Break Me (Corrupted Hearts Book 2)

by Tiffany Snow

  “I’m not thinking clearly,” I repeated, stung. He’d just implied I was too emotional for rational thought, which was incredibly insulting. Next he’d be saying that I must be premenstrual. I shrugged off his jacket and handed it to him. “I’ll talk to you later, Jackson.”

  I turned away but he grabbed my arm, pulling me back around to him.

  “Don’t leave it like this,” he said, an urgency in his voice that surprised me.

  Tugging my arm, I tried to free myself from his hold. “Let go of me.”

  “China—”

  Suddenly, Clark was there. “The lady said to let her go.” His tone was as smooth and cold as a glacial lake. It sent a shiver down my spine, and not in a good way.

  “Stay out of this,” Jackson shot back, the anger in his voice sounding warning bells in my head. The last thing I needed was these two getting in a fight.

  “Maybe six weeks with your arm in a cast would teach you some manners,” Clark said.

  “Enough,” I interrupted, anxious to avoid anyone ending up in a germ-infested hospital. “I just want to go home.”

  His hold loosened and I was able to pull free. “I can’t just leave you here with him,” he said to me. “He broke into your apartment. We should call the police and have him arrested.”

  Yeah, that would be a shit ton of giggles.

  “Don’t make threats you can’t keep,” Clark said, his lips twisting into a dangerous smirk.

  “It’s fine,” I said hurriedly. “Just go. Please. I’ll call you.”

  Jackson’s gaze swung from Clark to me. After a long moment, he nodded, then turned and got back in the car. Lance drove him away.

  I released a pent-up breath. One problem down, one more to go. I faced off with Clark. “Why are you here?” I asked. “Surely n-not another hack?” My teeth clacked together, chattering from the cold. I wanted my pajamas and my bed badly.

  He shook his head, shrugging out of his leather jacket and swinging it over my shoulders. “Not a hack, no. Let’s get you inside before you freeze to death.”

  I was too tired, too cold, and hurting too much to argue. He slid his arm behind my back and I leaned on him more than I wanted to as we went inside.

  “Where’s your med kit?” he asked, settling me onto the couch.

  I waved toward the kitchen. “Far cabinet on the right. Middle shelf.”

  He returned quickly enough, carrying the clear plastic container I’d stocked myself. Crouching in front of me, he tore open some antiseptic wipes and began dabbing my chin.

  “So what happened?” he asked.

  I winced at the burn of the alcohol and his touch gentled even further.

  “This guy at the party Bonnie took me to posted a photo on Twitter and tagged me,” I said. “Apparently my current popularity resulted in a flash mob outside the bar, where they wanted to love me to death.” I tried to sound casual, but my hands were still shaking.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, resuming the dabbing.

  I nodded. “Oh yeah. Totally. I’m fi—” My voice broke. I cleared my throat and tried again. “I’m fine.” I hoped Clark would drop it, and he did.

  “Well, it definitely looks like you lost a bar fight,” he said, dabbing at the shredded skin on my knees. “Don’t you know any self-defense moves?”

  “Self-defense wouldn’t have helped me tonight. I was caught in the middle of a feeding frenzy.” I shuddered at the memory of being so helpless.

  “I’m impressed that you used the old ‘I need space’ line on Coop,” he said, taking my hand in his. He turned it palm up and used a new wipe to clean the scrapes there.

  I frowned. “‘I need space’ line? It wasn’t a line. I feel . . . crowded. And . . . unsettled. Like nothing is under control.” I shook my head. It was difficult to explain the feeling of the ground spinning under my feet and me clinging to the edges. “He dragged me to a party last night and, well, you know how that went. Then tonight. And that Ralph guy following me around and taking pictures—”

  “Wait,” he interrupted. “Who’s Ralph?”

  “My paparazzi guy,” I explained. “He followed me to Retread and he was taking photos of Bonnie and me when we left tonight.”

  “The paparazzi was here?” he asked. “You know his name?”

  I shrugged. “Well, he was outside Buddy’s store earlier, taking pictures, and I thought it would be rude not to be formally introduced. He seemed all right.”

