Page 152 of Corrupt Me

“But the guys are there to keep him in check,” Celine adds quickly.

Abi purses her lips. “I can’t believe Eric has his own guards watching the perimeter to check if Hunter would come see you. He’s an heir to the Family.”

“Cassandra does that to appear weak and gain their trust,” I remind them.

Celine crosses her arms over her chest. “Fuck whoever thinks they are more powerful than us. We’re the Family.”

Once we embraced the legacy, we made it ours. We’ll defend it, and if anyone comes after us, none of us will take it lightly.

“By the time we’re done with the Whitneys, there won’t be anything left of his empire,” Abi says matter-of-factly.

That piques my interest. “How?”

Celine sips from her coffee mug, wearing a pleased expression. “Kaden and Hunter worked something out with my father. Hunter is very interested in showing the Whitneys the consequences of messing with him.”

I wouldn’t mess with any of them, and if they put their heads together, they’ll make the Whitneys wish they never wanted to be a part of the Family.

“I was thinking of taking the ATVs and just driving around the compound,” Abi says, switching the topic to something lighter.

Some fun wouldn’t hurt us. Chipping at the mug’s handle, all I can think of is erasing the distance between Hunter and me.

When it’s time to part for the day, I pause and say, “Please take care of him.” Because I can’t. Even if it kills me.

The girls nod in understanding, and I go back to my classes. As I walk, a warm gust of air caresses my nape, the feeling of being watched prickling my senses. I know it’s Hunter. Somehow, knowing he’s there makes this whole messed-up situation bearable.

I don’t seek him out, letting him do what he needs to do. It’s also my punishment for agreeing to do this.

While I am in class physically, my heart and mind are somewhere else entirely.

The moment the lecture ends, I am about to gather my stuff when I hear steps, blasting an icy shiver down my spine. I don’t have to look up to know who it is.

“Where were you?” Eric asks.

Through gritted teeth, I say, “With my friends.”

“I should be there as well. Your friends are my friends. We’re going to be a family soon.”

I can’t believe this guy. A headache stabs my temples, and I jab at them, rubbing with more force than necessary.

“What did they do to you? You seem upset.” He raises his hand to my face, but I take a step back.

The nerve of this guy. Every day is a renewed struggle not to tell him exactly what I think of him and assure him he’ll only have me in his twisted dreams.

“Nothing,” I say, walking away, but he soon catches up with me.

“My mother told me you haven’t gotten back to her about going wedding dress shopping.”

“There’s still time.” We haven’t even been engaged for one damn week.

“I’m her only son. She wants a wedding everyone else could only dream of for me.”

He’s a narcissist of the worst kind. Not that I am aware of a better type, which makes this whole ordeal even harder to deal with—selfish and always thinking only of himself.

“Then she could pick whatever she deems good enough for her son,” I say, plastering a sugary smile on my face.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you don’t even want to get married.”

Oh, I do—but not to you.

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