Corrupt (Devil’s Night Book 1)

Present

I GRIPPED THE STEERING WHEEL, racing down the dark highway as I held the phone to my ear.

“Mom, where the hell are you?” I burst out, my heart thundering in my chest.

The line kept ringing and ringing, and even though I’d called her several times since I got the call about the house, she still wasn’t answering.

I’d even tried our housekeeper, but I couldn’t reach anyone.

Goddammit, why hadn’t I gotten the satellite number from Michael the other night? I’d just grabbed Alex and begged her to take me home, even though I’d had to drive because she’d had too much to drink.

Turning the wheel to the right, I curved around the bend, hitting End on the call and throwing my phone onto the passenger seat.

“Please,” I breathed out, my face cracking as I held back the tears.

Please let it be okay.

The fire trucks got there in time. They had to have.

Ferguson had called me over an hour ago, telling me that my parents’ house was on fire and that he’d called the fire department. They were already there, but he couldn’t get a hold of my mother or our housekeeper, both of whom were supposed to be out of town.

I didn’t hesitate. I jumped in the car and left the city, speeding down the highway. Finally, after an hour of driving, I’d entered the dark, quiet roads of Thunder Bay.

It was after ten at night, after all.

Coming up on the left, I spotted the community entrance and pushed down on my horn, blaring it again and again and again.

Ferguson opened the gate, and I raced through, not even slowing down to talk. My headlights fell across the black road as I winded through the spacious forest, spotting gates and homes, lanterns and driveways melting into the landscape.

Passing the Crist house, I didn’t even spare a glance. I raced right past, clicking the remote for my own gate as it came up half a mile down the road.

Jerking the steering wheel to the left, I charged into the driveway and immediately slammed on the breaks.

Turning off the car, I jumped out, gasping as my chest shook.

“No, no, no…” I stared through blurry eyes up at the house.

Black soot spilled over the window frames, and I could see the curtains in the upstairs’ windows hanging in shreds.

The front door was gone, the roof was black, and the foliage surrounding the house was burnt up. The house stood dark and beaten as the smell of fire filled the air and black smoke drifted up from a few remaining embers.

I couldn’t make out anything from the inside, but it looked gutted.

Shooting my hands into my hair, tears spilled over as my face broke. I sobbed, struggling for breath as I broke out in a run, racing up to the house.

“Mom!”

But someone’s arms engulfed me, holding me back.

“Let me go!” I struggled and fought, twisting my body away from them.

“You can’t go in there!” he shouted.

Michael.

But I didn’t care. I broke through his hold, shoving his hands away and bolting into the house.

“Rika!”

I raced into the house, barely taking in the black floors, carpets, and walls. I rounded the bannister, feeling the grains of soot under my palm as I grabbed it for support.

“Miss!” a man yelled, and I briefly noticed firefighters walking about.

I ignored them and leapt up the stairs, the floor boards under the soaked carpet shaking with my weight and warning me with its creaking, but I didn’t fucking care.

The whole goddamn house could fall on me.

“Mom!”

But wait…she’s not here. She’s away, remember? Relief flooded me as I reached the second floor landing. She’s not here.

I dived into my bedroom, the pungent stench of the smoke filling my lungs as I went straight for my walk-in closet. I fell to my knees, coughing, as I rummaged in the corner for a box.

Water dripped on my back from the doused clothes hanging above me. The fire had been in here, too. Please, no.

I flipped off the top of a box and dug in, my hand wrapping around another hard wooden box, this one smaller. I pulled it out.

Water immediately spilled out of its corner.

My heart broke. No.

Wrapping my arms around it, I hugged it to my chest and hunched over, sobbing. It was ruined.

“Stand up.”

I heard Michael’s voice behind me, but I didn’t want to move.

“Rika,” he urged again.

I raised my head again, trying to force in deep breaths, but all of a sudden dizziness wracked though me, and I couldn’t breathe. The air was too thick.

I should’ve taken the box with me. It was stupid to leave it here. I thought I was trying to be strong, letting the past go and leaving it behind. I should never have left without it.

I opened my eyes, barely seeing anything through the blur.

Why was Michael here? He’d been here when I got here, which meant he’d found out about the fire before I had.