  “Of course you’d be nice,” Clark said, placing a tiny Band-Aid on my forehead. He sighed the way my mother used to when she had to explain jokes to me.

  “I’ve found it benefits me more to be nice than not to be.” Treat others how you want to be treated was the Golden Rule, after all.

  Clark’s gaze was on me again and this time I made the mistake of looking at him. His eyes were such a clear, deep blue—it amazed me anew. If you didn’t know he was a ruthless hired gun with a talent for getting information out of people—whether they liked it or not—you could easily mistake him for one of the various Hollywood iterations of the Man of Steel. Black hair, square jaw, carved cheekbones, and a chiseled body that would make women drool completed the picture.

  “People are basically shitty,” he complained, ruining the image completely. Everyone knew Superman didn’t cuss. “You should remember that.”

  “Why are you here again?” I asked, wanting to change the subject. I didn’t need more reminders of how bad I was at reading people. After all, I’d once thought Clark was a sales guy who wanted to date me. And I didn’t ask how he’d gotten into my apartment. I knew a locked door was merely a ten-second pause for Clark, if that.

  “They found out what the hacker did while he was in the network,” Clark said, putting another Band-Aid on my skinned knee. “I thought you’d want to know.”

  “You were at work? Again? Don’t you have a life?” I hadn’t meant it to sound the way it came out, but I was surprised. Clark was incredibly good-looking, seemed to have plenty of money, but was at work on both Friday and Saturday nights.

  “Not until we find out who the leak in the NSA is,” Clark replied.

  That sobered me. One of the reasons Vigilance was top secret was because the president feared there was a spy within the National Security Agency. Someone with enough clearance to know things that could put American lives in danger.

  “So what did he do?”

  “He only accessed one set of files.” Clark glanced up at me. “Yours.”

  I let out a deep sigh and stood.

  “Where are you going?” he asked.

  “I need cookies.” My usual bedtime snack of Fig Newtons, I ate two every night. Tonight, I grabbed the entire package and brought it back to the living room. I bit into one and was immediately transported back to Granny’s house when I was little. She’d doled them out like they were gold when I’d go visit her. I offered the package to Clark. “Want one?”

  He looked at me as though I’d offered him a dead rabbit. “Those aren’t real cookies. They’re disguised laxatives.”

  I nearly choked on my cookie, laughing. He had a point, I suppose, based on my own digestive experience. But it wasn’t enough to make me stop eating them. It did, however, make me feel as though I could handle the news Clark had just given me.

  “It’s not that strange, I guess, if he was looking for the head honcho,” I said. “I’m sure he also knew he had a limited time frame.”

  “You’re not worried?”

  “There’s nothing I can do about it now. If we track him down, we can arrest him. Until then, everything that can be done, is being done. Worrying about it won’t change the facts or anyone’s behavior.”

  Clark’s lips twisted. “Logic instead of emotion. So refreshing, coming from a woman.”

  “Remind me to add ‘sexist’ to your personnel review,” I said without heat. I was too tired to get angry. “Thanks for the information. And the doctoring.”

  Clark grabbed his jacket. “Cha
lk up playing doctor as one of the things I never thought we’d do together, Mack.” He shot me one of his grins that told me I needed to Google what does playing doctor mean, then headed out the door.

  I woke in the morning to a phone call from Bonnie.

  “Holy crap, girl! You sure know how to make a headline,” she began our conversation.

  I rubbed sleep from my eyes and sat up, stifling a groan. I’d been right. I ached all over today. Thank God it was Sunday.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Pull up Page Six.”

  I reached for my iPad and went to the website. My own image greeted me.

  “Oh. Oh wow.” An understatement. The picture was of Jackson carrying me from the crowd last night. My head was buried between his neck and shoulder and you could see my bleeding knees. Jackson’s face looked carved in stone. The headline read “Knight in Silicone Armor Saves His Damsel.”

  “I guess things are all patched up between you two now?” Bonnie asked.

  I sighed. “Actually, no. I kind of broke up with him last night. I think.”

