Page 18 of Theirs to Corrupt
“Doors won’t open unless I put the car in Park.”
Frustrated, I squeeze my eyes shut. Does he miss anything? “Just go ahead and drop me back at my car. I’ll be fine.”
Gripping the steering wheel expertly, he shakes his head. “You’re going home with me.With us.”
Fear turns my stomach inside out. I’ve escaped Axel’s men only to land in the clutches of Vulture.
In the rearview mirror, our gazes meet. “You can relax. If I meant you harm, I would have simply left you to those thugs.”
His cryptic answer sends a fresh wave of fear through me.
At a stoplight, I try to escape, testing his words. But the door won’t open.
He shoots me a knowing smile.
When he takes off again, the city lights blur past us, and I hug myself tightly, trying to hold myself together. I’m hurtling into the unknown, trapped between the devil I know and two men who might very well prove far more dangerous.
A part of me wants to leap from the car, to run and never look back. But where would I go? Axel found me once. That means his resources are deeper than I ever imagined.
And despite my fear of Link and Paxton, a tiny voice in the back of my mind whispers that they might be my only hope.
As we turn into a neighborhood with tall, brick fences shielding mansions, my anxiety spikes. After a couple of turns, Link steers the car through a gate that seems to openautomatically for him. I watch in the side mirror as it slides shut behind us with a soft mechanical whir, sealing me in.
Link parks near a massive mansion. “Let’s go.”
I’ve been anxious to get out of the car, but now the back seat feels like a sanctuary.
He opens my door and offers his hand. I ignore it. “Where are we?”
“Home.”
His place—with its meticulously manicured lawns, a pool, and swaying palm trees—is a stark contrast to the dingy apartment complex where I live.
We enter through an imposing back door. The interior of the ultramodern two-story home is every bit as imposing as the exterior.
Link shrugs off his suitcoat. “Have a seat,” he says, gesturing to the island with its line of bar stools.
Because it might offer me some distance from him, I slide onto one, setting my purse on the chair next to me. He drapes his jacket over the back.
“Something to drink?” he offers. “Water? Tea? A glass of wine to calm your nerves?”
“I’m fine. I won’t be here that long.”
Link studies me for a moment. Then he heads to the refrigerator and returns with a bottle of water. After twisting off the cap, he places the beverage in front of me.
Reluctantly I drag it toward me. The coolness against my palm is grounding, and I take a small sip, grateful for the distraction.
We’ve only been here for a few minutes when a motorcycle roars, the sound growing closer. Light fills the driveway.
Moments later, the back door swings open with a soft creak. Pax strides in and pulls the door closed behind him, then types a series of numbers on the nearby keypad.
He shrugs out of his motorcycle jacket and carelessly tosses it on top of Link’s suitcoat.
The sight of the ruthless bodyguard makes my breath catch in my throat.
He continues past me to stand next to Link. They’re two massive, implacable male powerhouses, and being at their mercy makes me shiver.
As I look at Pax, I notice the small cut above his right eyebrow. Another, angrier gash slices across his cheekbone. “My God.” I jump off my seat. “You’re hurt. Let me?—”