Corrupt

“What the hell?” I blinked my eyes open, putting my hand to the sore spot above my temple and hissing, “Shit.”

I checked my hand, not seeing any blood, but the spot was definitely tender.

Damon. I stilled, remembering that he’d been in my apartment.

“Oh, my God,” I breathed out, fumbling as I sat up and the room came into focus.

Where was I?

Planting my hands on the soft fabric under me, I quickly looked around, noticing the beige and wood furniture and fixtures, the glass doors leading to a wooden deck, the paintings and gold sconces in the walls, the carpets, and the impersonal but very familiar feel of the room.

And then I felt the hum underneath me. The hum of engines below.

Pithom. We were on the Crist boat.

I’d only been on it a handful of times growing up—parties and day excursions down the coast—but I knew it well.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” I heard behind me, and I jerked my head around.

Damon stood on the other side of the couch from where I was lying, leaning a shoulder on the wall with his arms crossed over his chest and his black eyes fixed on me.

“I was starting to worry,” he said in an eerily calm tone.

He was dressed in black pants and a white button-down that was loosely tucked in and open at the collar. His black hair looked tousled like he’d just woken up, but his eyes proved the contrary. They were fully zoned in on me, alert and ready. He didn’t look at all like he’d just been stabbed and bloody a week ago.

“I never really thought about it before, but watching you sleep—here and in your apartment…” He dropped his eyes for a moment, looking serious. “You’re very beautiful. Long, blonde hair, full lips…You have this innocent calm about you.”

I stared, my heart racing, feeling sick. He’d watched me sleep in my apartment? God, how long had he been there before I’d woken up?

I shifted my eyes, stealing glances around the room again. I needed to get something in my hands. I wished I had the Damascus blade.

“Yeah, so clean and perfect,” he mused, pushing off the wall and walking around the couch. “Just like he wants you.”

I narrowed my eyes, slowly standing up and backing away as he approached. “Who?” I asked, my voice shaking.

Who wanted me clean and perfect?

My head throbbed, and I felt dizzy, but I held out my hands, trying to keep him away.

“Only you’re not so clean anymore, are you?” he gloated, ignoring my question. “Michael got his hands on you, and you’re only good for one thing now.”

“What are you talking about?” I stumbled backward, my fists curling as fear coiled in my gut.

“Don’t worry, he’ll get some fun out of you.” Damon inched toward me, a sick smile in his eyes. “But he’d never marry his brother’s whore.”

Marry…what?

And then Damon’s eyes flashed behind me, and I swung around, seeing Trevor standing right behind me.

He stood tall and imposing, dressed in jeans and a navy blue Polo. His blonde hair was still cut close to the scalp, military-style, and his blue eyes pierced me, looking smug.

I shook my head. “Trevor?”

And I only had a second before his hand came down and whipped across my face. I stepped back, trying not to fall as my head jerked to the side and fire blazed across my cheek like a million needle pricks under my skin. Tears sprang to my eyes, and I held my face as the pain in my head exploded and everything became blurry.

Damon grabbed me and spun me around, throwing me over his shoulder.

“No!” I cried, pushing at his back and squirming. I coughed, feeling the bile in my stomach rise up into my throat as he carried me off down a dark passageway.

“Damon!” I choked, feeling the heaves rumbling through my stomach. “Damon, please.”

He carried me through a doorway, and I grabbed hold of the frame, stopping him as I kicked and struggled. “Let me go, you sick piece of shit!” I screamed, because I was sick of being afraid. “You’re nothing! You hear me? You’re nothing but garbage, and I hope you die!”

He yanked hard, and I lost my grip, my arms shooting with pain from being nearly pulled out of their sockets.

I flew through the air, my breath catching in my throat as I landed on a bed. I immediately shot up to a sitting position, but he came down right on me again. Grabbing my wrists, he pulled me up the bed and planted his knee in my chest, holding me in place.

“Damon!” I barked, but my lungs emptied with his weight on my chest, and I couldn’t take in anything but short breaths.

“Don’t talk,” he growled.

I thrashed and pushed my body up off the bed, choking and coughing as I tried to suck in air and get him off me.

“Fuck you!” I tried to yell, but it came out strained.

He pulled something brownish out of his pocket and wrapped the itchy fabric around my wrists.

“No!” I tried to yank my hands away, to swing at him or throw him off or anything, but he just held me tighter.

I tried sucking in a breath, despite the weight on my chest, but it was ragged. He tied me up, securing my hands to the headboard.

Looking around quickly, I noticed an entire wall of windows behind Damon, showing a vast blackness outside and stars in the night sky. There was nothing on the bedside tables I could use as a weapon, but if I could get free, there was no doubt something in one of the drawers or in the bathroom.

“Where are we?” I demanded, my skin burning under the knots he tied.

“Two miles off the coast of Thunder Bay.”