  “Really? You broke up with him?”

  Grimacing, I said, “Don’t sound so surprised.”

  “No, no, it’s not that. I think it’s great that you dumped him. I doubt he’s ever been dumped in his life. Playing hard to get is a great approach.”

  “I’m not playing anything,” I said. “I just need space. So much has changed so quickly and I feel like I’m a square peg trying to fit into the round hole of his life.”

  “Doesn’t he know that you don’t do sudden change?” She sounded irritated. “I thought he understood you.” I didn’t point out that Bonnie thought she “understood” me, too, yet had dragged me to a party last night.

  “I thought so, too. I said I’d call him, but I don’t know. I need some time.” Too much change too fast, problems with work, and a whirlwind of social activities. I was tired of the whole thing. “I’m just going to do my normal routine today.” Which sounded blissful.

  “Good luck with that,” Bonnie said with a snort. “With this kind of publicity, I doubt you’ll be able to step outside your door.”

  And she was right. When Mia and I peeked out the window later, it was to see not only Ralph, but three other cars holding men with cameras set up across the street.

  “Glad I went to Retread yesterday,” I muttered. I glanced at Mia. “Fall break is coming up next week. Why don’t you go home early and stay a couple of weeks? I’m sure your teachers will give you the homework.” I didn’t want Mia to have paparazzi following her around, too. “By then, this will have blown over.”

  “I hate to leave you to deal with this alone,” she said with a frown.

  My heart twisted. I loved my family, but I wasn’t particularly close to them. Mia was the closest thing I had to a sister, even with our eight-year age difference. To hear her say that she wanted to support me hit me “right in the feels,” as Dean, my Supernatural boyfriend, would say.

  “I know, and I really love you for that,” I said. “But I need to protect you right now. And that means shipping you home for a bit. Plus, I know Oslo and Heather miss you.” My brother was a good father and Heather really was a good stepmom, even if they sometimes didn’t understand Mia.

  Mia considered, studying me. Finally, she sighed. “All right. I’ll go. But I’m still totally going to follow the saga on Twitter.”

  “Saga?”

  She nodded. “Didn’t you see? After that picture hit this morning, #ChinaJack started trending. Everybody loves Jackson again and how romantic it was that he saved you.”

  Last night had felt anything but romantic, but I didn’t bother trying to explain that.

  “Go pack,” I said. “I’ll book your ticket and call your dad.”

  Getting Mia to the airport proved to be more complicated than I thought, and I ended up ordering her a taxi just so we wouldn’t have the cameras following us to the airport.

  “Text me,” I said, hugging her tightly. Her long blonde hair was up in a ponytail that bounced and swung in perfect boppity fashion when she walked. She was as into fashion and makeup as I was into Doctor Who. “I’ll try to remember how you did my makeup.”

  She hugged me back. “Just remember, contour first, then powder.”

  When we broke apart, I was surprised to see tears in her eyes as she picked up her pink Hello Kitty suitcase.

  “I’m going to miss you, Aunt Chi,” she said.

  I forced a smile for her benefit, even though my gut ached. This must be how parents felt when kids went off to college, and she wasn’t even my kid. “You’ll be back before you know it,” I assured her.

  Waving her out the door, I watched as she climbed into the taxi. Once it had driven away, I closed the door. The silence of my apartment suddenly felt oppressive. Shit. I missed her already.

  To take my mind off it, I called my grandma. “How’s tricks?” I greeted her.

  “Aw honey, your granny still has it,” she said. “I won twenty bucks at the poker game last night.”

  “I thought they said you couldn’t gamble anymore?” Grandma lived in a retirement community down in Florida and they’d recently been chastised by the police for running a poker game, citing it was against the state gambling laws.

  “We’ve gone underground,” she said. “We switch the location of the game every week, and you can only get in with a password. If it hadn’t been for that sore loser Helen, we wouldn’t have to go to the trouble. Though honestly, it’s put a bit of spark in it, knowing we’re breaking the law.”

