Page 12 of Twisted Elites

I shoved on the dressing gown and gave him a peck on the lips. “Cormac isn’t a lecher.”

“All men with a set of balls are lechers.” He paused and tilted his head to the side. “Maybe you’ll be fine with Gibbons, after all.”

“You’re being a dick.” I strode to the other side of the room and opened the door to find Cormac standing in the hallway, his cheeks flushed, and a scowl marring his features. He wore his bottle-green uniform. Behind him, Leopold leaned against the opposite door in his boxer briefs with a smirk.

“Cormac?” I asked.

His eyes softened. “May I have a word?”

“You’re already having a word,” said Sebastian.

“In private,” Cormac said between clenched teeth.

“Whisper in her ear, then.” Sebastian placed both hands on my shoulders. “I’m not letting her go anywhere with you.”

“For goodness’ sake!” I shrugged him off and walked down the hallway with my best friend.

Sebastian and Leopold followed at a distance.

“Sorry about them,” I whispered to Cormac.

“What are you doing?” he whispered back.

I furrowed my brow but didn’t ask for clarification. He probably wouldn’t elaborate until we had widened the distance between ourselves and the kings.

At the end of the hallway, he whirled on me and hissed, “Have you taken leave of your senses? Didn’t you learn a lesson from Ashley’s fall from grace?”

My mouth opened and closed. He made her sound like Lucifer in Paradise Lost. “What are you talking about?”

“Forced alcohol consumption, sexual assault, attempted vehicular assassination, kidnapping… after suffering all of those, hasn’t it taught you anything that these are the kings of mayhem?”

“That was all Miss Claymore and the queens.”

Cormac folded his arms across his chest. “I didn’t see any women out with Ashley in the snow. Nor were there any present when they pulled her out of the East Wing on a stretcher.”

I swallowed hard. “The knights are different from the—”

“Where do you think Bruce Wilmington and the Riley twins get their inspiration? Snuff films?”

I flinched at the harsh words. “They’re diff—”

“The police aren’t keeping Prakash Kashaayah for so long because of circumstantial evidence. He’s addicted to hurting women and is inspiring others to do the same.”

Grimacing, I clenched my fists, itching to tell him about the footage I had shot of Bruce’s bruised knuckles. But he and the twins dwelled somewhere on this hallway and were most probably listening to the entire conversation.

Instead, I lowered my voice. “Trust me, alright?”

He closed his eyes and turned his head to the wall. “How can I when I’ve already seen this pattern of behavior. Corrine—”

“I’m not your sister.” My hands closed around his arms.

Cormac reared back, and pain flashed across his features. He lowered his head, and his shoulders drooped.

Guilt lanced me through the stomach, making my insides deflate. He’d seen me as a surrogate for Corrine. He’d even admitted it, and my words had probably hit him worse than a kick in the gut.

I let go of his arms and stepped back. “Cormac, I’m sorry.”

He raised his head and swallowed. Without casting me a glance, he walked through the hallway, past Leopold, and Sebastian, who stood with a towel around his middle.