit.

  Hopefully next time it will be her bare skin that meets my touch.

  “No bodyguards today?”

  “They’re around, but not too close.” I gave specific orders for my crew to be as discreet as possible.

  “So, what’s the plan?”

  “I’ll be building hotels on the Boardwalk and Park Place. You can slum it over on Baltic or Marvin Gardens.”

  “Monopoly? We’re playing Monopoly?”

  I give a grunt of acknowledgment. “Think you can manage not to go bankrupt for at least an hour?”

  She narrows her eyes at me. “I don’t trust you to be the banker.”

  “You don’t trust me to handle Monopoly money?” I pretend to be offended. “Why not? I’m damn good with real money.”

  “Exactly. Which is why I’ll be the banker.”

  “And how do I know you won’t cheat?”

  She dips her chin and raises her eyebrows simultaneously. I glance over at her and laugh. “Okay, you get to be Banker. But I get first choice of tokens.”

  She nods. “Let me guess, Battleship?”

  “Of course. And you?”

  “Well, I always went for the dog but I’m thinking I’ll pick a different token today.”

  My stomach dips as I steer the car to the curb. “Good choice.”

  I slip my hand around Aislinn’s waist and propel her through the door of the bar ahead of me. It’s the kind of trendy hotspot I would never set foot in, which is precisely why I’ve chosen it for tonight. It’s still early and instead of a DJ, instrumental music is piped through the speakers, bouncing off the exposed brick walls and low ceilings. The place feels like a cave. A cave with an enormous bar running the length of one wall and well-dressed twenty-somethings sprawled on leather furniture, playing classic board games while knocking back craft cocktails.

  A guy in ripped jeans and a pretentious newsboy cap takes one look at me and brings us to the private—well, semi-private since there’s not an actual door—room I’ve reserved.

  We order drinks and sit down at a chipped wooden table, the Monopoly board already arranged as I requested earlier. Aislinn’s eyes are bright when they meet mine. “This is fun.”

  I grin in return. “That’s the idea.”

  48

  AISLINN

  I’ve discovered something new about Damon.

  He gloats. Oh, how he gloats.

  He won at Monopoly. He won at Jenga.

  And he almost won at Scrabble.

  Almost.

  Finally, after three hours of playing and losing, it is my turn to gloat.

  Seeing how seriously Damon was taking the games, I had been drinking club soda. But with my win, I order champagne.

  And that’s when I learned something else about Damon. He’s a terrible loser. “Are you recalculating my score?”

  He looks up from the notepad with a frown stretched across his face. “I’m verifying.”

  “Maybe I should verify some of your words? I mean, what exactly is a qanat?”

  “Go right ahead.” He pushes the well-thumbed book across the table toward me. “But I can save you the trouble. It’s an ancient
type of tunnel, as well as an irrigation technique using the slope of the land.”

  I cross my arms over my chest and sigh. Of course, Damon would have an encyclopedic knowledge of underground exploration. He probably read the dictionary cover to cover too, judging by his word choices. AGEE. MAGLEV. JIMPLY.

  I won with MUTINY.

  I start pulling tiles from the crossword we’ve built on the game board and spell two words, from right to left and upside down, so that they face Damon.

  HOW IRONIC.

  He repeats them, then looks up at me with an expression that is both confused and mildly annoyed. “What are you trying to say?”

  I tap the board with a fingernail.

  “Why do you think I left?”

  “You told me why. Because I asked you to replace Chad.”

  I bite the inside of my cheek. “So … it was an act of defiance on my part. My way of rebelling against your authority?”

  “Wasn’t it?”

  “No. I walked away from you because I am not a pawn on your chessboard any more than I am a stepping stone on the path of my father’s ambitions.”

  “I asked. You said no. And that was the end of it.”

  “I understand our reasons for getting married weren’t particularly romantic. But I still hoped …” I take a moment to gather my thoughts. “I hoped my wins would be your wins, and your wins would be my wins.”

  Damon leans forward, his stare burning into me. “They’re not?”

  “No. I’m not sure we’re playing the same game.”

  He doesn’t argue with me. He doesn’t say anything at all. In fact, Damon stands up and walks into the main part of the bar. A minute stretches into three. I sip at my champagne. Would Damon leave me here?

  When my glass is empty and Damon still hasn’t returned, I stand up and gather the jacket he left behind.

  Just as I’m about to leave, Damon reappears wearing a triumphant smile. He takes his jacket from my hands and returns it to the back of the chair. “I’ve figured out the problem, come on.”

  “What—”

  He cinches an arm around my waist and brings me into a larger room at the back of the space. He points at a chalkboard on the wall, our names scrawled at the bottom.

  Aislinn + Damon.

  My stomach clenches at the sight, happy and sad at the same time. There is another couple waving at us, standing behind a strip of tape glued to the floor. I look at Damon in confusion. “Darts?”

  “You’re right. We haven’t been playing on the same team, and that stops now. Tonight it’s darts, and tomorrow it’s life.” He takes my hand and drops something into it. No, not something. Tiles. Scrabble tiles, four of them. “Tonight. Tomorrow. The day after that. And the day after that.”

  I tear my eyes away from Damon’s burning stare and glance at the tiles in my hand, easily configuring them into a word. L O V E.

  My heart shudders inside my chest. But seeing the letters isn’t enough. I need to hear Damon say the word. I keep my face impassive as I look at him. “Vole?”

  The corners of his lips kick up. “Very funny. I’ll unscramble it for you—after we win. It’ll be your reward.”

  I roll my eyes and accept a set of darts. But inside, all I can think is, I already have my reward.

  My savior. My savage. My devil. My dark knight.

