Page 6 of Emperor of Corruption
None if I don’t get caught.
I peek my head into the office, sweeping a gaze over the room to search for cameras.None. The coast is still clear; I don’t hear any footsteps up here. I could take a minute to rifle around his desk just atinybit…
I slip into the office. Mahogany wood panels are everywhere; the floors, walls, and hugging a stone fireplace. Bookshelves decorate the back wall, filled with first-editions and academic journals. There are nowindows or side doors; no escape if I get caught, so I can’t let myself get caught. I have to be quick, in and out in just a few minutes. I take off my heels by the door to avoid making taps on the hardwood floor, and make a swift beeline to the desk.
The surface is empty of anything useful. The computer screen monitor is dead, and I don’t bother trying to break into it—no telling what alarms that’ll set off. Instead, I turn my attention to the hand-carved wooden drawers.
There are six of them total, and none are locked. The odds of me finding anything valuable in them are low, but I can’t nottry. An expose on Killian King would behuge,both for my career and for my goal of speaking truth to power. I might get fired by Empire Journal, but many other doorscouldopen.
Even though I know I’m being reckless, I probably won’t find anything, and if I get caught, I’ll be in serious shit, I start rifling.
The first drawer houses a carton of pens, paperclips, and a neat stack of printer paper.Useless.
I move onto the drawer below it, which is completely empty. One by one, I go through the drawers, finding nothing useful until the very last one… which has a collection of knickknacks strewn about.
The items in this drawer are carelessly tossed around, while the other drawers were all meticulously organized. There are figurines, old photos, fountain pens… this looks like a junk drawer. It’s mildly surprising that a man as composed as Killian would have a junk drawer.
A glint of gold catches my eye, coming from something sandwiched between other items. I reach in and pull it out, brows furrowing when I see it’s a golden ring.
Not just any ring—asignetring with an eye chiseled into the flat center of it. Something nags at my memory, some form of vague recognition, and then it hits me.
Silas Cornell was twisting a very similar ring around his thumb in the ballroom. I was surprised to see Silas and Killian speaking with each other so casually, because they’re not friends by any stretch of the imagination. They’re direct rivals and competitors, and the public views them asenemies. I don’t have anyproofthat their rings are identical, but I have a small hunch.
The plot thickens. Not only is there a story about Killian here, there’s one that reaches deeper. I know in my soul that if I keep digging, I’ll find something big—
“I do believe this area is off limits, Lyra.”
My heart stutters, trips over itself, then drops down to my feet.
My stomach sinks.
My skin chills, and my chest freezes over.
I drop the ring into the drawer, slam it shut, and look up, dreading to see what I’ll find.
Killian King stands in the doorway. His stance is casual—except for his arms, which are crossed over his chest. His expression is blank. One foot is folded across the other as he leans against the doorjamb.
And I understand with a startling, horrifying clarity that I’m utterly fucked.
Chapter Three
“Did you get lost, perhaps?” Killian wonders aloud. His expression gives away no sign of what he’s thinking, but hiseyes…they burn with something. Something that’s far too close toexcitementfor my comfort.
“You can’t blame a tiger for its stripes,” I reply, aiming for casual, though I can hear the tremble in my voice. I fucked up, I got caught, and now I have to own it. I get the strong sense that talking my way out of this would only irritate Killian, and I donotneed to give him any more reason to be angry with me.
He smiles, a slow, sensual curl of his lips that exposes all of his teeth. “Quite right,” he agrees. “Just like you can’t blame a wolf for his sharp teeth.”
I swallow, unsure of what to say or do. “Forgive me,” I try. “I understand if you want to cancel the rest of the interview—”
“Don’t be silly,” Killian interrupts. “We’re doing the rest of the interview, and we’ll have all the privacy we need for it.” He steps in and closes the door behind him. Theclickof it shutting sounds like a lock sealing on my fate. If at all possible, my heart sinks even lower, while my stomach feels like it’s in zero-gravity free fall and bile rises in my esophagus.
Thisis what true fear feels like. I’ve experienced it a few times in my life, but never quite so poignantly. Something about his mannerismsmakes me think Killian might kill me right here and now. As much as I try to tell myself that’s a ridiculous notion, that Killian is too high-profile to commit murder, my gut tells me I wouldn’t be the first victim of his wrath. There are witnesses that could attest that I was last seen leaving the gala… but I don’t think any of them would stand up to Killian.Idon’t want to stand up to Killian—I want to get thefuckout of here.
“I’d prefer we finished it somewhere else—”
“In case it isn’t obvious, Lyra, I don’t have any regard for your preference.”
Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.
