Corrupt Desires

by Jennifer Bene

  “Yeah,” she mumbled, standing up and tugging the hoodie over her head to make it easier to hide in her hair. The hallways were mostly empty, but it was easier to forget what she looked like when someone wasn’t staring at her. If she had avoided a mirror, maybe her stomach wouldn’t be twisting at the idea of seeing Bryant again.

  Following Easton one floor up, and down a long hallway, she tensed when the sound of a large group came from ahead of them. Sinking further into the hoodie, she stared at Easton’s heels and marched forward. The group went quiet as they passed through them, men stepping to the side, and she realized Easton had stopped when she caught up to him.

  Glancing up at him, she saw he was looking behind her, but before she could turn to see why his hand landed in the middle of her back and he guided her further down the hall. “This is his room, 2113. I’ll keep watch out—”

  “Hey! Um…” The man approaching at a light jog slowed, stopping completely when Easton stepped between them and raised his hand.

  “Gerell, I said no. She just wants to see Holbrook.”

  “Right, I know, I just…” The man was taller than Easton so it wasn’t difficult for him to see her, but he stayed back. Clearing his throat, his eyes danced away from her, tracing the tiles under his feet. “I was on the team that got you and Bryant out, and I just wanted to check on you, but, you know—”

  “Easton told you to fuck off?” she guessed, and the man huffed out a small laugh.

  “Basically.”

  “You’ve needed the rest,” Easton grumbled, turning to glance at her before he looked back at the guy who was a wall of muscle. “And I’m pretty sure your team is supposed to be somewhere else, right?”

  “Yeah, but…” The man caught her eye again, flinching a bit, and she sighed.

  “It’s fine, Easton. Let him talk.” Phee knew it was cowardly to let the man delay seeing Bryant, but if it gave her even one more minute to collect herself, she’d be grateful.

  “Thanks… I, uh, don’t want to keep you, I just told the other guys I’d make sure you were okay. We… didn’t really know what had happened.”

  Glancing up at him through her hair she dredged up the memories. The shouts that had pulled her towards consciousness, and then the frantic calls for medical. Someone had lifted her off of Bryant, the pain forcing her awake, and then the tears. Sobbing, because she’d been so sure Bryant was dying. Dead. Looking at the man’s face she knew he’d been the one to hold her against his big chest. “You carried me.”

  “Yeah, look, I’m sorry if I hurt you on accident. I didn’t know what injuries you had, but they needed you out of the way and—” He let out a rough sound, rubbing the back of his head. “Anyway, I couldn’t leave the hospital without knowing you were okay, and I wanted to apologize. I’ll get out of your way now, but if you ever need someone to watch out for you or Holbrook, just ask for Gerell. It’s Travis Gerell, but the guys just call me by my last name.”

  Listening to the big guy ramble almost made her smile, another surefire way to split her lip, but his nervousness was more than a little entertaining. “Thanks, Gerell.”

  “No need, Phee. Um, tell Holbrook we’re all pulling for him.”

  “I will.” She nodded, feeling the cut on her lip pull as she strained them with a small smile. Travis Gerell walked away, only glancing back once as Easton turned to face her with his arms crossed. “What?” she asked.

  “Nothing.”

  Rolling her eyes, she ignored the headache inching up the left side of her face and crossed her arms as well. “Spit it out, Easton.”

  “I’m just trying to give you some privacy, Phee, if you don’t want me to bother just say so.”

  “No, that’s not it…” Sighing, she stared at the door. “I appreciate it, Easton. I was pretty sure you hated me, and you’ve been nice.”

  “It wasn’t your fault Holbrook saved your life, and if he hadn’t then it wouldn’t have mattered anyway. Charles Holbrook would have lived through the coup, and we’d all be in a much worse spot than we are now.”

  “But we won, right?” she asked, and a dark cloud passed over Easton’s face.

  “Yeah, pretty much.” Cutting off the discussion, Easton grabbed onto the handle of the door and pushed it open. “Go on. Holbrook has been asking for you. I’ll call your friend so she knows you’re okay.”