  I laughed. My grandma was an incorrigible force of nature who’d decided when she turned seventy that she was too old for rules or embarrassment. I loved every crazy story she told me, wishing I was as carefree as she was. Maybe when I was seventy, I would be.

  “So what was the password?” I asked.

  “This week it was Clark Gable,” she said. “Next week I think I’ll make it Lana Turner.”

  “Movie stars?”

  “Real movie stars,” she said. “Not like the ridiculous celebrities you have nowadays, where a woman has to only flash her hoo-ha and suddenly she’s famous.”

  “Speaking of hoo-has,” I said. “Did you get the batch of Harlequins I sent?”

  I was glad Grandma didn’t keep up with celebrity gossip as she didn’t mention my back-to-back appearances in the paper. We chatted for a while—she was really looking forward to Viagra Wednesday this week, which I didn’t need to know but she insisted on telling me—before we signed off. Then it was cleaning, ironing, and in bed by ten thirty.

  I glanced at my phone as I lay in bed. It hadn’t rung today. Though I had thought about calling Jackson a few times, it had been a relief not to speak to a soul all afternoon. I felt more in control. I’d had my pre-bedtime Fig Newtons—only two tonight—was in the right pajamas with the sheets tucked under my arms just so. The paparazzi had left the front of the house a couple of hours ago and things felt normal. Would calling Jackson and continuing a relationship with him spin my life out of control yet again? Could I handle that? Even for him?

  I fell asleep with the questions unanswered inside my head.

  Something woke me in the middle of the night. I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, and listening.

  It sounded like metal clanking, and it was coming from my office.

  Goose bumps erupted on my skin. I knew I was alone in the house—or really, I should be alone. But something was making that noise, like machinery whirring.

  What I wanted to do was pull the covers over my head and pretend I hadn’t heard anything. But I knew that wasn’t an option. Maybe it was just that something had fallen over. Goodness knows I had a ton of fandom memorabilia in my office. Mia could’ve moved something before she’d left, or one of her friends. My office was like a magnet for her friends, especially the Harry Potter alcove.

  Even as I told myself it was nothing, I fumbled with putting on the spare set of glasses
I’d dug out earlier. Looking around my bedroom, I grabbed the nearest thing I had to a weapon, which happened to be a replica of Narsil, the sword from Lord of the Rings. Its edges were blunt, but it was better than no weapon at all.

  I crept down the hall, closer to the sounds that still hadn’t ceased. A cold sweat broke out on my skin. My eyes were adjusted to the dark, so I didn’t have trouble seeing. But what I saw when I peeked through the open doorway made me question my prescription lenses.

  My Iron Man replica was staring at me, light glowing behind his eyes. And he’d moved, by several feet, toward the door. As I watched, his arm moved, the sound effects of metal against metal that I’d programmed myself into the replica made it seem more real than the movie, especially in the dark.

  I was in such shock, I couldn’t move, my mouth hanging open. His hand opened, palm facing me, and the sound effect of the repulsor beam blaster powering up filled the room. Rooted to the floor, I emitted a squeal of fear when it went off, my imagination expecting something to happen to me. But nothing did.

  Iron Man and I stood in a standoff, his glowing eyes and chest eerie and menacing as he towered a foot over me.

  Logic finally asserted itself and I ran behind the now-mobile suit and ripped off the rechargeable power pack. It immediately went dark, the arm dropping back to its side. My knees were shaking and I sank to the floor, unable to stand. The adrenaline rush had gone, leaving me weak and trembling.

  The suit was one I’d bought and customized myself, adding networking capability and programming some basic movements and sound effects. What I hadn’t programmed was for it to wake up on its own. Which meant someone else had accessed my network, found the suit, and decided to have a little fun at my expense. Considering the strength of my firewall, it was a very talented someone, which basically meant one person—the same guy who’d hacked Vigilance.

  Going back to sleep was out of the question—I was too rattled. I put on my Saving People. Hunting Things. The Family Business T-shirt, jeans, and tennis shoes. After washing my face, brushing my teeth, and pulling my hair back in a ponytail, I was ready.