Slowly, all the control I’d fought to assume over my life was getting taken away from me. Being duped into living at Delcour, finding Will and Damon in my class, the constant threat of his friends hanging over my head, and then there was Michael. I had no control around him.

And now my house?

A weight sat on my chest, and I drew in hard, shallow breaths as I looked up at him. “Where is my mother? Why can’t I reach her?”

Holding his eyes, I started coughing again, the air like poison every time I tried to take a breath.

“We need to get out of here.” He reached down and pulled me up, knowing that the smoke was getting to me. “We’ll come back tomorrow after the fire department’s assessed the damage and made sure it’s safe. We’ll stay at my parents’ house tonight.”

A lump stretched my throat, but I didn’t even have the energy to swallow it down. I squeezed the box to my chest, wanting to sink away.

I didn’t fight as we left the room. I didn’t fight when he put me in his car or when I saw him pass his parents’ house and take me into town.

I couldn’t fight him tonight.

“ARE THOSE THE MATCHES YOU TOLD ME ABOUT?” he asked, gesturing with his chin to the box on the table. “The ones your father collected from his trips?”

I dropped my eyes, seeing the damp wood of the cigar box and nodded. I was still too deflated to say anything.

After we’d left the firefighters to keep working at the house, he hadn’t taken us back to his parents’ place. He’d driven into town and stopped at Sticks, and even though I didn’t want to see anybody, I welcomed a drink.

I followed him in, and thankfully, he hid us in a booth and ordered us a couple of beers. The waitress gave me a quick glance, knowing I wasn’t twenty-one, but she wouldn’t argue with him.

No one ever did.

The bar was nearly empty, probably because it was a school night, as well as the college kids having all left town to go back to school by now. A few older patrons sat at the bar, some people played pool, and others loitered around, drinking, talking, and eating.

Slowly easing back into the chair, I touched the box with shaky hands and flipped the clasp on the front, lifting the lid.

Tears sprang to my eyes, and I looked away.

Ruined. Everything was ruined.

Most of the matchbooks and little boxes were made of paper, and even if the matches dried out, the containers were split, torn, and shriveled. The damp cardboard dripped with water, discolored and broken.

I reached over and picked up a little glass jar. The matchsticks inside had a green tip, and I still remembered my father returning from Wales saying he’d found them in a seaside shop in Cardiff.

I smiled sadly, holding up the jar. “These are my favorite,” I told Michael, leaning over the table. “Listen to the sound.”

I jiggled the jar next to his ear, but then my face fell, hearing the heavy clumping instead of the light, familiar sound of the wooden sticks tapping the inside of the glass.

I lowered myself back down into my seat. “They don’t sound the same now, I guess.”

Michael stared at me, his huge frame and height damn-near taking up the whole bench on his side of the booth.

“They’re just matches, Rika.”

I cocked my head, my eyes narrowing with ire. “They’re just matches?” I sneered. “What do you treasure? Is anything precious to you?”

His expression turned impassive, and he remained silent.

“Yeah, they’re just matches,” I continued, my voice growing thick with tears. “And memories and smells and sounds and butterflies in my stomach every time I heard the car door slam outside, telling me that he was home. A thousand dreams of all the places I’d have adventures someday.” I took a deep breath, placing my hand on top of the box. “They’re hopes and wishes and reminders and all the times I smiled, knowing he’d remembered me while he was gone.”

And then I looked at him pointedly. “You have money and girls, cars and clothes, but I still have more than you in this little box.”

I turned my gaze out to the pool tables, seeing him watch me out of the corner of my eye. I knew he thought I was being silly. He probably wondered why he was still sitting here with me. I had my car. He could’ve just let me crash at his family’s house tonight and gone back to the city himself and to whatever date or function he was dressed up for.

But the truth was, I wasn’t being silly. Yeah, they were just matches, but they were also irreplaceable. And the things that were irreplaceable in life were the only things of value.

When I thought about it, there actually weren’t a lot of things or people in the world that I loved. Why had I left them here?

“They think the fire started near the stairs,” Michael said, taking a drink of his beer. “That’s how it traveled to the second floor so fast. We’ll know more tomorrow.”

I stayed silent, watching as the waitress set down two shots.

“You don’t care?” Michael broached when I didn’t say anything.

