Page 107 of Corrupt

Tristan

Sighing, I leant back against the cold porcelain sinks in the washroom and closed my eyes.

The private members’ club at Lincoln’s Inn was hushed even in here. Muted footsteps beyond the door, the faint clink of cutlery from the dining room. Polished marble. Brass fixtures. Everything designed to reassure that nothing bad ever happened in places like this.

Yet it had.

To me.

My phone sat heavy in my hand, and I hated myself for wanting to call back. I was supposed to be okay with this. That was the bargain I’d made with myself. The moment I’d let Razor in again, I’d accepted the inevitable fallout. Whatever falling for someone like him cost, I’d told myself I could pay it.

I hadn’t realised the bill would come due so quickly.

But now I was here. At brunch with Lord Wolfe. The thing I’d been avoiding for weeks. Avoiding his polite emails. The sense that he was already one step ahead of me. Then he’d just appeared at the station. Smiling, conversational, offering me a lift. As if he hadn’t somehow known my diary was clear. As if Imogen hadn’t mysteriously “approved” this time without question.

I should’ve said no.

Instead, I’d agreed to it. To get it over with. And when my phone rang with Henry’s name flashing up, I’d seized the excuse like a lifeline. And I’d slipped away with a murmured apology and locked myself in here to take the call. I’d assumed it would be about Zara again. Some fresh drama. A familiar distraction.

It hadn’t been.

“You remember that man I stitched up last year?” Henry had said. “Knife wound. Turned up bleeding in your bedroom. The one you absolutely refuse to talk about.”

My heart had slammed so hard I’d barely made it into a cubicle before he continued.

“The one who promptly ruined my handiwork because you and he were…well, let’s say enthusiastic. I couldn’t tell if you were being assaulted or having a very committed personal moment. I remember thinking it sounded… consensual. Disturbingly so.”

“Henry.” My voice came out tight. “What about him?”

“He’s just walked into my A&E.”

The world tilted.

“Are you sure?” I rubbed my forehead. “Sure it’s him?”

“You don’t forget a man you triaged with a knife wound in your own home.”

Fuck. “Is he there now?”

“Yes.”

“Is he hurt?”

“Well, he’s not my patient. But…he looks… disturbed.”

My fingers had gone numb around the phone. “Can I talk to him?”

“I’m sure you already have his number.”

I did, but he wouldn’t be using it. “Could you put him on your phone? Now?”

A pause. “Tris—”

“Please.” I’d begged. “Please. Don’t ask why. Don’t ask who he is. Just, please give him the phone.”

There’d been a slight wait, a kerfuffle, then Razor had come on the phone. Or Rich had. I was never sure who I’d be talking to. And that conversation had happened. I’d assumed, feared, this was him trying to do the impossible. Trying to get out. That whatever hell he’d warned me about had finally snapped its jaws shut around him. He’d told them he was out, and they’d made assurances that it wouldn’t happen. I was relieved when he’d said he was okay. It wasn’t him who needed the emergency. Then…he’d called me baby. Slipped it out. I was fully aware he’d said it unintentionally. Probably to shut me up, but somehow that made it more significant.

And fuck, I’d melted.