Chapter 7 Bastian
BASTIAN
Ilet myself into my penthouse and tried to shake off my tiredness.
It had been a long day.
There had been an endless string of meetings, followed by several problems that had cropped up around the casino that needed firefighting. When Nash had seen the scratches on my face, he’d been pissed.
I shrugged out of my suit jacket and tossed it over the back of a chair. The lights clicked on automatically as I entered, illuminating the bronze-veined marble floor and the curve of my leather couch.
Beyond it, through the large panes of glass, were the lights of Las Vegas.
I loved the city I’d decided to call home. I loved that it never slept. There was always life here, somewhere.
I shoved a hand through my hair. I was tired.
No, that wasn’t all of it. I was worried about Lark.
Today, I’d made myself very visible on the casino floor. I’d waited for her to make a move.
There’d been no sign of her.
Rolling up my sleeves, I headed toward my Sub-Zero fridge. My kitchen gleamed, and it had the best appliances even though I didn’t normally cook. Why would I when I had the best chefs and a variety of restaurants right here in the casino? I was excellent at ordering in.
Any cooking I attempted was mediocre, at best. There had been no one to teach me during my formative years. I’d spent those years digging in trash cans for scraps.
Back then, I’d vowed to one day only eat the best food.
Same with my clothes. Nash gave me hell about my love of Armani, but I made no apologies for my predilection for designer suits made from the best fabrics. There were times when I’d been lucky to wear threadbare, charity castoffs on the verge of falling apart.
I filled a glass with ice from the fridge, then headed to my built-in bar. I poured myself a bourbon. Finally, I dropped onto the couch, and sat there in the semi-darkness.
Lark had been alone since I’d killed Ed. She’d had no one.
I knew what that felt like.
She’d been panicked yesterday. I’d sensed it, heard it in her voice, and felt it in her body. Landon was right. Deep down, she suspected something about Ed.
I could put my security team on the job of finding her. They were good. Nash had helped me hire the best to run security at the Avernus. Hell, Nash could also contact his hacker friend, who could find anybody.
I sipped the rare Pappy Van Winkle and enjoyed the earthy burn.
Suddenly, something whipped over my head.
A garrote wire.
I dropped the glass and bourbon spilled on the leather couch, before the glass hit the floor and smashed.
Moving fast, I thrust my arms up and the wire bit into my skin.
Fuck. I hadn’t heard or sensed her.
There was no way she should have been able to get into my highly secure penthouse.
Surging up, I twisted. I glimpsed large, brown eyes and a trim body, clad in a black catsuit. I shoved hard, and she released the wire and stumbled back.
“You could just use the phone, Lark. Make an appointment.”
Her face hardened. “No talking. You have nothing I want to hear.”
I circled the couch. My shirt was now wet with bourbon, and I wrinkled my nose.
She backed up beside my long, black dining table.
“I know you don’t want to hear it, but you need to.”
“Be quiet,” she snapped.
She grabbed a vase of flowers that my housekeeper put on the table and tossed it.
I ducked, and the crystal smashed on the floor. Flowers spilled everywhere.
I rushed her.
She grabbed a chair and tossed it. I knocked it aside. She swung an arm at me, but I blocked the hit. She kicked, aiming for my gut. I spun and grabbed her arm. We both whirled, doing an impromptu dance. Her next jab hit my kidney.
With a grunt, I released her. We traded blows and kicks, moving across my penthouse. We ended up in the kitchen.
She snatched the kettle off the counter and threw it. The toaster followed, then the heavy, stone mortar and pestle.
“Dammit.” I jerked left, then right. Everything crashed to the floor. “I just want to talk.”
Next, she found the knife block.
Fuck.
I dived to the side. The knives hit the floor beside me, clattering on the marble. I rolled and raced for the couch. I dived over it.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
I looked up. Three knives were embedded in the leather.
“Do you know how much this couch cost?”
“You won’t care, once you’re dead.” She advanced.
She looked like a pint-sized angel of death.
My cock hardened.
Shit. I dragged my gaze off her breasts cupped by black fabric. I nabbed a soft throw blanket in a rich, bronze color that Georgie had given me for Christmas.
My fingers gripped the soft wool.
She slid one of her custom knives out of the sheath strapped to her chest. “You have one of my knives, Thorne. I want it back.”
“Sorry, it’s mine now.”
She made an angry noise. She sprinted forward, knife clutched in her hand.
I leaped up and threw the blanket. It covered her head.
She cursed. I lunged forward, gripped the blanket, and twisted it to keep her trapped. I felt the stinging prick of the knife through the fabric, stabbing at my forearm, and ignored it.
I lifted her off her feet and she cursed.
Dropping her to the couch, I pinned her there. She kicked and twisted.
I shifted most of my weight onto her, then reached under the blanket and found the knife.
Managing not to slice my hand open, I snatched it free and tossed it over my shoulder.
Then I reached into my pocket and pulled out the zip ties I’d been keeping in there all day, in case she made an appearance.
Quickly, but with a lot of effort since she was still wriggling, I zip tied her hands in front of her. I yanked the blanket off her head.
She glared up at me.
Damn, it was corny—something I usually avoided—but she was beautiful when she was pissed. Large eyes the color of mahogany dominated her face. She had a stubborn chin, inky-black hair, and creamy skin. Her hair was mussed and her cheeks flushed.
I had the thought that this was how she would look after I’d finished fucking her.
“Zip ties in your pocket?” she said caustically. “Really?”
“I had them on hand just for you.”
She bucked up, pressing her body into mine.
I used my weight to keep her legs pinned. “Now, we’ll talk.”