Corrupt (Devil's Night 1)

Him and his goddamn games. This wasn’t the time, and I wasn’t in the mood for kink tonight.

“Just get out of here, Michael.”

But then he raised his hand, digging the point of a massive butcher knife into the wall of my hallway. My heart picked up pace again as I stared wide-eyed, watching him stalk toward me, the steel blade scraping as it dragged along the wall.

I expelled every inch of breath I had and backed away. “Damon,” I choked out.

And at that moment, he dropped his hand and broke out in a run, charging me. I screamed and spun around, racing for the front door.

I slammed into the wood, immediately grabbing for the locks, but it was no use. He crashed into my back, wrapping a hand around the front of my neck, and digging the tip of the blade under my chin.

The sting made me cry out. “Damon!” I dug my nails into the door. “Don’t do this!”

He squeezed my throat, and then the hand with the knife came down over my mouth, a cloth covering my lips, suffocating me.

“Who’s going to stop me?” he whispered in my ear.

And then everything went black.

Present

FLOATING.

My head was swaying, and for a moment it felt like it was lifting off my body and drifting up into the air. A seed of pain sat in the side of my head but quickly bloomed, spreading and searing across my skull as I grunted.

“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 t