  “Thanks,” she mumbled, too nervous to focus as her eyes adjusted. Bryant’s room was almost completely dark, just a single lamp on near the windows, but she stayed frozen near the doorway. Panicked butterflies battering the inside of her ribs as someone looked up at her from his bedside. Parks. “Your girl is here, Bryant. I’ll come check on you again later.”

  “Okay. Thanks again, Parks.” Bryant’s voice was quiet, and she found herself burrowing deeper into the hoodie, letting her hair act like a cocoon against her cheeks. She knew what she looked like. Swollen, dark purple bruises, overlapping so that she didn’t even have cheekbones. Although the cut across her left cheek pointed out where it was under all the swelling.

  “You did well,” Parks whispered, touching her shoulder lightly before he slipped out the door, closing it behind him. Leaving the room in a humming silence.

  Finally, she was with Bryant. Alone. It had been all she’d wanted since they’d been separated at Charles Holbrook’s house, but now she couldn’t manage to get her feet to move.

  “Phee?” he whispered, her name in his voice sending a buzz over her skin. And when he reached out a hand for her, it was instinct to move towards the bed, to let his strong hand catch hers and pull her close. One knee up on the edge, she sat near his waist, letting her hair fall into her face as she fought the urge to cry. “Baby, look at me…”

  Chest tight, Phee shook her head, wishing she could get words out through the ache. On some level she’d feared he was dead, that Easton was just protecting her with lies, but hearing his voice, feeling his hand in hers, brought all the emotion to the surface that she’d pushed away. A shuddered breath preceded the first quiet sob, and Bryant tugged her closer until she lay on the uninjured side of his chest. Finally letting the tears go.

  “Shh, shh…” he soothed with quiet sounds, his other hand pushing the hood back to card through her hair. “Phee, baby, it’s okay. I’m okay.”

  “You—” Phee had to gasp a breath, trying to stop crying. “You almost died. He shot you, and I didn’t do anything about it. It’s my fault. I had the gun, I-I had it, and I didn’t use it.” Another wave of pained sobs that made her ribs ache, and she heard Bryant groan as he held her tight.

  “No, no, Phee. You have to listen to me, that was my fault. I should have killed him the moment I walked in the room. Fuck…” Holding her tight, he tried to shush her as the tears wouldn’t stop. “Baby, please, none of this was your fault. In fact, I’d be dead if you hadn’t been there.”

  “I saw him though. I knew what he was going to do and... I just froze. I didn’t even shoot him when he did it again.”

  “Baby, this was not your fault.”

  Phee bit down on her lip, feeling it split and the copper flood her tongue as she tried to stifle the next sob. He was being so kind, so understanding, but she’d seen the blood on his leg, held her jacket to the wound in his chest. “You could have died because of me.”

  “Stop.” Even quiet, his voice was strong. Commanding. His hand tightened in her hair just enough to tingle, to force her to listen. “Stop blaming yourself. I should have killed him. It was the whole reason I was there, and it was my mistakes, my errors that led to…”

  Bryant lifted her head from his chest, pushing her up slightly with the other hand, and she saw the pain flash across his face, followed by anger, and then sorrow.

  “This is my fault,” he whispered, gently running a fingertip across her cheek where his uncle’s ring had cut her. “I didn’t protect you, Phee, and I’m so sorry. I utterly failed you.”

  “No!” Grabbing his hand, she squeezed, fighting the tears
even as they rolled down her cheeks. “You didn’t fail me. If I hadn’t been so weak he never even would have—”

  “WEAK?” Bryant half-shouted, coughing as he adjusted against the pillow, pushing himself a little more upright in the bed. “Don’t you fucking dare call yourself weak, Ophelia Everett. I was weak. I let my anger overwhelm my responsibilities, I let my rage blind me, I let him shoot me, and then couldn’t do anything to stop… this.” He swallowed, brows pulled together as he brushed below her lip, fingers trailing down to the bruises around her throat, tracing the scratch that disappeared under the hoodie.

  “Bryant…”

  “He did this because I brought you with me. Because I saved you, and he knew that I cared for you.” Shaking his head, he gently cupped the side of her face. “If anything is someone’s fault, it’s mine. This is mine.”

