Page 174 of Corrupting Camille
“Is Diego okay?”
“For now. But there’s talk, whispers. Someone’s making a move, Kane, and it’s personal.”
Personal.
The word hits me like a bullet, tearing open wounds I thought were cauterized years ago. Miami is personal. Diego is personal. His family…my family. Camille…fuck, Camille is personal. Each of them a vulnerability. Each of them something that can be ripped from my grasp.
“I’m on my way,” I tell him sharply. “Meet me at the hangar. Joaquin too.”
I end the call, pulse hammering, fury coiling inside me like a live wire, ready to snap. Every instinct screams for violence. For action. But I breathe deeply, forcing control, tightening the reins on the beast clawing at my ribs.
Because right now, I have to deal with Camille.
I open the bedroom door quietly, stepping back inside. She’s still wrapped in my sheets, moonlight tracing every perfect curve of her body, auburn curls spilling wildly across my pillow. Beautiful, fragile, and utterly mine.
I move closer, leaning over her slowly, lips brushing softly, tenderly, along her jaw, down her neck, gentle enough to wake but careful not to startle her.
“Camille,” I whisper against her warm skin, voice low, coaxing. “Wake up.”
She shifts slightly, as she murmurs my name, slowly pulled from sleep. Her lashes flutter open, heavy and trusting, eyes filled with soft confusion and something clenches violently deep in my chest.
She trusts me.
“Kane?” she rasps softly, voice sleep-rough and vulnerable, her gaze lifting to mine, searching. “What’s wrong?”
“Something came up,” I say quietly, brushing the hair gently back from her face, my thumb lingering on her cheek. “I have to leave.”
Her body stiffens instantly beneath me, tension coiling tight in her muscles, sleep vanishing like it never existed. Her eyes flash wide, suddenly sharp, fear slicing through the soft haze of trust.
Her fingers clutch the sheets like they’re the only thing keeping her from breaking. The second I say I have to leave, I feel it, everything in her pulls taut.
“What…” she breathes, voice fraying, “why? Did I…did I do something?”
Fuck.
I exhale slowly, dragging my palm along her cheek, her jaw, the soft dip beneath her ear. “No,” I say, voice low, firm. “You didn’t do anything.”
But the damage is done. She’s wide awake now, bare and vulnerable, eyes flicking over my face like she’s trying to read what I’m not saying.
I lean in, pressing my forehead hard against hers, breathing her in until my chest aches with the weight of everything I’m holding back. I need her close enough to sink into my bloodstream, deep enough that no one could ever cut her out.
“You’re coming with me,” I say, voice low and rough, leaving no room for questions, arguments, or escape.
She blinks, startled, confusion bleeding rapidly into something wary, uncertain. Her fingers twist tighter into the sheets, clinging to the fragile illusion of safety I’ve just shattered.
“What…?” Her voice is small, unsteady. “Why?”
“Because I’m not leaving you here. Not tonight. Not ever.” I pull back just enough to hold her gaze, letting her see the sharp edge beneath my words. “We’re going to Miami. I have business.”
Her pulse jumps visibly, rapid and erratic, in the hollow of her throat. Her eyes search mine, wide and desperate, wanting answers I won’t give. Answers she doesn’t need yet. She doesn’t know what I am in Miami, the ruthless, merciless version of me who built an empire on blood and bones.
And she doesn’t know yet how easily that darkness will devour her too.
She swallows roughly, glancing down at herself, suddenly conscious of how exposed she is beneath my sheets. “I don’t…I don’t have anything to wear.”
I stand without answering, crossing the room to the dresser and pulling out one of my shirts, black, oversized, carrying my scent like a threat, like a claim. I toss it to her, and it lands softly on the bed beside her.
“Wear that.”
