Corrupt (Devil's Night 1)

I wiped away my tears, anger charging through my veins now. I didn’t care. Whatever he was up to and why he did it, God, I didn’t care.

I hopped off the stool, slipped my phone in my pocket, and grabbed my keys from where I’d dropped them on the floor, racing out of the apartment. I didn’t even bother grabbing my purse before I locked the door and took the elevator down to the first floor.

As soon as the doors opened up again, I charged out and headed straight for the front desk. “Has Mr. Crist come home yet?”

Mr. Patterson popped his head up from his computer and looked at me. “I’m sorry, Miss Fane. I can’t tell you that,” he said. “Would you like to leave him a message?”

“No.” I shook my head. “I need to know where he is right now.”

But he just frowned, looking regretful. “I am sorry. I’m not allowed to give out that information.”

I heaved a breath and pulled out my phone, bringing up my pictures. Clicking on one of Trevor, Mr. Crist, and me in May, I flashed him the screen.

“Recognize the man in the middle with his arm around me?” I asked. “Evan

s Crist. Michael’s father.” My voice turned sharp. “Your boss. My godfather.”

His face fell, and I saw his Adam’s apple bob up and down. I’d never played the “I’m-Going-To-Get-You-Fired” card before, but it was all I had. Now he knew I knew the Crists, so why shouldn’t I know where Michael is?

“Where is he?” I demanded, sliding my phone into my pocket again.

He straightened, dipping his head down and not looking at me. “He left about any hour ago,” he admitted. “He and his friends took a cab to Hunter-Bailey for dinner.”

I shoved away from the counter, rushing out the front doors.

Turning left, I ran down the city sidewalk, veering around other pedestrians and racing through crosswalks as I made my way down to the gentlemen’s club several blocks from Delcour.

I breathed hard, a light layer of sweat covering my stomach and back as I finally jogged up the stairs of the old stone building, my legs burning from the rush I’d made to get here.

I was done thinking. Done wondering and pondering. He’d stolen from me and my family, and my blood was burning.

Fuck him.

I entered the building and stepped up to the front desk. “Where’s Michael Crist?” I demanded.

The attendant, in his pressed black suit and midnight blue tie, squared his shoulders and narrowed his eyes on me.

“Well, he’s dining right now, ma’am,” he told me, and then I caught the flash of his eyes to the wooden double doors to my right. “May I help—”

But I was gone. I charged for the doors, not waiting to be turned away or told what to do.

I grabbed both handles and turned the knobs, throwing the doors open.

“Miss!” the attendant exclaimed. “Miss! You can’t go in there!”

But I didn’t even hesitate. Screw their stupid “No Women Allowed” rule.

I walked in, my skin buzzing under the surface and my heart racing with a new high. I twisted my head left and right, vaguely taking in the room full of men in their fancy suits, with their clinking glasses and cigar smoke sitting in the air above their heads.

I finally halted, my eyes finding Michael, Kai, Damon, and Will sitting at a round table in the back. I stormed through the room, passing tables of onlookers and waiters carrying trays.

“Excuse me, ma’am!” one of them called as I shot past.

But I wasn’t stopping.

I charged over, seeing Michael turn his eyes on me, finally aware of my presence, but before he could say anything, I reached down and grabbed the bottom on the tablecloth and yanked it off, carrying all of the glasses, plates, and silverware with it.

“Shit!” Will shouted.