  “It wasn’t just about you,” she whispered, and tensed when he looked up into her eyes. “He knew my mother.”

  “He knew…?” Bryant’s voice trailed off, brows pulled together as his lips moved around words unsaid. “That’s right… I remember him saying something about her. When he had his fucking hands on you. God, I’m so sorry, baby. I tried so hard to get to you, to stay awake, and—”

  “If you’d moved again he would have shot you.” Phee knew it was true, Charles had tried to shoot him that last time Bryant had spoken on the floor. It had only been her panicked shove of his arm that had stopped him. “How much did you hear?” she whispered, avoiding his gaze.

  “I just remember bits and pieces, it’s all so… confused. Mixed up.” Bryant brushed the swollen part of her cheek, immediately pulling his thumb away when she flinched. “But I know he hurt you, even if I wasn’t looking at the evidence, I’d still be haunted by the sounds of him hitting you for the rest of my life. I will never be able to make this up to you, Phee.”

  “Bryant…” she groaned, fighting the memories surging in her head, the pain, and the guilt that both of them so clearly felt. “He wanted to hurt me, and he wanted information on the resistance. He wasn’t going to stop.”

  “Because of me,” Bryant growled, and she squeezed his hand hard.

  “No, because he used to hurt my mother and he thought I looked like her. He enjoyed it, Bryant. He was an asshole, a fucking monster, and getting me to give up information on the resistance while you suffered was just a bonus.”

  “He’s a liar, he’s always been a liar.” Adjusting in the bed to find a more comfortable position, he met her eyes with those turquoise gemstones, now dimmed by pain and sorrow. “What did he tell you, baby? We can find out if—”

  “He wasn’t lying, Bryant. He knew things… things that were impossible otherwise. He was the reason she learned things about the COF. He was how she knew about all the horrible things they did, and when he found out she was telling people. He…” Another broken sob escaped as she remembered her mother on the floor of their apartment, a fistful of wallpaper in hand as she rocked and shouted about them listening. “He drove her insane. Drugged her. Shattered her mind so that no one believed her.”

  “She wasn’t in the resistance…” he whispered, and she nodded.

  “No, she was sleeping with the enemy.” Sniffling, Phee tried to gently wipe her nose, wincing as the light touch made her whole face hurt.

  “Why?”

  “Because he gave her money. I’m pretty sure he paid for our apartment.” Shrugging, Phee hated saying the things aloud. Like it was some dirty little secret that tainted her even now. “Mom didn’t have a job, not one I can remember. She was always home with me, and she let him hurt her, let him do so many things to her, because it meant she could provide for me.”

  “She loved you, Phee.” Tugging on her hand, he waited until she looked at him before he continued. “That kind of love is powerful. It made her brave enough to go through something terrible. Don’t be ashamed of that, baby. Your mom was a warrior in her own way, she just fought her battles differently.”

  “But you were right, she wasn’t in the resistance.”

  “No, she wasn’t, but they would have been lucky to have her.” Pulling her down, he pressed a gentle kiss to the edge of her lips. “Just like I’m lucky to have you.”

  “Bryant… I love you,” she whispered, just before kissing him, ignoring the sting of her lip as he cradled the side of her face and kissed her back. Warm, soft, she felt that sharp, fractured place in her chest begin to mend. Bryant accepted her. Not just the imperfect person she was, the person who was too scared to pull the trigger when it mattered, but he accepted her past too. Her mother’s mistakes, all of the fucked-up choices that had intertwined their lives so many years before they’d even met. As the kiss ended, she leaned her forehead against his, keeping her eyes closed so she couldn’t see his reaction. “I do love you, Bryant. Realizing you were almost gone confirmed it, and it’s okay if you don’t—”

  Rolling his thumb gently over her lips, he stopped her rambling to whisper, “I love you, too, baby.”

