Made in Malice (Corrupt Credence Book 1)

LUCIAN

The club is packed, making it feel like the middle of summer instead of winter. Sweaty bodies fill the dance floor, but my mind isn’t here, it’s back on the island where the little Umbra is probably tucked sweetly into her soft sheets.

I adjust my position in the booth, draping my arm over the black leather, knowing I would much rather be sneaking into her room where I could straddle her waist and use one hand to cover her mouth to stifle her scream, and the other to…

“Hello.” A sultry voice pulls me from my musings.

Her pouty mouth is painted blood red as she toys with one of the curls hanging over her tits, making sure to draw my attention there. She has dark hair and brown eyes, so she’s not a match for the girl I want to use.

I don’t speak to her, but that’s nothing new. I seldom give any of these sheep my consideration.

“May I sit?” she asks, already curving her body with her ass angled toward me to slip into the booth beside me.

I make eye contact with one of my men, and he immediately puts his hand on her shoulder, stopping her from getting closer.

“You need an invitation to sit with Morningstar,” he tells her, and she slides her hungry gaze back to mine.

“What do I need to do to get invited?”

“Open your mouth,” I say, feeling bored, but the distraction is helping with the ache in my cock caused by someone I can’t stand who’s miles away.

The girl tips her chin down a little, making sure to keep her gaze locked on mine, then opens her mouth as if she’s already thinking about swallowing me.

“Wider,” I tell her. There’s an edge to my tone, so she probably thinks she’s turning me on. She couldn’t be more wrong. “Now bleat.”

With her mouth still agape, she shifts her face so she can see me better.

“Are you deaf?”

She finally closes her mouth to ask, “Bleed?” then glances around as if she’s looking for something. Probably a knife. Would she really go that far? I don’t even know why I’m asking. She would, and so would countless others just because I told them to do it. She disgusts me. It’s like I can feel her nasty fingers gouging into me to see what pieces she wants to keep.

“I said bleat, you fucking idiot. Get her out of here.”

“Wait—” She tries to fight the man pulling her away, but it’s useless, just like she is.

“Don’t let anyone else near the table,” I tell the others before downing the rest of my drink. I’m smart enough to know I’m dangerous tonight, not only to them, but to myself. I wish Nox would have come with me, but he’s been fucked in the head for weeks, and I can’t seem to pull him out of it this time.

Maybe I’ll find my oblivion at the bottom if this bottle or the next.

NOVA

As I approach the bridge to get back on the island after my shift, I notice a few cars lined up in front of the small building that resembles a guard shed. I get in line, wondering what the holdup is. I’ve never even seen the barrier down, but it is now.

The first car gets turned away, along with the second. The third doesn’t even try pulling up to the window, it just follows the two cars in front of it and makes a U-turn to get back to the mainland road.

The revving of an engine can be heard for several seconds before I spot the car responsible for all the noise. The red bar starts to rise, but an attendant steps into the path, blocking the other cars ahead of me from entering the bridge while it’s up.

A black car speeds past me, not even slowing when it makes the turn into the wrong lane of traffic on the bridge and narrowly avoids the man standing in place of the barricade. The guard’s hair whips back from his face, and he sways a little as if he’s caught in the drag of the car, but in the next second, his eyes pop open, he strolls back to the shed, and the bar drops back into place.

All the cars ahead of me file out of line pretty quickly, and within just a few seconds, I’m looking out my rolled down passenger side window to speak with the same man who was almost just ran over.

“It’s a private island, ma’am. No public invite tonight,” he says without even really looking at me.

“My name is Nova Devlin. I live here.” I sound like I’m lying. I wouldn’t even believe me if I were him.

He bends down to get a better look into the car. “You live here?” He sounds skeptical. Like I said, I don’t blame him.

“Yes, with the Umbras.” That sounded a little more confident.

“Oh, right.” He begins to nod. “Sorry about that.” He steps back in a rush as if I might decide to burst right through the gate.

“No problem. Should I…” I start to ask if I should call ahead to let them know I’m coming, but he’s already inside the building, so there’s no way he could hear me.

I wonder if Morningstar notified him that he was coming, or if he just assumes the roar of his engine is enough of a warning.

I don’t rush over the bridge or even past the college. To be perfectly honest, I’m leery of being on the isolated road with him in the middle of the night. I’d probably end up with my new car in the ditch, or worse.

I let out the breath I was holding when I turn down the lane that leads to the estate when I don’t see the glow of taillights ahead of me. This is one time when I can thank him for driving like a speed demon.

My stomach hollows out when, halfway down the road, my headlights illuminate Morningstar’s black car on the wrong side of the road half into the grass. I slow down as a feeling of dread fills me. Is this some sort of sick trick, or does he need help? I can’t tell if he hit anything because there’s no light coming from his car at all.

Should I call someone? Maybe Alden?

Slight movement on the ground spurs me into action, and I punch down on the gas for a second before slamming on the brakes and throwing the SUV into park.

Lucian is propped up against the rear wheel of his car, and the side of his face is red with blood as it drips down his jaw. It brings back so many unwanted memories, I almost throw up right on the spot, but I fight down the bile in my throat and run over to him.

