Corrupt

I tightened my fingers around his hand, the coarse skin of his palms feeling so good. What would his hands feel like on the rest of me?

“There’s stairs,” he warned, cutting off my thoughts. I slowed, stepping up and finding my footing.

“Come on,” he urged, leading me up. After several steps, the sunlight coming through the blindfold faded, and I knew we were inside.

The dank smell of rain and rot from years of neglect surrounded me, and I turned my head, trying to locate the echoes of voices all around. I followed Michael, walking slowly as I figured the floors were filled with debris.

Male shouts and cheers came at me from the left, and I listened, hearing them laughing and cheering. Grunts and groans followed, and I gauged that the fight was still going on.

I followed Michael, still holding onto him, but I raised my other hand, touching the blindfold. I didn’t like not being able to see, not knowing whether or not someone was coming at me. I felt like everyone was staring at me.

“Why won’t you let me see?” I asked, coming to a stop next to him.

“Would that be more exciting for you?”

I twisted my head to him, even though I couldn’t see him. “Is having me blindfolded more exciting for you?”

But then I turned my head forward again, stunned at how flippant I’d sounded. I’d always been nervous around Michael, and I was shocked—and maybe a little proud—that it had come out so easily.

I heard a couple of quick breaths come out of him, and I thought that he had laughed, although I couldn’t tell for sure.

“I want you to do something for me.” He let go of my hand, and I felt him brush against my shoulder as he came to stand behind me. “I want you to keep the blindfold on and don’t take it off. I’ll be back.”

“Be back? What?” I pinched my eyebrows together, feeling chills sweep up my legs and worry knotting my stomach.

I felt him touch the middle of my back, and his breath fell across my temple. “Show me what you’re made of.”

And then he pushed me.

I gasped, stumbling forward, my flats grinding against the dirt and dust-ridden stone floor as my arms shot out, trying to keep me from falling as I breathed quickly.

“Wha—” I choked out. “Michael?” I called, turning my head side to side.

Where the hell was he? I reached up and grabbed the blindfold. Screw this.

But then I stilled, his words playing back at me in my head. Show me what you’re made of.

He was testing me. Or playing with me. I inhaled a deep breath, steeling myself.

I could wait a little longer. You’re okay. You can do this. I wasn’t tapping out yet.

The grunts and growls of the fight were only a few feet away, and I could hear people talking and laughing. I wasn’t sure if it was because of me or the fight, but my face burned anyway, embarrassment making me want to hide. It felt like I had a thousand eyes on me, watching my every move.

My bottom lip trembled, and I held out my arms, my chest rising and falling a mile a minute as I tried to see if anyone was near me. I felt exposed, and I didn’t like it.

I took small steps, touching nothing but air as I felt my way.

“Michael?” I called again, a small cry stretching my throat that I refused to let out.

“Ah, fuck!” someone shouted, and I listened, gauging that it was coming from the fight.

I heard scuffling and a punch landing, and then cheers rang out, echoing in the vast space above.

“Woo!” a male voice shouted while others laughed.

I heard a couple of girls giggle not far off, and I sucked in a breath, hearing footsteps near me.

“Not sure what they have planned for you, honey,” a female voice teased, “but I’m jealous.”

Another girl laughed, and I scowled under the blindfold, anger warming my skin.

I straightened my back and touched the blindfold again, just wanting to peel it away.

But I curled my fists around the fabric, resisting. If I took it off, he would win. Michael would’ve kept it on, because he didn’t care. Who’s looking at me? Are they whispering about me? Are they laughing at me? Michael wouldn’t care.

I could do this.

I dropped my hands and squared my shoulders, my pulse still throbbing in my neck.

Nothing was wrong. I was embarrassed, insecure, and uncomfortable, but it was in my head.

Until someone brushed my shoulder, and I stilled, feeling a hand graze my ass.

“Mmm, I know you,” the male voice said. “Rika Fane, Trevor’s girlfriend, right?”

No. Not right, I immediately thought.

But then I froze, recognizing the menacing tone that always seemed to carry a double meaning no matter what he said.

Damon.

“What are you doing here without your man?” he taunted. “And who got you all trussed up like this?”

The skin on my arms hummed, and I wanted to rip the blindfold off. I didn’t like him looking at me when I couldn’t see.

Damon wasn’t safe.

I swallowed the lump in my throat, holding my ground. “Trevor’s not my boyfriend.”

“Too bad. I like playing with shit that’s not mine.”

And then his finger grazed my bottom lip, and I twisted my head away. “Stop,” I demanded.

But then he wrapped a hand around the back of my neck and pulled me in. “You sleep over at the Crist’s sometimes, huh?” he growled low, his breath falling on my lips. “You’ve got your own room there?”

I planted my hands on his chest, trying to push away, but he gripped my hip with the other hand, holding me in place.