I shrugged, the anger numbing the sadness. “The house doesn’t mean anything,” I said in a low voice. “I was never happy there without my father anyway.”

“Were you happy at my house?”

I shot my eyes up, locking with his. Why was he asking that? Did he actually care? Or maybe he knew the answer.

No. No, I wasn’t happy at his house. Not without him there.

In middle school and high school, I’d loved it. Hearing the basketball bounce through the house as he walked around, feeling him in a room and not being able to concentrate on anything else, running into him in the hallway…

I loved the anticipation of just being around him.

But after he left for college and barely ever made it home, the Crist house became a cage. I was constantly circled by Trevor, and I missed Michael so much.

Being in his house when he wasn’t there was the loneliest I’d ever been.

I dropped the jar back into the box and snapped it shut, turning my head to the jukebox along the front windows.

“Can I have some money?” I asked, turning back to him.

I’d left my bag in my car.

He reached into his pocket, taking some bills off a clip. I reached over, without hesitation, and took the five I spotted, climbing out of the booth and carrying my beer with me.

Chills broke out down my arms, and I remembered that I was still in the jeans and white tank I’d changed into when I got home from school earlier. Having jumped into the car in such a hurry, I hadn’t grabbed a jacket.

Michael was in a black suit and a white shirt, open at the collar, and I wondered if he had been coming from somewhere or was going somewhere.

It didn’t matter. He could leave. I could take care of myself.

I took sips of my beer as I fed the machine the five dollars and began choosing music.

A girl’s laugh sounded behind me, and I twisted my head, recognizing Diana Forester.

She was hanging on our booth, with her hand on her hip and a coy smile on her lips as she talked to Michael.

Jesus.

They dated in high school, although I wouldn’t call it dating exactly. Kai and Michael shared her. And I only knew that because I’d seen them both kissing her in the media room one night. I’d bolted before I saw anything else, but I could definitely guess what went down.

Life past high school wasn’t so hot for her. Last I heard, she was helping her parents run the bed and breakfast they owned here in town.

He nodded at whatever she was saying, a slight tilt to his lips, but it looked like he was just indulging her.

Until she leaned down, and I thought I saw his eyes flash to me for a brief second before he smiled wider at her and reached up, touching her blonde hair.

My neck and face heated, and I spun back around.

Asshole.

Even if I never tried to, I had expectations about the man I thought he was, and I needed to knock it off.

Was I going to be the third wheel in the house tonight when he brought her home? Would I be the one sitting uncomfortable and silent a few rooms down the hall?

I was done pretending and acting like shit didn’t bother me. I was mad. Own it.

Punching buttons, I loaded only one song even though I’d paid for twenty. Downing the rest of the beer, I headed back to the booth.

Sliding the empty bottle across the table, I saw Diana jump as if she hadn’t know I was here.

“Oh, hey, Rika,” she chirped. “How’s Trevor? Are you missing him a lot?”

Trevor and I weren’t dating. Guess she didn’t get the memo.

I sat down, crossed my legs, and folded my hands, laying them on the table. Ignoring her question, I stared at Michael. He was fucking with me, and I cocked my head, holding his amused eyes.

I hadn’t asked to come to Sticks, but he’d brought me here. He didn’t get to lock in his one-night stand with me in tow. Not tonight.

The uncomfortable silence thickened, but the more I held my ground, challenging him to get rid of her, the stronger I felt.

Dirty Diana by Shaman’s Harvest began playing, and I smirked.

“Well…” Diana spoke up, touching Michael’s shoulder, “I’m so glad I ran into you. You barely make it home anymore.”

But Michael ignored her, still holding my eyes.

He cleared his throat, squinting at me. “Interesting song.”

I fought not to laugh. “Yes, I thought Diana would like it,” I replied cheerfully and then looked to her. “It’s about a woman that jumps into bed with men that aren’t hers?”

Michael dropped his eyes, laughing under his breath.

Diana scowled, cocking an eyebrow as she shifted away. “Bitch.”

And then she turned around and left.

I locked eyes with Michael again, my body rushing with liquid heat. It felt good to stand up to him and his antics.

“Why are you always messing with me?” I demanded.

“Because it’s fun,” he admitted, “and you’re getting so good at it.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Why are your friends messing with me?”

But he just stayed silent.