He squints up at me, but the rest of his features are soft as if he’s confused.

“Are you okay?” I ask like an idiot, dropping to my knees in front of him and reaching out, but I’m unsure if I should touch him.

He blinks. “Charity?” The single slurred word is enough to tell me he’s been drinking, and it pisses me off. He could have killed himself or someone else.

“What were you thinking?” I admonish when what I really want to do is get up and leave him here, but I can’t. He could be hurt worse than it seems, plus it’s just wrong.

Lucian moves his tongue around the inside of his mouth, and I see blood on his teeth. “Crap, I need to call an ambulance.” I start to get up, but he grabs a hold of my arm, stopping me. His touch is surprisingly gentle considering his words.

“Don’t you fucking dare. I will bury you.”

I pull my arm away to prove I can and give him a glare in return. I almost say, “Try it,” but I manage to keep the taunt to myself. He’s in no shape to spar, even verbally.

“You’re hurt,” I remind him. Drunk people don’t always feel pain—my mom didn’t. I shove thoughts of that night away. I need to be present here.

“Bullshit,” he snaps, then turns his head to spit blood from his mouth.

“Drunk and delusional,” I mumble.

“I’m not drunk.”

“Did you take a bath in whiskey then?”

“What the fuck are you even doing out of bed, Charity?” He leans to the side a little.

“None of your business, pretty boy. Is there someone I can call for you since you’re too stupid to let me call an ambulance?”

Lucian makes a snorting noise and knocks his head back against his car. I watch his eyes roll back in his head before he shuts his lids.

I immediately reach out to shake him, but his eyes snap open as if he can sense me moving closer, and he looks at my hand near his face and shoulder like he’d rip them off if I tried to touch him.

“I thought you passed out,” I defend hastily.

“Sure,” he says, but he clearly doesn’t believe me.

“Can I call someone?” I offer again.

“No, just get the fuck out of here. I’ve got nothing to give you.” The blood smeared across his face makes his angry words seem even more threatening, but I ignore it.

“Where’s your phone?” I inquire, thinking maybe he can call for help himself.

“You looking to steal it? Go ahead and try to rob me, you broke bitch, and see what happens.”

If he’s trying to kill my goodwill, he’s doing a very good job. I push off the ground and try to give him a wide berth to walk around, but he falls to the side and grabs my ankle unexpectedly, tripping me.

The oof of air leaving my lungs when I land on my chest and chin is loud in the silence of the night.

“Shit,” he curses as he releases my leg and tries to crawl forward.

I scramble away from him, and he tries to messily get up, only to fall over again. There’s blood dripping from my chin and a metallic taste in my mouth from biting my tongue, but the rest of me is fairly unscathed, so I look around.

The driver door of his car is open, probably from him getting out, and the airbag is blocking my view of the interior to look for his phone. I’m also afraid to turn my back on him to go retrieve my phone, so I fumble for what to do next.

Lucian is holding himself up with his palm on the car, but he doesn’t look too steady on his feet. Despite how messed up he is, I know he could still do a lot of damage if he got a hold of me, so I round the other side of the car to keep him at bay.

“Give me a number to call so I can get you help,” I offer in a last-ditch effort.

“C’mere,” he says softly, coaxingly, but I’m not dumb.

I start to back away, getting closer to my car and an escape. His eyes look wild, and I don’t think I’ve ever been more afraid of someone in my life.

When he bellows for me to stop and pushes himself off the car to walk unsteadily toward me as if his will alone is enough to ignore his injuries, I turn and run back to my car, then slam my finger down on the lock tab before putting it in drive and speeding out of there.

I’m still breathing heavily when I stop at my gate. I can see his entrance behind me in the mirror. My heart is beating fast, but I still open my door and jog across the road, looking for the intercom box.

“Hello?” I say, leaning down a little to be closer to the speaker. “Hello, can someone hear me? Lucian needs help. He’s on the road about a mile back. He didn’t want me to call an ambulance, but he’s hurt. Please send someone to help him.”

I jump back when I hear the static crackle. “He’ll kill you,” says a voice eerily similar to the man I just left on the road. I wipe my chin with my fingers coming back bloody, already knowing how willing he is to hurt me, then back away slowly. I’ve done all I can. If he dies out on the road, it’s not my fault, it never was. I should have kept driving.

The second the gate shuts behind me, the one across the road opens, and a white car speeds out, not even slowing to look in my direction. I drive a few hundred feet up the drive, then turn my car off before jogging back to the gate. There’s no way I’m going out there, but there’s some weird part of me that needs to make sure Morningstar isn’t dead, and this is as close as I can get.

I expect to hear an ambulance or see flashing lights or something, but after nearly ten minutes of nothing, I decide maybe whoever it was that left took him to the hospital, or maybe I’m just too far away to hear any of the commotion.

Exhausted, I amble back to my car, noting I haven’t been this sore since the accident that almost killed me. Cadieux Island is hazardous to my health, but I’m still not leaving, not even with an axe over my head like Lucian Morningstar. My only hope is he’s too drunk to remember anything that happened tonight.