  Her eyes popped open, catching the warmth in his incredible eyes as he shifted his hand to her cheek. “But…”

  “There’s no but, Phee. Since the first night I spent with you, all I wanted were more nights, more days. When I found out that just by caring for you I’d put your life in jeopardy, it killed me to stay away. To hurt you.” Swallowing, he leaned her back enough that he could see her more easily. “And I know I have so much to make up for, but you are everything I could have ever wanted. Brave, and strong, and incredibly sexy when you beg. I think I’ve loved you from the first moment I saw you outlined in light in front of my windows.”

  “You barely knew me,” she whispered.

  “Love isn’t logical, baby, but I can tell you that everything I’ve learned about you since has only made me love you more.”

  “I feel the same way.” His words eased all the tension in her chest, and she kissed him once more before climbing onto the bed to lay by his side. Resting her head on his shoulder, she glanced up at his strong jawline. “Am I hurting you?”

  “Not at all, the only way you could hurt me right now is by getting up.” There was a smile in his voice as he rubbed up and down her arm.

  “Okay,” she whispered, relaxing into his arms, listening to him breathe, feeling the beat of his heart under her fingertips.

  “Can I just ask one favor?”

  “Anything.” She lifted her head to look at him and saw the devilish grin.

  “Describe exactly how you killed my uncle. In detail.” He chuckled, breaking into a cough as she smiled. “And then tell me that story you started when you were keeping me awake.”

  Laughing softly, she lay down again, tucked against his side where she felt safe and loved. “Okay, Bryant, but only if you actually stay awake this time.”

  11

  Three Days Later

  Waking up in Bryant’s arms was like a dream come true, even if it was in a stiff hospital bed. Still, having a small army occupying this part of the hospital meant that none of the doctors had insisted she sleep on the couch, and being beside him was the best thing for healing. For both of them.

  “I understand,” he whispered, talking to someone else in hushed tones. “But I thought Parks had a plan for all of that.”

  “Yeah, well, his plan isn’t really working. You’re the only one of us with an understanding of the government from that level.” A new voice she didn’t recognize, but she tried to stay still, breathing evenly so she could listen.

  “I was my uncle’s assistant, Davis. I wasn’t in charge of anything. You all know that, I’ve never said that I could—”

  “The city is in chaos, Holbrook. There’s talk of the military getting involved if we can’t get the province under control on our own,” a woman replied, her voice hard.

  “Oh, so now they care what happens here?” Easton spoke up from the door. “Phee’s awake, by the way.”

  Bryant shifted under her and she sat up beside him, blushing
a bit under the bruises as she glared at Easton. “I didn’t want to interrupt.”

  “It’s okay, baby. Maybe you can help me explain to these guys that I’m not the answer to their political problems.” He pressed a button on the bed so that it raised up, making it easier for both of them to sit upright.

  “You were raised for this, Bryant,” the woman replied, grumbling as she flicked her short hair behind her ear. “No one else has your education, your experience, or your knowledge.”

  “I can’t even walk right now, Carol, and you want me to appear as some figurehead?” Bryant let out a huff, shaking his head. “If anything, I represent all of the things the resistance just fought against.”

  “No, you are an example of someone from their world seeing injustice and fighting for something better.” It was the first man’s voice, coming from a middle-aged guy sitting on the couch against the window. “You’re someone that the downtowners will listen to, someone the resistance already respects, and someone that the citizens in the fog already trust.”

  “Why would they trust me? They don’t know me at all.”

  “Because you killed Charles Holbrook, your own uncle, in order to overthrow the COF.”

  “What?” Bryant leaned forward, before he winced and had to lean back on the bed. “I didn’t kill him, Davis, Phee killed him.”

  “That’s not the story we’re going with,” Carol answered, her tone serious. “We’ve kept it off the news networks for now, but we have our people spreading the word. You worked with us, you saved the lives of thousands by sharing information from the COF, and when the night came you killed him. The fact that you were injured in the act is only making them love you more.”

  “But it’s a lie—”

  “Would you rather the city know it was Phee? Have her name on the lips of the people already trying to change things back?” Easton cut him off from the doorway, laying out the issues with cold logic. “Our men have already had to shut down some uprisings. We’ve got the jails fucking full of COF employees. Security, loyalists, you name it. But not everyone is so outspoken.”