Page 82 of Morally Corrupt

"Yes, it's what I want."

"Well, then. Gear up for the worst week of your life, B." He leaves me alone, saying I need rest.

What I need is Theo. I want him to hug me to sleep. I want him to tell me it'll be all right.

I can't control my tears as they spill once more down my face.

I once thought I had absolutely no feelings.

I still do, but there seems to be an exception.

Theo…

30

THEO

After last night's events, I'll be the first to admit I had the worst sleep. Hearing everything from Bianca's lips had been like a punch to the gut.

I neglect my work the whole morning; instead, I look on the internet for information on sociopaths.

The more I read, the more I realize how everything fit—the drugs, the violence, the lies.

What breaks my heart the most is reading that sociopaths aren't capable of feeling love. They can pretend, but they will always value themselves above all else.

Bianca had said she'd wanted me. And so, she'd done everything to get me, violating every moral law possible in the process, some legal ones as well.

Now, the question is what to do next… Marcel's been the only one I've told about my problems with Bianca, and I've yet to talk to him about confronting her. Considering all she's been involved in, the natural course of events would be to turn her in.

She is, after all, a killer.

My mind is telling me that such a person shouldn't be left roaming around free, but my heart can't even fathom the notion that Bianca would be locked behind bars for manslaughter… if not even worse. I don't know what that says about me. Here in my lofty position within NYPD, and I'm basically fostering a murderer.

So many times, I find myself glancing towards the phone, ready to make the call. But I just can't. It seems that no matter how many times I try to live righteously, I always give up.

It's around noon when my phone rings.

"Mr. Hastings, a Mr. Quinn Gallagher is here to see you," my secretary informs me. I freeze for a moment, my first intention being to not see him. But considering the circumstances, it might be more beneficial to see what exactly he knows or thinks he knows.

"Bring him in," I reply and close the connection.

I don't know how I'm still functioning, caught between my duty and the mob, Jimenez gunning for me, and then my wife turning out to be a fucking sociopath.

Honestly, if only I could bring myself to turn her in, I'd be rid of two problems… both the mob and her. And therein lies the issue.

I can't.

I look up to see Quinn Gallagher stride in my office, looking as menacing as he did on Sunday. His dirty-blond hair looks uncombed and disheveled. Although I think the length is supposed to hide the many scars marring his face. He's wearing a basic black T-shirt that outlines his outrageous muscles and nondescript jeans. He'd be a handsome man if he didn't look like he's escaped jail. Or maybe he has, who knows.

"Mr. Gallagher." I motion for him to take a seat. He doesn't say anything, his light-blue eyes staring at me. He finally nods and sits.

"To what do I owe this visit?" I ask, folding my hands in front of me. Quinn's lips slowly drag themselves upwards.

"I think you know well why," he finally replies.

"I can't say I do." I feign ignorance.

Quinn snorts before adding, "Sure… Barnett." My expression freezes in place at that name. It's one I haven't heard in more than a decade.