Theirs to Corrupt (Titans Captivated #5)

Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

Two Weeks Later

Tessa

What is wrong with me?

Frustrated with myself, I tighten my grip on the steering wheel as I near the Rusty Nail.

Even though I haven’t seen Link or Pax since that fateful evening, memories of their intense gazes still send shivers down my spine.

I should be grateful they haven’t come in, at least not while I’ve been at work.

They see too much, and they are far too dangerous. And it’s not just my intuition telling me that.

After they left, Marge confirmed just that.

And what I overheard Link say—about Pax shooting someone at a charity event—is evidently more than just a story to scare the pants off the man who’d betrayed him.

When I arrived home at the run-down apartment that I share with my friend Natalie, we dug into a bowl of spaghetti with meatballs, poured some sweet tea, and dropped down on the couch, and I told her the story about Pax killing that man.

“Makes you wonder why he needed to shoot someone at a charity event, doesn’t it?”

Her words fascinated me, and I couldn’t get them out of my head.

Later that evening, while I was babysitting overnight for a nurse who lives on the other side of the complex, I scrolled to Scandalicious , my favorite online gossip rag, one that isn’t afraid to spill juicy details.

There, I learned that Link is richer than God. Because of his cutthroat business practices, he was once called a vulture capitalist, and now that moniker has been shortened to Vulture.

He’s rumored to belong to the Zetas, a secret society.

From there, I fell deeper into an internet rabbit hole.

Though there’s never been an official confirmation that such an organization exists, there’s plenty of rumor and conjecture, including assertions that it’s been around for generations, and that the group’s headquarters is somewhere in Louisiana.

They supposedly have bizarre rituals, including a yearly bonfire.

One article called members Titans, which seems fitting. They’re rumored to have a symbol so they can recognize one another—Athena’s owl. On one page there was a mockup. Framed by laurel leaves, the bird was ordinary, but had terrifying, unblinking green eyes.

Having read too much already, I went back to Scandalicious to see more pictures of the drop-dead gorgeous, movie-star handsome Link. Many of the images showed him with various women. Never the same one twice.

Some of the ladies had not-very nice things to say about him. One called him a manwhore who notched his bedpost and discarded conquests without a backward glance.

Unsurprised, I placed my phone onto a coffee table, facedown.

But every day since then, I’ve wondered if he’ll show up at the bar.

And today’s no different.

I turn into the Rusty Nail’s parking lot and glance at the time.

I’m early for my shift, but instead of going inside and clocking a few extra minutes, I park the car beneath a lamppost, then open my phone to the Scandalicious page, wondering if there are any new stories about him.

Why am I doing this?

The man’s an alleged murderer and confirmed womanizer. He is the last person I should be interested in.

But a traitorous part of me understands how Link is able to effortlessly charm women.

With his chiseled, angular features and searing blue eyes, he’s gorgeous. And every time I approached his table, all his attention had been focused on me.

Factor in multiple commas in his net worth, he probably has women throwing themselves at him.

At least I’m too smart to ever be one of them.

Not that he’d be interested anyway.

Suddenly an alarm chimes on my phone, jolting me, letting me know I have one minute to get inside or I’ll be late.

No time for sitting here thinking about the billionaire and his bodyguard.

I turn off the ignition, but the vehicle keeps rattling for a few more seconds.

Every day, the beat-up sedan makes a valiant effort to avoid the junkyard, and I appreciate its efforts. One day it will lose the battle, but unfortunately I can’t afford anything better.

Still, I count my blessings that I have any form of transportation and that the AC blows semicool air.

As I hurry across the parking lot, the sticky Houston heat clings to my skin like a second outfit.

I’m so ready for summer to be over.

When the door closes behind me and my eyes adjust to the dimness, my steps falter.

They’re here.

Link and Pax sit at their usual booth, an island of power in a sea of rowdy regulars.

My heart does a terrible little flip in my chest.

“Nikki!!” Marge’s gravelly voice cuts through the twangy sounds of Blake Shelton lamenting lost love on the jukebox.

Grateful she’s remembered to call me by my fake name, I glance her direction.

“Table five just got here, and they need service.”

Table five. That’s not Link and Pax.

Grateful, I nod, then go into the back room to put my purse away for safekeeping.

