Page 67 of Corrupted By You

She had no idea how much money I made on the side as a self-published author. Because she had no idea I was an author. If I told her, it would be another thing she’d try to control.

Rounding the desk, I carefully side-stepped all the chess pieces on the ground and came to stand in front of her. She had to tilt her head back to meet my stare. “You know what the sad part is? If you just apologized for all the pain you’ve caused me over the years… if you just accepted how shitty you’ve treated me yesterday in front of my future in-laws, I would have forgiven you. Instead, you’re acting like I’m beneath you. But I’m not and that’s a hard pill you’re going to have to swallow.”

Stubborn as ever, she glared at me without saying another word.

“You really aren’t a good person, Mommy,” I said softly and her body jolted. I hadn’t called her Mommy since I was six. “You sold me to the highest bidder to save your ass, and threw me under the bus just like always because I’m your favourite sacrificial lamb, eh?”

And that was the part I couldn’t forgive.

I didn’t need to witness their meeting to know she barely put up a fight. Just handed me over to Zeno on a silver platter.

“Stay out of my life, Mayor Hill. Once I marry, I’ll be out of your hair and you’ll rarely have to see my face.” Even after I divorced, I wouldn’t come back to live here. “You will have nothing to do with my wedding planning. Not the cake. Not the table arrangements. And not even my goddamn dress. You get the invite, you show up with a happy fucking face, and play the false role of a loving mother. Got it?”

I waited for her reply.

It came never came.

Bending down, I grabbed the black queen from the ground, swimming in a sea of discarded chess pieces.

She was worn and tired.

I polished a thumb over her surface and placed her on the desk.

Right in front of my mother.

Checkmate.

CHAPTER 15

The Joker

Zeno

The morning late-November breeze gusted past our huddled frames. Donovan and I stood in MacGregor’s alleyway while he nursed a mild headache. Apparently his youngest had a fever and kept him up all night.

I glanced around the grit and filth surrounding us, nudging aside a discarded can of Pepsi resting too close to my polished oxfords.

Who knew one place could hold so many jarring moments of my life?

I got shot here.

I killed a man here.

And I even proposed to Darla Ivy Hill right here, in a cacophony of rain, lust, and the hard metallic taste of her blood sitting on my palate like an aphrodisiac.

“I have his name.” Don took a swig of his beer. It wasn’t even afternoon yet, but I didn’t blame him.

His under-eye circles were enhanced, his brown hair somewhat shaggy, and he hadn’t shaved in days. Not to mention his crisp grey suit had a small baby vomit stain.

Donovan’s state solidified my lack of desire to bring children into the world. Making babies was a lot more fun than having them, in my humble opinion.

“Shoot.”

“Miles Moretti. Early thirties. Mechanic at Lo’s Den.” Donovan slipped his palm into mine like he was going for a handshake, and I felt a folded piece of paper. I pocketed it in my suit jacket. “You helped put him behind bars when he was caught tampering and stealing parts from…Violette’s car.”

The mention of Violette twisted my stomach into knots, but I kept a blank expression.

Now that I thought about it, I distinctly recalled catching a thief by Violette’s car over a year ago after we left a charity ball. I’d shot his shoulder and asked Bazoli to handle him. He already had a shady past with law enforcement and it was enough to put him in a cell. In retrospect, I barely remembered Moretti, and anything concerning Violette I usually shoved to the back of my mind like a bad memory.