Chapter 11 Bastian
BASTIAN
Icarried Lark into my penthouse. There was no sign of our earlier fight. I was grateful to the guys for getting it cleaned up.
As soon as Nash had found Lark on the CCTV, I’d raced to her location. I’d known she was going to take someone down.
“Who was the target?” I set her down on my kitchen island.
“Serial rapist who’s been eluding police.” Her voice was a low, pained rasp. “Someone will find the body. His victim saw me.”
“No one will find him. I sent someone to clean up.” I glanced at her blood-soaked shirt. “I’m annoyed you let him stab you.”
She touched her side and winced. “Me, too.”
I gripped her chin. “I mean it, Lark. You went after him unprepared. Worse, you were emotional. We both know that can get you killed.”
“If I die, no one would notice. Or care.”
My heart hit my ribs hard. I leaned closer, our lips an inch apart. She tensed.
“I’d care.”
Her lips parted.
Quickly, I pulled her Army-green jacket off, then grabbed the hem of her shirt and whipped it over her head.
“Hey,” she protested.
I froze. She was wearing a gorgeous lace bra in a pretty moss green. It cupped her small, but perfectly shaped breasts.
I’d expected plain cotton, maybe a sports bra.
She glared at me, but I noted that her face was pale.
I made myself focus on the blood smeared on her side and not the nipples I could see through the lace.
I touched her side and she hissed. I probed the stab wound.
Thankfully, it had stopped bleeding on the drive back to the casino.
I released a breath. She hadn’t nicked an artery like I’d feared.
“I probably left blood all over your fancy sportscar.”
“I don’t give a fuck.” I contemplated calling Landon, or my casino doctor, but I figured she’d put up a fight.
Instead, I pulled out my first aid kit and set it beside her. I followed with a glass of water and some painkillers.
“Here.”
“I don’t need them.”
“You’ve lost a decent amount of blood. You need the fluids, and that has to hurt.” I cocked my head. “Don’t be a baby.”
She shot me a mutinous look, but it did the trick. She snatched up the pills and gulped the water down.
I started wiping the blood away and cleaning her wound.
“I can do that myself.”
“But you’re not going to.” I felt tension quiver through her body. I could tell she was skittish, feeling the urge to run.
It was clear she wasn’t used to someone tending to her. She had to have been injured on jobs before. It was the nature of the work we did. Who took care of her then?
My muscles tensed. I already knew the answer. No one. I could picture her, alone in some shitty apartment or hotel room, wiping her own blood off her skin, sewing up her own cuts.
My jaw clenched. She was done with that.
If she got hurt, I’d look after her. I stared at the cut. It needed medical glue. I pulled it out of the kit and unscrewed the cap. I carefully sealed the wound. She stared over my shoulder as I worked.
I straightened. “We have matching stab wounds now.”
Her gaze flicked to my shoulder like she could see the bandage through my shirt. “I doubt I hit anything vital in your shoulder.”
I pressed my hands to the counter, on either side of her hips, and leaned in. “Because you didn’t really want to kill me.”
Things moved in her big, brown eyes. “Only because you move fast.”
I reached up and touched her hair. It was silky. She tensed, like she was about to leap off the counter and run.
“Don’t think about running, Lark. I’ll catch you.” I sank the promise of that into my voice.
She quivered and remained silent.
My cellphone vibrated. I saw Nash’s name on the screen and pressed it to my ear. “I’m here.”
“You find her?” he asked.
“I did. She’s fine. No thanks to her questionable decision making.”
She shot me a mutinous look and mouthed fuck you.
“Make sure she doesn’t kill you. You can debrief me later.”
“Good night, Nash.” I slipped the phone into my pocket. “Any other wounds?”
“No.”
“Good.” I scooped her off the island.
She grabbed my shoulders, released me, then grabbed me again.
I sank onto the couch, settled her beside me, then pulled the throw rug around her bare shoulders.
Then I grabbed a file resting on the coffee table and set it in her lap.
She looked at it like it was a live snake.
“It’s my file on Ed.” I sighed. “I didn’t want to believe it at first, either. I had little niggles, little things that didn’t add up. I knew he went off on trips. I also knew he came back wired. For the longest time, I ignored it. He was good at covering.”
She was silent for the longest time, then she swallowed. “He called them his little vacations.” She closed her eyes. “I knew something wasn’t right, I could feel it, but I let it slide.” She opened her eyes and met my gaze. “He came back…different.”
“I didn’t believe it at first. But then I tracked all his kills. Going back over a decade.”
“God,” she whispered.
“He was known as the Red Ribbon Killer. He left red ribbons tied on his victim’s wrists.”
Her body jolted.
“I’m here, Lark.” I closed my hand over hers. Her fingers were cold. “We’ll deal with it together. I want you to understand why I had to take him out.” I was quiet for a beat. “Why I wanted him gone.”
She watched me, still and silent. “So he wouldn’t hurt anyone else.”
“So he wouldn’t hurt you. I killed him so you’d be safe.”
Shock crossed her features, and she pulled in a sharp breath.
I reached out and closed her hands over the file. “I couldn’t take the risk that he’d lose the last dredges of his soul and hurt you.”