Page 275 of Corrupting Camille

“I’m building a future for us,” I murmur fiercely.

“No.” Her whisper cuts deeper than any blade. “You’re burning the past. And if you don’t stop soon, you’ll leave us nothing to hold onto when you’re done.”

Her words slam into my chest, breaking something vital and deep, but I refuse to flinch. Instead, I pull her into me, resting my forehead against hers, breathing in her warmth, her truth, her fear.

“I’m doing this because of you,” I whisper.

“No, Kane.” Her voice is so low, so broken. “You’re doing this for vengeance. And I need to know, when this is over, will there be anything left of the man who got down on one knee and asked me to marry him?”

My chest tightens painfully. I hold her tighter. “There will be. Because no matter how far I go, no matter how deep the darkness pulls me, I’ll always find my way home to you.”

She leans closer, voice a fierce, trembling promise. “You’d better. Because if you don’t, I swear to God, I’ll hunt your ghost down and drag you back myself.”

I kiss her then, slow and desperate and raw, one kiss to anchor me, to remind me who I am beneath the blood and fire. One kiss to promise violence. One kiss to vow I’ll survive it all, just to come home to her again.

***

Midnight cloaks us in pitch black, the air thick with silence and the promise of violence.

Three SUVs, matte black, windows tinted darker than sin. Two boats cut soundlessly through the water, sleek and lethal. Ten of my men, shadows forged into blades, every pulse calm, every breath measured. Javi’s voice is a steady murmur in my earpiece, cold and precise, and Joaquin watches the perimeter, rifle raised, gaze sharp as steel.

I ride shotgun, knuckles cracking quietly beneath my gloves, jaw clenched so hard I taste blood. There’s no rush of adrenaline left, no heat pounding through my veins. Instead, a ruthless, lethal clarity sharpens every sense, distills every breath.

We’re heading to a warehouse at the edge of Little River, a filthy place traced through layers of lies, hidden beneath shell companies and bodies already rotting in shallow graves. On satellite feeds, heat signatures glow, little red dots, blinking like targets. Every single bastard responsible for Diego’s death hiding behind concrete walls, believing they’ve outsmarted death itself.

They’re prepared, ready for negotiation or battle.

They think I’ve come to bargain.

But I’ve only come to destroy.

We breach without hesitation, a precise choreography of death. My men spread silently, black ghosts with silencers, their kills swift and clean. But I…I move forward with loud, savage precision.

The first guard barely registers my approach before his skull ruptures with a crack, brain matter spattering the walls behind him, bone and blood spraying across my face, warm and coppery.

The second guard pivots sharply, eyes wild, but too late. Two bullets slam into his chest, one piercing his heart, the other shredding a lung. He crumples, choking violently, blood bubbling darkly over his lips.

I holster my gun and draw my blade long, wickedly sharp, hungry.

I stalk through the northern corridor, shadowed hallways lit only by sputtering red emergency lights. Men stumble from rooms, hands reaching for weapons they’ll never fire. I slash the blade across the first man’s throat, the steel opening his flesh like silk, blood spraying hot and thick across my hands. He collapses gurgling, crimson pooling around my boots.

Screams echo ahead, panicked, desperate. Good.

Another enemy lunges from behind crates, fumbling for his gun. I drive my blade deep into his abdomen, twisting brutally, carving upward until I feel the resistance of bone. His scream tears through my ears like music. He sags against me, eyes bulging, blood flooding from his mouth. I lean in close, voice dark, merciless. “This is for Diego, motherfucker.”

I shove him aside, blood streaming from his wounds, intestines slipping slickly onto the concrete.

In the main hall, six targets wait. Gunfire rips through them in a symphony of violent execution bodies jerking with each shot, heads snapping back, limbs spasming. Blood sprays, soaking walls, dripping from ceiling to floor.

Five fall instantly, dead before they hit the ground. The sixth runs frantic, stumbling over corpses, leaving smears of blood behind him. He thinks escape is possible.

Good. I need him terrified.

I chase him relentlessly, boots pounding slick concrete, red lights strobing like panic. He stumbles, cornered behind a massive generator, eyes wide with primal terror. Blood oozes from a bullet wound in his shoulder, staining his shirt darkly.

“Please…” he gasps raggedly, backing away, hand raised weakly. “Kill me and more will follow. You’re fighting something bigger than yourself.”

I step forward slowly, lifting my gun with ruthless calm. My voice is deadly quiet, eyes colder than the blood already drying on my skin. “No. You’re fighting something worse. I’m the darkness that wakes you screaming at night.”