Chapter 13 Lark
LARK
“Where are you taking me?”
“You’ll see.”
I huffed and followed Bastian through his giant penthouse. Why did one man need so much space?
He was holding my hand. I should pull away, but I didn’t. I wanted to keep my fingers entwined with his strong ones.
I’d slept for a few hours last night. More correctly, I’d slept in Bastian’s arms. Just the thought of that left me unsettled. But I’d take unsettled over all the other emotions bubbling inside me.
This morning, Bastian had left me in his bed and gone to work. I had vague recollections of his quiet murmur to sleep. Since I’d felt groggy and gritty eyed from the unpleasant combo of not enough sleep and my crying jag, I’d drifted off again.
I’d then spent the day wandering around his giant penthouse trying not to think about Ed. I knew I should have left, but I couldn’t do it. I’d needed time to…ignore what had happened.
But I knew I couldn’t avoid it forever.
I wished I’d had my iPad with me so I could draw. The next scene of my web comic had come to me clearly. Persephone missing her family, then discovering that her father Zeus had betrayed her. That he’d allowed Hades to abduct her. Hades holding her as she cried in despair.
Bastian had called me approximately a million times. He’d checked on me at lunch time, bringing delicious lobster rolls from the seafood restaurant in the casino. I hadn’t told him that lobster was a favorite of mine. He’d checked my wound and bullied me into taking more painkillers.
Then he’d set up a movie for me on his giant television. I’d watched 28 Years Later. I’d been in the mood for zombies, and survival against the odds.
Yes, Bastian had done his best to distract me from thinking about Ed.
Ed. Fucking Ed. The man I’d trusted, admired, had been a lie.
The betrayal cut deep.
Well, I guessed Ed was still teaching me a lesson from beyond the grave. That I couldn’t trust anyone.
It’s better to be alone, Lark.
I shoved Ed’s voice out of my head.
Maybe it was better to be alone, and yet, I held Bastian’s hand as he led me through a door and up a set of spiral stairs. He’d returned home a few minutes ago.
“How’s your side?”
“It’s fine.” The painkillers meant I didn’t feel more than a dull ache.
“You stole my shirt.”
“I did.”
The corner of his mouth lifted. “It looks better on you. Borrow whatever you want.”
We stepped out onto the rooftop.
The sun was setting. Golden hour. The soft, warm, golden light of the sun was bathing the city. A cool wind whipped at my face and I shivered. I was wearing one of Bastian’s expensive business shirts with my jeans. It was way too big for me, but I didn’t care.
He tugged me forward and that’s when I saw he had his own private rooftop terrace.
The space was cordoned off from the rest of the roof with lots of plants and carved metal dividers.
There was already a fire crackling in the metal firepit.
It was surrounded by comfortable, circular, padded couches that beckoned you to come and lounge around, and enjoy the view.
Bastian sat on a couch and pulled me down beside him. He slid an arm around me and then grabbed one of the thick blankets resting in a basket nearby. He wrapped it around my shoulders.
I knew he was trying to make me feel better.
My throat tightened. To distract myself, I looked at the view.
Las Vegas spread out in front of us, the golden glow softening the harsh edges of Sin City.
I pulled in a deep breath. My gaze traced over the Stratosphere Tower, then the distinctive glass roof of the Aurora Casino, then down to the pirate ship in front of the Treasure Island Casino, before drifting off toward the mountains in the distance.
The sun looked like a golden ball, limning the mountains in yellow, while the few clouds in the sky were stained pinky-orange.
“I want everything you have on Ed,” I said firmly. “Every scrap of intel on the Red Ribbon Killer.”
“Lark—”
I shook my head, digging deep for strength. “I have to face this. I want to know it all. Ignoring it won’t help.”
He looked frustrated for a second, then shot to his feet and strode to the railing. The wind ruffled his thick hair. He was so damn handsome. The scratches I’d left on his face were healing.
“I want to—” he spun to face me. “Dammit, I want to take away your pain, not add to it.”
“To do that, I have to face it.” I angled my chin. “I’m ready.”
With a curse, he looked away, then nodded.
