Page 109 of Emperor of Corruption
“Give me that,” I demand, reaching through the partition. The driver glances at me through the rearview mirror, looking like a deer in headlights—or the squirrel faced with the ravenous wolf.
“Now,” I hiss.
He hands his phone through the partition with a trembling hand.
A video is playing on the screen. A videoItook of Lyra, several weeks ago. A video of her bound and naked on her bed.
The tape.
My heart screeches to a stop. My lips part. The world freezes around me as I watch something that I hadn’t realized was my worst nightmare until this very moment play out across my driver’s old iPhone screen.
The leverage I had over Lyra has been leaked to theentire fucking internet.
“Get Lyra,” I growl into the phone. “Get herright the fuck now, and take away any tech she has access to. Lock her in my apartment. I’ll be there shortly.”
“Boss…” Locke trails off, but I hear the thousand words he leaves unspoken.
With the leak of this lewd tape, Lyra’s career is over, and any thought I had of marrying hershouldevaporate. I should let her have the abortion and get the hell away from her to avoid the nuclear bomb she’s turned into. Nobody in New York City will touch her with a ten-foot pole after this, and I should keep my distance for the sake of my reputation.
I know with a burning certainty that I won’t do what Ishoulddo. I made the decision to take her and keep her, and I’m not someone who changes his mind once I’ve decided on a course of action. I’ll managethe fallout of the video,somehow, and I am going to destroy the man who leaked it.
The only other man who had access to it.
SilasfuckingCornell.
I cancel my appearance at the gala, but I don’t go home. Instead, I wait idly in the car, having my driver park in an alleyway. I turn off my phone to stop any location tracking, and put it in the dead-zone compartment of my car; a little pocket that disables any technology placed into it.
Then, I lie in wait. I wait until 10p.m., when the gala’s winding down. My tech people are all over the leaked sex tape—they’ll get it down by any means necessary within the next 24 hours, but a lot can happen in 24 hours of something existing on the internet.
I know it’ll never truly go away. I know that any affection Lyra had for me will regress to burning hatred. I know that any progress I might’ve made with her will go up in smoke.
And, with that knowledge, comes an indomitable drive for vengeance. I’m nervous to even lay eyes on Lyra, who—despite her snarky streak—is bright, vivacious, and so full oflife.I don’t know what she’ll be once this is over. Having Locke take away her phone and laptop will only minimize her exposure, not erase it. For all I know, she was one of the first people to see the sex tape leak. I can’t even imagine what she’s thinking or feeling right now.
The only thing I could have to offer her is Silas’s head on a platter, and that’s precisely what I intend to do.
When the party’s winding down and people are starting to trickle out of the hotel and into their luxury cars, I step out of my vehicle and slip into the back-entrance of the hotel.
One thing that’s always made Silas an easy target for sabotage is his insufferably predictable routine. Everything he does is on a schedule, including how he typically works galas.
He drinks until his social anxiety—embarassment over being a failure, really—goes away. Then, hetrieshis best to work the floor, mostly failing. He’s always one of the last to leave these parties, and before he goes, he enjoys himself a private little meltdown or pep talk in the nearest bathroom.
I slip through the lobby of the hotel and into the area rented out for the gala. I walk across the marble floor, now sticky and covered with dirt, and head to the hallway at the back, leading to the bathrooms.
I stop in front of the men’s restroom, taking a moment to listen.
“It’s fine,” Silas mutters, the words slightly muted through the door but still audible. “It’ll all be fine. You did the right thing. He—”
“Is going to fuckingkill you,” I seethe, slamming open the door.
Silas is in front of the vanity mirror, his brow damp with either sweat or water he splashed onto his face, his eyes wild. He sucks in a sharp breath and stumbles back a step. I take his moment of surprise as the golden opportunity to close and lock the door.
Silas isn’t leaving this room until I’ve extracted my pound of flesh. Even in my rage, I know I can’t kill him without earning myself a death sentence—yet. But I will begin my scheme of revenge.
I’ve had two hours to think up endless, creative ways I can torture him, and I am literallysalivatingto get started.
I eat up the distance between us in three strides, grab Silas by the collar, and slam his face against the vanity countertop. A crack echoes through the room, followed by his shrill screech. Bloodsprays—either from his nose or mouth, I don’t know and I don’tcare. I flip him over, pin him against the vanity, and punch him in the face.
If his nose wasn’t broken before, it certainly is now.
