Corrupt (Devil's Night 1)

The door behind me opened, and I jerked my head, seeing Michael step through, hell written all over his face.

He closed the door, straightened, and pinned me with his look that said my ass was grass.

Crooking his finger, he mouthed “come here” as he slowly approached me, probably trying to keep my antics quiet so I wouldn’t embarrass him.

I tried to hold back my smile, but I knew he saw it.

Instead, I played. Spinning around, I walked around the perimeter of the room, careful to stay behind the columns. Then I slipped through another door, seeing him come after me, his lips tight, before I closed it on him.

But as soon as I looked down, saw the slate tile and heard the running water, I knew I’d fucked up.

“Shit,” I growled in a whisper.

I hesitated, thinking about going back, but I knew Michael was coming that way.

Putting my head down, I followed the short tunnel, passing a steam room, a sauna, and two large Jacuzzis, feeling eyes on me, and not so much as breathing as I passed a few guys lounging about on couches around the spa. Dashing into the adjoining locker room, I looked up and saw a young, blond-haired man coming my way, so I veered to the left, down an empty aisle and heard more voices. I stopped and hid myself at the end of a row of lockers.

Doors slammed on my left, two men chatted on my right, and Michael would be on my back any

second.

I leaned against the cold steel, looking around and trying to figure out where the exit was. If there even was another one.

But then I jerked, a locker door slamming and its vibrations hitting my back.

“Mr. Torrance,” a man called. “There’s no smoking in here.”

“Fuck off.”

And chills immediately spread down my arms, making my heart skip a beat. I stilled, afraid to move.

I knew that voice. Mr. Torrance.

Slowly turning my head, I twisted my body around completely and inched toward the edge of the lockers. I peered around the side just enough, hoping not to see what I knew I would.

A lump stretched my throat. “Oh, shit,” I whispered.

Damon Torrance.

He sat in a cushioned chair, leaning his head back with his eyes closed, droplets of water glistening down his neck, arms, and torso—bare since he only wore a towel around his waist.

He pinched a cigarette between his fingers and brought it to his lips, the ashen end burning orange as he inhaled. Then, just as I remember, he blew it out slowly, letting it drift up instead of out, looking more like fog than smoke as it dissipated in the air above him.

My stomach churned at the stench, bringing back memories of that night. I’d had to take two showers to get that smell off me.

I may have felt a little bad over the years about what happened to his friends, but to him…not so much.

Suddenly, a hand came down on my mouth, and I sucked in a quick breath, rearing back against a hard chest.

“I don’t have time for this,” Michael warned in my ear.

He released me, and I spun around, looking up at him. His eyes were hot with anger, and I guessed my plan hadn’t worked. He wasn’t amused.

“How come I didn’t know that your friends were out?” I asked quietly.

“What interest is it of yours?”

What interest of mine? A lot, actually. I’d been with all of them the night before they were arrested. And more happening later on that night that Michael probably wasn’t aware of.