Corrupt (Devil's Night, #1)

by Penelope Douglas

There were dark deeds and bad seeds, but who cared if the house was falling apart as long as it was pretty, right?

Chess would teach me strategy, fencing would teach me human nature and self-preservation, and dancing would teach me my body. All necessary for a well-rounded person.

The closer you got to anything beautiful, the less beautiful it became. Allure was in the mystery, not the appearance.

“Own who you are,” he commanded. “And don’t apologize. Do you understand? Own it or it will own you.”

“Okay,” I answered. “I’ll see what Noah’s up to tonight, but if I need bail money or I come home pregnant, you only have yourself to blame.”

“When you want to make an impression and you think you’ve gone far enough, go a little further. Always leave them wondering if you’re just a little bit crazy, and people will never fuck with you again.”

But the truth was, I wasn’t being silly. Yeah, they were just matches, but they were also irreplaceable. And the things that were irreplaceable in life were the only things of value.

“You’ve already seen it, Rika,” he argued. “I saw you in here watching that movie back in high school. At least twice.” Twenty-one times, actually.

Our scrapes and bruises, tattoos, scars, smiles, and wrinkles told our stories, and I didn’t want a pristine piece of wallpaper. I wanted her and everything she was. At least for tonight.

Redefine normal. None of us know the full measure of our power until we start pushing our boundaries and pressing our luck, and the more we do, the less we care what others think. The freedom feels too good.

“Now I’m sick of talking,” Will continued, standing up and dishing her fruit and potatoes, as well. “No more plans. No more waiting. No more getting everything in place and all our ducks in a fucking row. Let’s do this.” And then he stopped with tongs in his hand and looked at her. “You like sausage?” Without waiting for her to answer, he just shrugged and put two links on her plate. She stared at him like he’d just pissed in the sink.

“Us?” I argued. “There is no ‘us.’ You have no idea what makes me happy, and you don’t care.” “Really?” He nodded with a sarcastic lift to his eyebrows. “So sneaking into Hunter-Bailey for their open bouting event tonight wouldn’t make you happy? Because that’s what I was coming to get you for.” My eyes rounded, and my mouth fell open. “But if you’d rather dinner and movie, hey.” He shrugged. “I can go buy some boring fucking flowers, too.”

His rudeness and coarse attitude made the rare times he was soft so captivating that I wanted to slap myself. He was a sadist, and my little heart just had to go pitter-patter the second his yanks, grabs, and pulls turned into gentle caresses and his frowns, scowls, and snarls turned into whispers. I fell, and I never even tried to stop myself.

“I love you, Rika.” I’ve always loved you. She broke out in a smile, tears streaming down her face as she circled her arms around my neck and pulled me in close. I squeezed her tight, burying my face in her hair, never wanting to let her go. After all the years and all the times when I should’ve known, it took her nearly getting killed for me to realize what she meant to me. For me to realize how ingrained in every moment of my life she was and how she’d always been there, right in front of me. Her, riding her bike around my driveway when she was five. Her, learning to swim in my pool. Her, running around and doing cartwheels in my backyard. Her, biting her nails when I entered the room. Her, sitting next to my mother at every basketball game in high school. Her, refusing to even look in my direction when I hung out with a girl. And me, barely able to hold back the smile at the little looks she stole and how nervous she was when I was close. She was always there, and it was always us.

“What do you mean?” She inhales a deep breath and then exhales. “Well, it’s like you’re saving your energy for something. Holding back,” she says, nestling into me and getting comfortable. “But it doesn’t make any sense. Life is one-way, and there is no return trip. What are you waiting for?”

“Poor thing.” My mother strokes her hair. “So fragile.” “No, she isn’t,” I correct. “Don’t coddle her.”