As I emerge, Link catches my eye, and he crooks a finger at me, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

My stomach performs a gold-medal-worthy somersault.

“They got their first round from the bar,” Marge says. “But it looks as if they want you to wait on them.”

No way. “Are you sure they don’t want Cheryl?” I ask, glancing at my bubbly blonde coworker.

Unfortunately she’s on the far end of the bar, and there’s no way he means anyone but me.

“If you don’t want to take care of them, I’ll handle it.”

I sigh, remembering the hundred-dollar tip, which I probably hadn’t deserved with my outright hostile behavior.

As much as I would have never admitted it, the money had been a lifesaver. That day, my cellphone bill had been due, and my car needed gas. Oh, and it had been my turn to buy a few groceries from the supermarket.

“Nikki?” Marge prompts.

“I’ll take care of them.” When I get around to it . “Thanks, though.” I take my time tying my apron into place and grabbing my order pad.

Marge laughs. “Like living on the edge?”

“Something like that.” I grin at her.

With practiced ease, I weave through the space, dodging the occasional grabby hand. And I help table five before making my way over to Link and Pax.

Still, I can’t help but smooth the front of my apron into place, which is ridiculous. After all, I’m not nervous. They’re just customers. Like all the others.

When I stop near them, I’m nearly knocked sideways by the aura of lethal command they both radiate.

How wrong I’d been a minute ago.

These men are anything but just customers.

Link rests against the back of the tired booth like it’s a throne, his classic, tailored suit a stark contrast to the bar’s shabby decor.

Even in the dim light, I notice the hint of stubble that makes him look devilishly appealing.

Stupid to notice.

And Pax… Dear heavens.

A black leather motorcycle jacket is on the seat next to him, leaving his broad chest and sculpted arms on full display. The fabric of his black T-shirt hugs every ridge and valley of his upper body, and it’s all I can do not to stare.

I force politeness, hoping not to betray the butterflies dancing in my stomach. “What can I get for you?”

Link’s eyes, dark and intense, never leave my face. “The usual, little dove. And a round for everyone in the bar.”

“For everyone?” What game are you playing?

“You heard me.”

“Got it.” I turn to head back to the bar. But the sound of Link’s voice reaches me.

“Nikki?”

I consider pretending I didn’t hear him.

But I have no doubt he’d make a scene if it suited him, so I stop and glance back.

Then I wish I hadn’t because I’m caught in his gaze, like a mouse to a cat.

“You’re ours for the evening.”

The undercurrent of authority makes me swallow hard. Then I hurry back to the relative safety of the bar top.

“They’re buying a round for all the customers,” I tell Marge.

“I see.” Saying nothing else, she nods, then rings a big brass bell.

When she has everyone’s attention, she calls out, “Your next drink is on the gentlemen in that booth!” She points.

People cheer and clap, and Link laps up the adoration.

Asshole loves being the center of attention.

Even mine.

As Marge pours their stupidly expensive drinks—Bonds whiskey that is kept tucked away on a top shelf, reserved exclusively for them—I lean against the wood, trying to calm my racing heart.

Why am I letting these men affect me like this?

“You sure you’re okay, sugar?” Marge asks, her weathered face creased with concern.

I force a smile. “Yeah. Fine.”

She nods, understanding in her eyes. “They’re a handful.”

“Nothing I can’t deal with. It’s…” I come up with a story that’s really close to the truth. “I babysat all night, so I’m tired.”

She nods.

Cheryl and I are kept busy delivering drinks to all the patrons, and I have to walk by Link and Pax’s table several times.

Now I begin to see the method to his madness.

Keeping me near?

The thought is ridiculous, and I shake myself to rein in my galloping thoughts.

Why would two insanely gorgeous men want something to do with a woman who is barely scraping by with this job and the occasional babysitting gig—anything that pays under the table so I don’t have to show identification or file taxes. So that no one knows who or where I am.

At one point, I might have had the opportunity to meet Link at a party or something, but that was when my?—

This time, I shake my head, ruthlessly cutting off my ruminations.

That part of my life is over.

Tessa has vanished.

And Nikki is determined to be a survivor.

In a small act of defiance, I deliver their order last. And I slide the first drink in front of Pax.

