Page 74 of Emperor of Corruption
I want to fuck her so desperately I’m tempted to wake her up with my cock.
This girl is such a gigantic distraction, she’s dangerous. Which means I can’t extend my time with her, and I need to start weaningmyself off her. We only have a few more weeks left to go; I can’t become attached when it’s time to part ways.Especiallywhen she’s made it clear that she abhors me, wants nothing to do with me, and is too free spirited to ever hold a permanent place in my life.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Lyra
Killian lets me go home when I wake up the following morning, handing me my phone—which Locke must’ve retrieved from the alleyway—and sending me home with a kiss on my forehead. Locke drives me home, but for once, I don’t bemoan the surveillance dressed up as protection.
I’m feeling crappy and feverish—probably a result of my contact with the cold ground—so I call Sarah to let her know I’ll be working remote today.
“Why?” she asks doubtfully. “You were fine yesterday.”
I worry my lower lip between my teeth. Sarah’s one of the biggest grudge-holders I’ve met in the industry, so she’sstillnot over the pushback I gave her. I can’t tell her thewholetruth, but I can tell her the relevant parts to try to getsomeunderstanding from her.
“I was…” I clear my throat. “I was mugged last night, on my way home.”
Sarah inhales a soft gasp. “Oh God, are you okay? What happened? Did you go to thepolice?”
That’s a lot of questions I can’t answer. “I’m alright. The subway stop nearest to the office was crowded by homeless drunk guys, my phone was dead, and there were no cabs around, so I walked to the next stop. Got pulled into an alleyway by masked guys. I got away, but they got a few good hits in.” The cut under my eye is tiny—doesn’t require stitches and probably won’t scar. My abs, on the other hand, ache like a motherfucker.
“Did you go to the police?” she presses.
I scoff. “I have no description of the guys, Sarah. They were wearing masks. I don’t want to go through the hassle of a police investigation; I just want to recover. I promise I’ll still get my stuff for work done—”
“Don’t worry about that,” she says dismissively. “Take care of yourself. Get better.” My chest warms, and hope that she’s gotten past our incidentweeksago flickers to life inside me, but then she dispels it. “I need you in good shape for your work with Killian.”
My jaw clenches. “Of course.”
“How’s it going, by the way? I know your due date is weeks away, but I hope you’re making good progress on the profile. It’ll be a four-page spread, maybe more.”
I’ve already finished the bullshit profile that praises Killian so much it’s nauseating. My real focus is theexposé, which’ll be my ticket away from Killian.
Something uncomfortable twists inside of me at the thought of harming him. Something that feels dangerously close toguilt, which is completely preposterous. Killian constantly reminds me of how low I am, how insignificant, and that he’s only after me for temporary sex. He called mefilthlast night. The prospect of holding blackmail over his head should beexciting—I’d be getting him back for everything he’s done to me.
But still… the uncomfortable feeling doesn’t go away. So I lock it down, shove it in a cage, and throw away the key. I’m doing what I have to in order to protect myself; something I’ve done many times before.
“Lyra?” Sarah prompts.
Crap, I still haven’t said anything. “Sorry, I’m a bit spacey after last night. It’s going well, and I have a partial on the profile ready to go. Would you like to see it?”
“No, I trust you to do good work. You know your deadline.” She pauses. “Get better—let me know if you need anything. I can send a courier with some soup.”
She won’t even pretend to go out of her way for me. “I appreciate it, but I think I’m good. When do you want me back in the office?”
She thinks for a moment. “Next Monday. Your team can hold down the fort without you for now. If you can get some work done, it’d be appreciated; if not, that’s fine.” She hangs up without further ado.
I sink deeper into my couch, head pounding with a headache. It’d be so easy to go right to sleep, but I can’t leave my people hanging like that, so I pull my personal laptop on my lap and get through a few hours of work.
When the clock hits 3p.m., my entire body has begun to ache—a telltale sign that I’m getting sick—which only makes me want to work harder before I crash.
I finish up edits on the last batch of my novel, and manage to squeeze out another three thousand words before everything in front of me starts blurring together.
When I try to stand from the couch for some food, a wave of dizziness overcomes me, and I fall right back down on my ass. My eyes start to flutter closed, my exhaustion winning out, and that’s when I know I’m in for aroughcouple of days.
Thundering knocks pierce my consciousness, forcing my eyes to crack open. I’m so tired the noise barely punctures my eardrums, and my entire body aches so intensely, I feel like I’ve been run over by a semi truck. And like that truck then hit reverse and ran me over again for good measure.
Each breath scrapes over my raw throat, bathing my entire being with pain. My breaths are closer to wheezes, and when I try to swallow, the pain is so intense I nearly throw up.