  And his name is Damon King.

  49

  DAMON

  For a genius, I can be painfully obtuse.

  Aislinn is a trophy worth fighting for.

  But she is not a prize to be won.

  Her love is meant to be earned.

  I remind myself of that as I watch her take aim at the bull’s-eye.

  We are tied with Jack and Emma, who are surprisingly good. But when the dart flies from Aislinn’s graceful fingers, it sails through the air to hit the board, dead-center. She turns to me with a huge grin on her face. “I’ll take my reward now.”

  I lift her into my arms so that she’s pressed against my chest, our faces even. I’m looking straight into the deep blue ocean of her eyes when I say, “Aislinn Granville King, I fucking love you. I’ve loved you since you were a Polaroid taped to a cement wall. I’ve loved you since you were a college kid volunteering at a women’s shelter in a shitty neighborhood. I’ve loved you since you threw a shoe at my head, lit fire to my bed, and demanded that I kiss you.”

  Nerves clamor beneath my skin as I exhale an uncertain breath. “I don’t know what it’s like not to love you, princess.” I am feared by criminals with no conscience. Respected by international power brokers with more wealth at their disposal than most countries. I’ve claimed victory over certain death more times than I can count.

  But at this moment, all I need is to be loved by the woman I love. Desired by the woman I desire.

  “Your smile is the light I want to live by, and your body is a treasure I would die for. The empire I’ve built means nothing without you by my side.”

  Aislinn hesitates, and I worry that I’m too late. That the kaleidoscope of emotions swirling on her face will ultimately end in rejection. That love—my love—will not be enough. Not nearly enough.

  She regards me seriously. “I won’t be an accessory, Damon. If you want me to sit beside you, your empire will look different than it does now. There will be no more business as usual.”

  “Good,” I agree. “The only thing I care about is The Network. Everything else, everyone else—we can change, together.”

  She blinks several times, her lips pursing. “Do you really mean that?”

  “I do. Be my wife, Aislinn. My equal. My queen. For real this time. Forever.” I shut my mouth before I am reduced to begging, though for this woman I would crawl on my hands and knees through hot coals, begging all the way.

  A single tear streaks down the elegant curve of Aislinn’s cheekbone, trembling just at the corner of her lips. I plant a soft kiss there, licking at the salty droplet. And when I pull back, pure emotion shines from Aislinn’s face. Not just any emotion.

  Love.

  But she says it anyway. “I love you, Damon. Even when I hated you. Even when I thought you were a bully, a devil, a savage. I cursed you and now I love you. So much.”

  Our mouths crash into each other, and out of the corner of my eye, I see Jack and Emma finally give up on congratulating us and walk away. Our kiss is an answer and a promise. It is an oath and a pledge.

  We are partners in love and life.

  Husband and wife.

  I groan into her mouth. “Come home with me.”

  She rests her forehead against mine. “You are my home.”

  50

  AISLINN

  Once Damon finally loosens his hold and I slide down the hard plane of his body, trembling from lust and love, he pulls my ring from his pocket and slides it onto my finger.

  I’m never taking it off again.

  “Come on.” He slides his arm around my waist. “Let’s get out of here.”

  I tuck the tiles into the zippered interior compartment of my purse, making a mental note to send a new Scrabble game here tomorrow. Because I am keeping these letters. Forever.

  “I should text Finley, tell her I won’t be coming back to her apartment tonight,” I say, pulling out my phone once I’m back in Damon’s car.

  “Or ever,” he adds, starting the engine and pulling away from the curb.

  I bite down on a smile as I tap out a message to Finley.

  Me: Sorted things out with Damon. Don’t wait up for me. ;) xo

  Her response is almost immediate.

  Finley: Are you near my apartment? I left some paperwork on the kitchen table—would u mind grabbing it for me?

  I glance over at Damon. “Any chance you can make a pit stop right now?”

  “Any chance you can sit on my face later?”

  My cheeks heat as I squirm in my seat. “Uh, sure.” I swallow heavily as I look back at my phone. “That can definitely be arranged.”

  Me: N
o problem. On way now.

  Damon pulls up in front of Finley’s apartment and I jump out, feeling the burn of his stare on my back as I cross the sidewalk and enter the lobby.

  I’m halfway to the kitchen when I hear a footstep behind me. I spin around, but just as I do, something connects with the side of my head. An explosion of pain at my temple becomes an avalanche, pulling me under.

  I fight against it, coming to as I’m dragged along the floor, my hands tied at my back, my shoulder screaming. My vision is hazy, but there’s no mistaking the familiar face of the woman doing the dragging.

  Juliana.

  “What are you doing? Get off me!” I yell.

  She barely spares me a glance. “Shut up,” she hisses.

  “Damn it, you didn’t hit her hard enough.”

  My head swivels in the other direction. No. It can’t be.

  But it is.

  Chad grabs my other arm, yanking me upright. “You just couldn’t leave well enough alone, could you? Juliana is so damn close to getting access to King’s billions—and you would have ruined all of it.”

  “But, why?” I turn to Juliana. “Damon saved you. The N—”

  “The Network is bullshit. King got rid of my father. But it never occurred to him that my mother was just as bad. Just as violent as my dad when she was drunk, which was every day after we left. We had no family nearby anymore, no one who cared enough about us to notice what was going on or wonder why I wore long sleeves even in summer. King just made things worse.”

  51

  DAMON

  I hate letting Aislinn go. Not just because of my impatience to have her all to myself.

  But because of the situation I’m allowing her to walk into.

  Our conversation over Scrabble had me wondering who else on my team might disagree with the rules of my game. Mutiny.