Page 5 of Corrupted Bride

Still time to turn back.

Instead, I wheel the food cart ahead. When I’m clear, I stop, pull the stick of gum from my pocket, unwrap it, and slip it into my mouth.

Chewing gives me confidence.

I don’t know why. Maybe it’s because he gave it to me.

The cart rattles as I park it and knock. I don’t have to wait long before the door opens.

Mr. Bass stands inside. He considers me a moment. I try to hold his gaze but end up glancing down at his chest, at the top two buttons undone to show off the intricate tattoos on his tan skin. I chew faster, heart rate increasing rapidly.

“Bring it inside,” he says and disappears into the room.

I follow, head dizzy, palms sweating, as I pull the cart inside behind me.

The penthouse suite is gorgeous. Smooth marble floors, modern furniture. A sitting area big enough to be an apartment capped off by a massive television against one wall and beautiful views of Austin. The city sparkles from this height. I start to set up the food at the table but Mr. Bass waves me off.

“Leave it. Are you hungry?”

“Uh, I’m fine, thank you. My break isn’t for another hour.”

“Night shift?”

“Yes, sir.”

His lips press tighter. “Call me Bass, please.”

“Is that your real name?” I blurt it out before I think better. I stop chewing the gum, mortified that I let myself speak out of turn with a guest.

He invited you to his room. This isn’t a normal interaction.

“My full name’s Bastiano, but I’ve always gone by Bass.” Fortunately, he doesn’t seem insulted. “What about you? Mari’s your full name?”

“Yep, that’s it, just Mari.” I touch the gold nameplate at my chest.

His eyes linger and I get the sense he’s not staring at the lettering.

“Grab that drink and join me.” He wanders toward the bar cart parked against the far wall and pours himself a glass. I hesitate, not sure what to do.

“I’m sorry, I’m working right now.”

“They won’t miss you.”

I open my mouth to protest⁠—

But he’s probably right.

Thursdays are always slow. Sara will be sitting at the desk right now scrolling on her phone. There’s no way she’ll notice I’m missing. Hector and the kitchen staff likely already cracked open beers and are watching TV to pass time. Who would even care if I didn’t bother coming back down? And if my breath smelled a little like whisky?

My hand shakes as I lift the glass. This is such a bad idea, and maybe that’s why I’m doing it. I can already hear my father and brother complaining, see the looks on my cousins’ faces, even feel the steel-hard hand of my uncle Don Nardo as he grips my shoulder and lectures in my face with his sticky-hot breath. Loathing rolls down my spine and I banish the image as I walk toward Bass.

This is stupid. I know what he wants. There’s no other reason he called me to his room. And if I stay, if I don’t make an excuse, if I lift this drink to my lips⁠—

What’s that mean?

He stares out at the night. His shirtsleeves are rolled above his elbows. I glance at his tats, at the ink on his hands. There are scars too mixed in with the linework. I know better than to ask about those.

“I’ve been coming here once a week for business, and every time, I kept wondering if you’d talk to me.” He doesn’t look in my direction.