Then Link reaches for his glass and intentionally touches my hand.

Sensual awareness crashes through me.

If he hadn’t been paying attention and caught the glass, I would have dropped the whiskey.

“Thank you, little dove,” he murmurs, his voice soft and intimate, husky.

Not trusting myself to speak, I hurry away.

The rest of the evening passes in a blur of drink orders and country ballads. Every time I approach Link and Pax’s table, I feel their gazes on me, assessing, evaluating. Their scrutiny unnerves me.

Finally Pax signals for the bill.

Like last time, Link offers me an enormous tip.

Though the money is nice, I wonder about his motivations. “I don’t need to be bought.”

“For the conversation you didn’t hear?” He smiles, knowing I’ve inadvertently revealed the truth.

Damn it. I have to be more careful. If Nikki is to get away with this ruse, I can’t afford slipups.

“Once more, you earned it,” Pax says, ignoring his boss’s jab. “For serving the whole bar.”

Well, except most people tipped me when I delivered their drinks.

Still, I pluck the crisp bills from Link’s fingers, taking care not to touch him. I’ve had enough of that unnerving experience.

If he wants to shove hundred-dollar bills at me, who am I to complain?

With a smile in Pax’s direction, I tuck the money into my apron pocket.

When they leave, the bar seems strangely quiet.

I shake my head, telling myself I should appreciate the break.

Because it’s almost time for me to leave, I turn over a couple of tables to Cheryl and make sure my area is clean, ready for the next customers.

“You did a great job today, sugar,” Marge says, startling me.

She presses a wad of cash into my hand—tips that were added via credit card. There’s more than expected, and I exhale with gratitude.

“Now get on home and get some rest. You look dead on your feet.”

I am. But my night is far from over. “Thanks.”

Marge—and this job—are a lifesaver.

The parking lot is eerily quiet as I make my way to my car, keys clutched between my fingers. The flickering streetlight casts long shadows, and every rustle of leaves sends my heart racing.

I practically dive into my beat-up Honda, locking the doors before I even start the engine.

As I pull out of the lot, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m being watched. But a quick glance in the rearview mirror shows only empty darkness.

I’m far too jumpy.

Leaning back against the worn fabric seatback, I turn up the radio and sing along to the eighties tune.

By the time I climb the rusty exterior stairs to my second-floor unit, my eyes are ready to close.

But as I push open the door, the smell of home-cooked food makes my mouth water. “Nat?” I call out, kicking off my shoes.

With a smile, she pokes her head out of our tiny kitchen. “Hey, girl!” Her mismatched earrings glint in the fluorescent light. “I made enchiladas.”

The quick meal is one of our go-tos. We make them out of cheese, and if one of us has a particularly good week, we splurge by stirring in some ground beef. “You’re amazing. Thank you.”

“Go sit down.”

“I can help,” I protest.

“You’ll be in my way.”

The galley kitchen is barely big enough for one person, let alone two. “I’ll wash the dishes.”

“You can handle it another time. You have to babysit tonight, don’t you?”

“Yeah.” Again. Grateful for Natalie, I make my way into the living room and collapse on the threadbare couch.

We grab every opportunity to catch up that we can. I watch Miguel when his mom works the night shift at the hospital. Nat also recently picked up a second job, cleaning office buildings after hours. And since we’re not scheduled together at the Rusty Nail very often, we cherish our time together.

I’ve barely had a chance to roll some tension from my shoulders when she places our dishes and silverware on the coffee table. Then she plonks down next to me.

“Anything interesting happen this evening?”

“It’s the Rusty Nail.” I shrug, and we both laugh.

That’s become one of our favorite sayings.

There’s always something going on at the Rusty Nail, from hookups to breakups, arguments, people belting out terrible songs on karaoke night, occasional fights, people breaking pool cues because they lost, customers needing to be poured into rideshares because they’re too drunk to stand up, and well, Link Merritt threatening someone’s life.

We each grab a plate, and I settle back. I have barely enough time to relax for a few minutes. “Link and Pax came in. They bought a round for the bar.”

“No shit?” She’s about to take a bite, but she pauses, hand in midair. “I don’t think they’ve ever done that before. He’s trying to impress you.”

