Corrupt (Devil's Night 1)

I held my hands out a few inches in front of me, spreading out my fingers and stepping slowly forward, moving toward the dull hum of the music and howls coming from deep below.

I shouldn’t go down by myself.

Kai had sent Damon down there, and even though I wasn’t sure he would try anything again, I did know I wasn’t safe with him.

Michael had told me to wait—he’d take me down—but…

But something inside of me hated being at anyone’s mercy. I didn’t want to follow, I didn’t want to wait, and I didn’t want to wonder. All of those things made me feel uncomfortable, like someone else was leading me around by the nose, and I didn’t like being controlled.

That’s what I admired about the Four Horsemen. They were always in control and always visible. Why wait for Michael when I could do it myself?

Cool wind blew across my bare legs, and I inhaled the smell of earth, water, and old wood drifting up through the door from the catacombs. I was close.

But then someone grabbed one of my outstretched hands, and I sucked in a quick breath, planting both of my palms on his chest and clutching the soft cotton of his sweatshirt.

“Michael?” I moved my hands up, noticing that his shoulders were nearly level with the top of my head. “Have you been here the whole time?”

But he remained silent.

I breathed in and out, trying to calm my heartbeat. The full length of his legs and torso was flush with nearly every inch of mine, and my skin warmed.

I stepped back.

“Why did you do that?” I asked. “If you’ve been here the whole time, why would you let Damon handle me like that?”

“Why didn’t you just take off the blindfold and run away?”

I straightened my back, steeling my spine. Was that what he had wanted? For me to tap out and run away? Why was he testing me?

It didn’t matter. How could he just stand there—see what was going on—and not step in? Kai had put a stop to it, and I thought Michael…

I dropped my head, afraid he could see my face heating. I guess I thought more of Michael than I should.

I tipped my chin back up, trying to keep emotion out of my voice. “You shouldn’t have been okay with it.”

“Why?” he retorted. “Who are you to me?”

I clenched my fist at my side.

“Toughen up,” he bit out in a whisper as his breath fell across my cheeks. “You’re not a victim, and I’m not your savior. You handled it. End of story.”

What the hell was the matter with him? What did he want from me? I would’ve thought he’d show concern. Jesus.

All of the men in my life—my father, Noah, Mr. Crist, and even Trevor—hovered over my life like I was a baby learning how to walk. I never cared so much for their concern, and even found it stifling at times, but from Michael…I might’ve liked it. Even just once.

He placed a finger under my chin, tipping my head up as his voice softened. “You did well. Did it feel good? To

fight back?”

I caught the hint of amusement in his tone, and my stomach fluttered.

Michael had been right. I wasn’t a victim, and even though the thought of him showing up to save the day would’ve given me some kind of hint as to what he felt about me—if anything—the fact remained that I never wanted to be someone who couldn’t fight their own battles.

Hell, yes, it felt good.

I felt him move away, but his fingers slid between mine.

“So you want to go downstairs?” he asked in a low voice.