I could see the challenge in his eyes. He knew they were fucking with me, and instinct told me to be afraid, but for some reason…

I wasn’t.

The pushing and shoving, the head games and the mind-fucks…everything twisted me up and tore me down so much that when I finally got tired of stumbling and falling and backing down, I found that it felt really good to play.

Michael leaned back in the booth, resting against the corner and looking out at the bar.

“So if Diana is Dirty Diana, what about Sam?” He tipped his chin. “The bartender. What’s his song?”

I turned my eyes out, finding Sam Watkins behind the bar, working alone. He was taking down bottles of liquor, wiping them off, and replacing them.

“Closing Time,” I guessed. “By Semisonic.”

Michael snickered, looking at me like I wasn’t even trying. “That’s too easy.” He took a drink of his beer and nodded to someone else. “Drew, at the bar.”

I inhaled a breath, trying to relax. Looking over at Drew Hale, a middle-aged judge who was well-connected but not particularly rich. His shirt-sleeves were rolled up, and his suit pants were wrinkled. He was in here a lot.

“Hinder. Lips of an Angel,” I tossed out, turning to Michael. “He was in love with a woman, they broke up, and he married her sister on a whim.” I looked down, my heart going out to him a little. “And every time I see him he looks just a little worse.”

I couldn’t imagine how hard it was to see the woman you loved all the time and not be able to have her, because you married the wrong woman.

Blinking, I looked up, seeing Michael. And all of a sudden, it wasn’t so hard to imagine.

“Him,” he continued, gesturing to a heavy-set businessman sitting at a table with a younger woman. She had platinum hair and heavy make-up. He wore a wedding ring, and she didn’t.

I rolled my eyes. “She’s Only Seventeen. Winger.”

Michael laughed, his white teeth shining in the dim booth.

He went on, jerking his chin to a pair of high schoolers playing pool. “How about them?”

I studied them, checking out the black hair hanging in their eyes, the black skinny jeans and T-shirts, and their scary black boots with five inch thick soles.

I smiled. “Closeted Taylor Swift fans. I promise.”

His chest shook, laughing. “And her?” He nodded.

I twisted my head over my shoulder, seeing a beautiful young woman leaning over the bar. I could see a good bit of thigh going up her skirt, and when she leaned back down again, I saw her pull her mouth away from a drink and take hold of the straw, dipping it in and out of a milkshake.

I couldn’t help but laugh as I turned back around, singing, “My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard…”

Michael choked on his beer, a drop of it spilling out of his mouth as he tried not to laugh.

I picked up my shot of whiskey the waitress had left before, swirling the amber liquid in the glass.

I hadn’t felt anything from the beer, but for some reason, I hadn’t really needed it. My body felt warm now. I was relaxed, despite what had happened to the house, and I felt something building in my gut. Something hot that made me feel ten feet tall.

Michael leaned in, his voice turning low and heavy. “And how about me?”

I swallowed, still studying my drink. What song described him? What band?

That was like trying to pick one food to eat for the rest of your life.

“Disturbed,” I said, naming the band and still looking down at the glass.

He said nothing. Only remained still before finally sitting back and tipping his drink up to his lips.

Butterflies swarmed in my stomach, and I kept my breathing even.

“Drowning Pool, Three Days Grace, Five Finger Death Punch,” I continued, “Thousand Foot Krutch, 10 Years, Nothing More, Breaking Benjamin, Papa Roach, Bush…” I paused, exhaling nice and slow despite the way my heart drummed. “Chevelle, Skillet, Garbage, Korn, Trivium, In This Moment…” I drifted off, peace settling over me as I looked up at him. “You’re in everything.”

His eyes held mine, narrowing with just a hint of the pain I’d felt while longing for him all these years. I didn’t know what he was thinking or if he knew what to think, but now he knew.

I’d hid it, pushed it down, and acted like it wasn’t there, but now I’d owned it, and I didn’t care what he thought. I wasn’t ashamed of what was inside me.

Now he knew.

I blinked, lifting the glass to my lips and downing my shot. Leaning over, I swiped his and slammed it down as well.

I barely felt the burn in my throat. The adrenaline overpowered it.

“I’m tired,” I told him solemnly.

And then I got up and left the booth, knowing he’d follow.