“Me?” I laugh. “No.”

“Why else would they do it?”

“Celebrating something?”

“Sure.” She presses her lips together. “Mmm-hmm.”

“They’re not interested in me,” I promise her. “I mean, seriously. The idea is ridiculous.”

“Why not you?” she demands loyally.

“I’ve seen pictures of him and his harem.” Beautiful women. Tall. Willowy. Rich.

“And where have you seen such a thing?”

“Uhm…”

“You’ve been checking him out!”

“No! I mean…” I put down my plate and sigh. “You’re the one who told me to look him up. Remember? The first night I met them?”

She takes her bite and considers me. “And that’s the only time you googled him?”

I blush.

“Ah-ha!”

Shaking my head, I push hair back from my face.

“They are gorgeous. And rich.”

Without a doubt. “And scary.”

She nods, but she’s smiling.

“We’ve both had enough of that,” I remind her.

“True.”

I’m lucky to have Natalie in my life.

Months before, she escaped a brutal, controlling relationship.

When I got off the bus in Houston, I found a local women’s shelter to hide out in while I made sure I wasn’t followed.

The counselors running the place put me in touch with Marge, who didn’t ask questions or check references. Better yet, I was told she paid weekly and in cash.

Nothing comes up that she can’t handle. Rumor has it that some guy came in one night. He was strung out on meth, waving a knife, and he attempted to rob her. She grabbed the trusty sawed-off shotgun that she keeps behind the bar and blasted a hole in the floor right next to where he was standing. Then she calmly went back to pouring a cold Bud.

Not only did she take me under her wing, she introduced me to Natalie and suggested I move in with her.

Because Nat had some credit, she had found an apartment. It’s not in the best area of town, but we have somewhere to call home.

Marge is part heroine, part savior, always looking out for us.

Realizing Natalie is still talking, I drag myself back to the conversation.

“I was saying…there’s the kind of shitty situation we both escaped, but Link and Pax are a totally different kind of dangerous.”

True. “But I don’t have any desire to be a rich man’s plaything.” After all, that’s part of why I ran away.

Resolved, I change the subject.

After dinner, I take a quick shower and dress in shorts and a T-shirt. Then I say goodnight to Nat and walk across the complex to Serena Rodriguez’s apartment.

The young single mom greets me with a harried smile. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

I wave off her thanks. This job is easy. After all, I mostly get paid to sleep. “It’s no problem. How’s Miguel doing?”

“Finally asleep,” she says. “Three bedtime stories tonight.”

I grin. One time, he managed to get four out of me.

Miguel is a great kid. But he’s five, and he has way more energy than I do.

“I should be home in the morning around seven thirty. If you can feed him breakfast and get him ready to go, I’ll drive him to school.”

“It’s a plan.” Occasionally something comes up at work, and she can’t get out in time. “Just let me know if that changes.”

Since the apartment is blessedly quiet, and I don’t have any immediate obligations, I lock the door, then drop onto the couch and turn on the television.

Maybe because of the conversation with Natalie, or the fact I’m imagining Link’s masculine, spicy scent, I can’t stop thinking of the men.

Even though I don’t mean to, I pick up my phone.

Within seconds, I’ve opened the Scandalicious site.

To my surprise, I see a photo of him, snapped last night at some high-society gala. He’s gorgeous in a tailored tux, his longish black hair brushing his collar.

Eventually I realize he’s with another man.

My eyes widen as I read the caption.

Link is speaking with Matteo Moretti.

Heir apparent of the infamous Moretti crime family.

An icy chill skates down my back.

Mob connections? No wonder Link needs a bodyguard.

I wonder if the man they threatened that night is still alive.

My God.

And yet…

I never felt threatened, even when challenging Link—which my instinct for self-preservation should have stopped me from doing.

Unnerved, I close the article and instead google Pax.

There’s frustratingly little information about him online, but I’m not deterred. After all, I have nowhere else to be.

So I spent the next hour digging.

The few things I discover are intriguing. Former special forces, highly decorated, accustomed to violence and danger.

The information about him and Link tells me that I’m out of my mind for continuing to look them up.

But as I drift off into an uneasy sleep, my mind filled with images of them, one question burns in my mind:

Will I be able to resist them if they come back?