I’d loved daggers and swords ever since I started fencing at age eight. My father preached that the arts of a gentleman were not only timeless but necessary. Chess would teach me strategy, fencing would teach me human nature and self-preservation, and dancing would teach me my body. All necessary for a well-rounded person.
I gripped the hilt, remembering the first time he’d put a fencing foil in my hand. It was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen, and I reached up, running a finger along the scar on my neck, suddenly feeling closer to him again.
Who had left it here?
Peering back into the box, I pulled out a small piece of paper with black writing. Licking my lips, I read the words silently. Beware the fury of a patient man.
“What?” I said to myself, pinching my eyebrows together in confusion.
What did that mean?
But then I glanced up, gasping as I dropped the blade and the note to the floor.
I stopped breathing, my heart trying to break through my chest.
Three men stood outside my house, side by side, staring up at me through the window.
“What the hell?” I breathed out, trying to figure out what was going on.
Was this a joke?
They stood completely motionless, and I felt a chill spread up my arms at how they just stared at me.
What were they doing?
All three wore jeans and black combat boots, but as I stared into the black void of their eyes, I clenched my teeth together to keep my body from shaking.
The masks. The black hoodies and the masks.
I shook my head. No. It couldn’t be them. This was a joke.
The tallest stood on the left, wearing a slate-gray metallic-looking mask with claw marks deforming the right side of his face.
The one in the middle was shorter, looking up at me through his white-and-black mask with a red stripe running down the left side of his face, which was also ripped and gouged.
And the one on my right, whose completely black mask blended with his black hoodie, so that you couldn’t tell exactly where his eyes were, was the one who finally made my chest shake.
I backed up, away from the window and tried to catch my breath as I dashed for my phone. Pressing 1 on the landline, I waited for the security office, which sat only minutes down the road, to pick up.
“Mrs. Fane?” a man answered.
“Mr. Ferguson?” I breathed out, inching back over to my windows. “It’s Rika. Could you send a car up to—?”
But then I stopped, seeing that the driveway was now empty. They were gone.
What?
I darted my eyes left and then right, getting right up to the table and leaning over to see if they were near the house. Where the hell did they go?
I remained silent, listening for any sign of anyone around the house, but everything was still and quiet.
“Miss Fane?” Mr. Ferguson called. “Are you still there?”
I opened my mouth, stammering, “I…I thought I saw something…outside my windows.”
“We’re sending a car up now.”
I nodded. “Thank you.” And I hung up the phone, still staring out the window.
It couldn’t be them.
But those masks. They were the only ones who wore those masks.
Why would they come here? After three years, why would they come here?
Corrupt can be read as a stand-alone.
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To the readers—Again, I want to thank you so much for all the help and support over the years. I love being online with you, having fun and socializing, but social media has a funny way of sucking me in, and before I know it, it’s noon! Not that it’s time wasted, by any means, but I realized that I’m more successful about reaching my goals and staying organized and on schedule the more disciplined I am about how my time is spent. Thank you to those of you who put up with my long spells offline. You understand that just because someone isn’t constantly posting, doesn’t mean that great things aren’t happening.
To my family—my husband for taking over so much in the past year. Seriously. Roles have certainly changed between us since we met, and I’m so grateful you’re here to handle so much, so I can make good use of my time to do the work I love.
To Dystel, Goderich & Bourret LLC—thank you for being so readily available and helping me grow every day. I couldn’t be happier.
To the PenDragons—Gosh, I’ve missed you all. There were so many days, especially a month into quarantine, that I was desperate to spend some time with you. I needed people, and I really appreciate that you’re my guaranteed happy place. Thanks for giving me a tribe and validating the stories I love.
To Adrienne Ambrose, Tabitha Russell, Tiffany Rhyne, Kristi Grimes, Lee Tenaglia, and Claudia Alfaro—the amazing Facebook group admins! Not enough can be said about the time and energy you give freely to make a community for the readers and me. You’re selfless, amazing, patient, and needed. Thank you.
To Vibeke Courtney—my indie editor who goes over every move I make with a fine-toothed comb. Thank you for teaching me how to write and laying it down straight.
To Elaine York and Christine Porter—the gifts from the gods who are always on call, work hard, and reply quickly whenever I need them. Thank you for editing, formatting, and going above and beyond with being available.
To all the wonderful readers, especially on Instagram and TikTok, who make art and videos for the books and keep us all excited, motivated, and inspired…thank you for everything! I love your vision, and I apologize if I miss things while I’m offline.
To all of the bloggers and bookstagrammers—there are too many to name, but I know who you are. I see the posts and the tags, and all the hard work you do. You spend your free time reading, reviewing, and promoting, and you do it for free. You are the life’s blood of the book world, and who knows what we would do without you. Thank you for your tireless efforts. You do it out of passion, which makes it all the more incredible.
To every author and aspiring author—thank you for the stories you’ve shared, many of which have made me a happy reader in search of a wonderful escape and a better writer, trying to live up to your standards. Write and create, and don’t ever stop. Your voice is important, and as long as it comes from your heart, it is right and good.
Penelope Douglas is a New York Times, USA Today, and Wall Street Journal bestselling author. Her books have been translated into fifteen languages and include The Fall Away Series, The Devil’s Night Series, and the standalones, Misconduct, Punk 57, Birthday Girl, Credence, and Tryst Six Venom. Please look for The Hellbent Series (Fall Away Spin-Off) and the stand-alone, Motel, both coming next!
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