Page 249 of Corrupting Camille
He always does.
***
It all happens so fast.
One second I’m drifting, nausea swimming through my body, the sheets twisted around my legs, my mind hazy with fragile dreams and the quiet awareness of something changing inside me.
The next, a distant, chilling pop slices through the dark.
My eyes snap open, instantly alert, heart crashing wildly against my chest. I hold my breath, straining to hear. Another shot cracks the air, closer, unmistakable now.
Gunfire.
My blood runs ice-cold, adrenaline spiking through every nerve ending, setting me painfully awake. I jerk upright, gripping the sheets tightly, gaze whipping around the room. It’s too dark, shadows crawling like living things across the walls, floor, ceiling, my imagination supplying threats lurking just out of sight.
Instinctively, I reach across the empty space beside me, Kane’s side, searching for strength, comfort, reassurance. But he isn’t here. He’s out there, handling whatever nightmare has just crashed violently back into our lives.
Another blast echoes below, louder now, followed immediately by muffled shouting and chaos, the sounds unmistakably frantic and dangerous.
I lunge toward my phone, fingers trembling as I fumble to unlock it, needing Kane, needing his voice, needing help…
But the bedroom door explodes inward before I can dial, the wood slamming back into the wall so violently the room rattles. My heart leaps into my throat as Joaquin rushes in, blood streaked across his shirt, eyes wild with panic and urgency.
“Get up, Camille!” he shouts, voice hoarse, sharp. “Now!”
“Joaquin…what’s going on?” I gasp, stumbling from the bed, legs shaking beneath me.
“Rojas’s men breached the compound,” he snaps urgently, jaw clenched, hand gripping the pistol so tight his knuckles turn white. “They’re here for you. We have to move. Now.”
Fear stabs deep into my chest, cutting through the fog. I nod, no questions, no arguments, following him barefoot across the cold marble floors, his hand iron-hard around my arm. Joaquin’s gun is raised, eyes scanning frantically, checking corners, corridors, shadows expecting threats from every angle.
Halfway down the hall, an explosion rips through the lower floor. It feels like the world cracks open beneath us. The blast rattles walls violently, glass shattering with a deafening crash. I lose my balance, stumbling forward, ears ringing painfully, vision blurring with panic.
Joaquin steadies me roughly, fingers digging into my skin. “Stay with me,” he orders sharply, eyes fierce. “Stay right behind me, Camille. Do not stop.”
We move faster now, racing toward the back stairwell, smoke thickening in the air, hot, acrid, choking, burning my throat. My pulse thunders, fear pounding in sync with the piercing alarms shrieking through the halls. Each step feels heavier, like nightmares weighing me down, dragging me back.
We burst into the garage level, the emergency lights pulsing erratically, washing everything in sinister, blood-red shadows.
And then Joaquin freezes.
My heart stops.
Standing directly in front of us, utterly calm, terrifyingly poised, is a man I’ve never seen before, but whose gaze sinks into my bones like frost. Dark hair swept back from a face carved from cold marble, eyes glittering with merciless amusement, as though he finds the chaos around us utterly charming.
My breath catches violently, dread pooling low in my stomach, acidic and bitter.
Rojas.
I know it instinctively, instantly, because Kane described him exactly like this: smooth, lethal elegance barely concealing ruthless cruelty, his calm presence a calculated mask for brutality. Everything about him fits Kane’s quiet, chilling warning perfectly.
Four heavily armed men flank him, guns trained unwaveringly at Joaquin’s chest.
Joaquin raises his weapon instantly, but Rojas merely arches an eyebrow, voice silky, accented, disturbingly calm. “Think very carefully, Joaquin. There’s a clean way this can end, or a very painful one.”
Joaquin’s jaw clenches, muscles vibrating with fury and desperation. His gaze flickers briefly to mine guilt and anguish written clearly in his stare. He knows we’re trapped. He knows he can’t save me.
“Give her to me,” Rojas says softly, cruelly. “And you’ll live long enough to deliver my message to Rivera.”
