Corrupt Me

Chapter 25

My body froze, ice trickling down my spine. Swallowing, I stared at one of the largest men I'd ever seen. A snake tattoo corded around his thick neck, the tail disappearing under the collar of his fitted black tee. He had a few other small tattoos inked on his face...gang marks. His beefy fingers wrapped around my arms like they were thin pretzel rods. A small amount of pressure and my bones would snap. An unpleasant image, and one I wished my brain wouldn't have shared.

He yanked me roughly close, and I got a whiff of alcohol on his breath. "What is a pretty thing like you doing lurking around in the dark?"

Keep cool. Don't let him know you're scared. I batted my lashes, wishing I'd at least put on a coat of massacre this morning because the only way I was getting out of this situation was by using my womanly wiles. As if I had any of those. But it was worth a shot. "You think I'm pretty?" The question came out more sarcastic than sexy, making me want to walk into a wall.

Appreciatingly hazel eyes glanced me over, lingering too long on my exposed legs beneath Tristan's hoodie. "You got guts playing games."

My pulse thudded in my ears as I tried to think of a way out of this situation. "I was looking for the bathroom," the excuse tumbled in a rush out of my mouth. Yep. That's what I came up with...a sad, pathetic excuse if I ever heard one.

He laughed, and I hoped that was a good omen, but I seriously had doubts. "Does this look like a public outhouse, darling?"

I got another puff of alcohol breath in my face. "Should you be drinking on the job? This is a job, right? Like you work here?" I rambled, unable to stop my lips from flapping nonsense.

A snap of cold seriousness entered his features. "Best to keep your questions to yourself."

The pain in my arms from his hands was going numb. "Someone was following me, okay? I was running away from them. That's the truth."

"Who?" He peered over my head like he half expected someone lurking in the dark.

"I didn't stop to ask his name." This sarcasm was going to get me in trouble. The more scared I got, the sharper my tongue seemed to lash.

"You should have asked for directions because you little minx, have come to the wrong place for help. Move it." Without waiting for me to comply, my captor hauled me toward the side door.

Tristan, you better be fucking in there. "So, I guess using your phone to call a friend is out of the question?" The metal door clanged closed behind us feeling like a prison cell, locking me inside with a bunch of criminals.

"That's for the boss to decide," he said with a bone-chilling smirk.

I tripped over my feet, but the beefcakes held me up. Blowing the hair out of my face, I gained my footing. "Huh. I thought for sure you ran things around here. My mistake."

"Move it, minx." He gave me a shove, and not too gently either, sending me stumbling into the open space and nearly running into a metal pole.

I grabbed it for support, my mind whirling while my breathing came out shallow and uneven. Not an ideal situation. But I'm not dead yet. Clinging to the pole, I took in my surroundings, desperate for someone or something to help me. Tristan's name sat on the tip of my tongue, ready to be screamed, and it should have probably been the first thing I did.

Cold concrete covered the floor, which I imagined made cleaning up blood easier. The warehouse was vast, a hollow shell of what it once had been. Moonlight filtered through the ceiling windows, casting ghostly beams of light across half a dozen cars parked inside and stacks of dusty, forgotten crates. My heart pounded in my ears, almost drowning out the subtle creak of the door behind me. This place looked like a cross between Fast and Furious and Breaking Bad.