He disappeared back inside, and I curled my legs up, pressing my knees to my chest and resting my chin on them.
I stared blindly at the view until he returned, with the file in one hand and a tablet tucked under his arm.
He also held two glasses and a bottle of bourbon in the other hand.
Knowing Bastian, it had cost a small fortune.
“I’d normally say it’s wrong to mix bourbon with painkillers,” he said.
“It’s never a wrong time for anything in Vegas.” I tilted my head. “Pour me some.”
He sat and poured me a glass. I sipped it, watching him pour his own glass. As the liquid hit my tastebuds, I almost moaned out loud. It was so good.
Bastian knocked back his glass in one gulp.
He handed me the file.
Time to face the worst.
I sucked in a breath and opened the file. This time, I was ready when I saw the police reports. I made myself read every line of them. Every word. I made myself study the photos. Every angle.
So many dead.
He’d started ten years ago. I gnawed on my bottom lip. It was about the time I’d struck out on my own. He’d targeted happy couples, happy families, anyone who seemed happy.
Emotions inside me raged and bucked. Ed, how the hell could you do this? A man who’d vowed to protect his country killed innocent people.
I let the feeling fill me. I let those horrible, cutting feelings flow through me.
I stayed focused on the facts. I took the tablet, then started looking up news articles on the Red Ribbon Killer.
He’d tied a red ribbon on the wrists of his victims. Like they were a damn gift.
I pressed a hand to my mouth, a memory sparking. “He kept a roll of red fucking ribbon in his kitchen.” I swallowed. “He kept it in his empty fruit bowl with other junk I never thought twice about.”
Bastian stayed silent.
“It was like he hated their love, hated their happiness,” I murmured.
“He never talked about his childhood, but I got the impression it wasn’t good.” Bastian turned toward me, his face serious. “Maybe he was trying to destroy what he never had. What he’d been denied.”
“That’s fucked up.” I still couldn’t process it.
Couldn’t reconcile the man I’d known with this.
A strand of hair blew into my face and I brushed it back.
“Ed was the agent assigned to my father. My father was working on a top-secret CIA project, something to do with a chemical weapon, and Ed was his contact.” I paused.
“We’d been locked away in a cabin in Minnesota while my father worked in his lab in the garage.
I thought it was wonderful. I loved running wild in the woods and being homeschooled by my parents. ”
Until a monster had arrived.
Until I’d been forced to hear my parents slaughtered.
“He told me that he suspected an agent of a foreign nation killed your parents,” Bastian said.
“That was the theory.” I pulled in a shaky breath. “Ed came and pulled me out of that blood-soaked cabin. I remembered he’d been mad. Ordering agents and police to find the person responsible. They never caught the person.” My mouth went dry. “He let me see their bodies.”
“Your parents?”
I nodded. “I sat beside them, my fingers pressed to their necks, trying to find a pulse. But there was nothing, no life.” My hand curled into a fist. “Do you think Ed had something to do with my parents’ murder?”
Bastian’s mouth flattened into a tight line. “I don’t think so. He spoke highly of your father, and when I first met you, he was genuinely upset your parents were murdered. He said he didn’t start killing until ten years ago.”
“He…confessed?”
Bastian nodded and poured another splash of bourbon. “Yes. Before I executed him.”
“My seventeenth birthday… He was late to meet me for dinner. He’d been away. I thought he was acting weird. God—” I gripped the tablet. “That was the first time he killed, as the Red Ribbon Killer.”
He’d known what I’d been through, and then he’d turned around and done the same thing to others.
Bastian took my hand and squeezed. “We aren’t all one thing. He still cared about you, Lark.”
“Maybe.” I didn’t trust that anymore. I tapped the tablet screen and opened another article. I stiffened and my head jerked up. “Bastian, this says there was a Red Ribbon Killer murder three months ago. In Philadelphia.” I met his gaze. “Ed was already dead.”
He nodded and swirled his drink in his glass. “I know.”
“Was it a copycat?” I scanned the article. A newly married couple had been slaughtered on their wedding night. They had the same brutal injuries as the other murders, and the same red ribbon was found on their bodies. Hope surged for a brilliant second. “Maybe Ed wasn’t really the RRK?”
“Ed confessed, Lark.” Bastian sighed. “He seemed almost relieved to confess.”
I read the details on the new killing. “So, someone tried to cover up their crime by blaming the Red Ribbon Killer?”
“No.”
I frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“I studied every kill in great detail.” He sipped his drink. “Ed didn’t work alone.”
My chest locked. “He had a partner?”
“It appears so.”
I shot to my feet. Somehow this seemed even worse. “He trusted someone enough to kill with them. Who?”
“Ed wouldn’t tell me who he was.”
A spark ignited inside me. “He? It’s a man.”
“That’s all I got out of Ed, that his accomplice was male. And most serial killers are. The viciousness of the kills, the ability to overpower multiple victims supports that.”
I felt the feeling inside me grow, swelling like a wave.
Bastian lowered his glass, his gaze locking on my face. “I recognize that look.”
“I’m going to find whoever this fucker is.” I couldn’t confront or kill Ed. But this, I could do. “I’m not going to let him kill again.” I tapped at the photos. “Because we know he will.”
“Well, you’re not going hunting right now. You got stabbed and you need more rest.”
Energy filled me. I had a target to find. “I don’t need much sleep. I—”
He grabbed my arm. “You’re not leaving. Not while you’re upset, injured, and tired.”
My gaze narrowed. “I’m in perfect control.”
“You’ve had a big emotional upheaval, Lark. It could hit you again at any time.”
“I’m fine.” I wasn’t used to anyone worrying about me or bossing me around.
“You’ll sleep,” he ordered sharply. “And tomorrow morning, we’ll have breakfast, then we’ll see about hunting this killer.”
He spoke like a man used to getting his own way. “You’re not my father, Thorne.”
He shot me a hot look. “I know.”
Tingles erupted across my body. “You can’t order me around.”
“Sure I can,” he said cockily.
“Arrogant asshole.”
He pointed at me. “Just listen to reason for once.”
“Point that finger at me again and I’ll slice it off.”
I felt the air between us change, charge.
This. I latched onto it. Focusing on the anger was better than the hurt and pain, better than what was in that file.
I leaped at him.
He caught me. Damn him for being so strong. He rolled me in the damn blanket again like sausage. I tried to free my arms.
“You’re going to rest, Lark. You’ll sleep and we’ll talk in the morning.” He lifted me with ease. “I’d toss you over my shoulder, but I don’t want to hurt your wound.”
“Bastian.” I tried to free myself. “You’ll regret this.”
His low, sexy laugh surrounded me as he headed inside. “I don’t think I will.”
He strode straight to his bedroom. He dropped me on the bed and I bounced once on the mattress. I tore free of the blanket and glared up at him. “You can’t keep me here.”
He pulled something from his pocket, and I heard the clank of metal. Before I knew what was going on, he grabbed my arm, and I found myself handcuffed to the headboard.
“Really?” I yanked on the metal chain.
Bastian looked very satisfied. Then he reached up and started unbuttoning his shirt. My heart skittered. A second later, he slipped out of the garment, and I froze.
Oh, my God. He was perfect. His chest was all smooth muscle, with no chest hair. His abs were lean ridges and dips, and I didn’t know where to look first.
“You aren’t going anywhere.” He turned and strode into his walk-in closet. I caught a glimpse of it through the doorway and saw that—no surprise—it was enormous. No doubt it was packed to the gills with designer clothes.
“Asshole,” I yelled after him.
“You’re just working that out now?” he called back.
I sank back against the pillows.
He came back wearing a pair of silky, dark-blue lounge pants. They rode low on his hips and clung to his muscular thighs.
In an instant, I was wet between my legs. Dammit to hell.
He turned off the lights, then reached for me. When he started unbuttoning my jeans, I jerked.
“What the hell?”
“Hold still.” He stripped the denim down my legs. “You can’t sleep in your jeans.” He lay down beside me. “Sleep now.”
There was no way I was going to sleep. I smacked the pillow with my free hand, noisily. “That’s not happening.” He was too close and he smelled too good.
“It will.”