Chapter 15
LARK
Holy. Cow.
My body was still humming as Bastian pulled away.
I watched him grab his cellphone. His body was taut, his face set in hard lines and… My gaze dropped. He had a hell of an impressive erection filling out the front of the silky, navy-blue pants.
I licked my lips and stared at the ceiling. I could still taste him on my lips. I wasn’t sure I could move.
That had been…an education.
I’d found sex pleasant enough, if not worth all the fuss. An orgasm had always been a pleasurable pop of release. I’d made myself come in various ways, and always did a better job than my few sexual encounters.
What Bastian had just done to me made everything else pale in comparison.
I sat up, smoothing the shirt down to cover my thighs. I wasn’t sure I could walk yet.
His gaze sliced my way and his face warmed.
“Just tell me, Theo.” He paused, a groove forming in his brow. “Okay. Go on.” Then he stiffened. “You’re fucking kidding me.”
All the champagne fizz inside me started to fade. I gripped the edge of the counter.
Bastian cursed again. “All right. Thanks.” He strode to the living area and snatched up the remote control off the coffee table. He aimed it at the sleek television on the wall.
As he flicked through the channels, I hopped off the island and tested my legs. They held. I wasn’t going to focus on the fact that my inner thighs were sticky.
“What’s wrong?” I walked toward him.
He’d found a local news channel. “This is what’s wrong.”
An attractive blonde presenter filled the screen. Her hair was in a perfect twist, and she wore bright-red lipstick.
“In a horrific turn of events, Las Vegas has become the latest city to be hit by the notorious Red Ribbon Killer.”
I gasped, staring at the screen. It showed police vehicles and flashing lights filling a suburban street. My stomach did a crazy somersault, and I pressed a palm to it. Then I took note of the nondescript apartment building in the background.
“It can’t be.”
Bastian made a sound. “It’s him. Ed’s partner. He’s here in Las Vegas.”
I shook my head. “Not that. Bastian, that apartment building…” I pointed at the screen. “That’s where I’ve been staying.”
His gaze narrowed. “That can’t be a coincidence.”
I swallowed. No, it couldn’t be. I didn’t believe in coincidences.
“The police aren’t releasing the names of the victims until their families have been notified,” the news anchor continued. “But we have reports that it’s a young couple.”
“Jesus,” I murmured.
A hand pressed to my back, and then Bastian curled me to his front. I pressed my cheek to his bare chest and held on.
“Those poor people are dead because they were living near me.”
“This isn’t your fault.”
I looked up. “People are dead, Bastian. We both know he had to have been at that apartment complex looking for me. What other reason is there?”
A muscle ticked in his jaw.
“I need to go there.” I stepped back. “I need to see what I can find out.”
“No.” His voice was clipped. “I’ll go.”
I stared at him. “Excuse me?”
“It’s too dangerous for you.”
“Bastian, I’m an assassin. A really good one.”
“I know that and I don’t give a fuck. I’m keeping you safe.”
Strange, fluttery feelings exploded in my belly. Something I wasn’t familiar with at all.
“I’m coming. You’re crazy if you think that what, I’ll sit around here like some fucking damsel? Maybe wring my hands? Flutter my eyelashes?”
He scowled at me.
Swiveling, I headed for the bedroom to find some clothes. “Don’t worry, I’ll let you come with me.”
“Lark.” His voice was a low growl.
In Bastian’s enormous closet, I pulled on my jeans.
Ugh, they had some blood on them, but I could cover that with a shirt.
I unbuttoned his white shirt and found one of his black T-shirts on a shelf.
I slipped it on, then tied it in a knot at my waist. It would do.
I wished I had a bra, but mine was covered in blood.
Thankfully, having smaller boobs worked in my favor.
He stomped in, anger throbbing off him. I stalked past him.
Back in the living room, I grabbed my knives and strapped them on.
Bastian returned, dressed now.
I stopped to stare at him.
“What?” he said.
“You’re not wearing a suit.”
“I figured that would attract too much attention at a crime scene.”
The guy was delusional. Bastian Thorne in dark jeans and a blue cashmere sweater that clung to his muscular chest would totally get attention.
I let my gaze run over him. This man had just had his hands and mouth on me.
Don’t get used to it, Lark. Don’t get attached.
I wasn’t that stupid.
“Ready?” I needed to focus on whoever the hell was the second Red Ribbon Killer. The psychopath who was trying to keep Ed’s sick legacy alive.
Because I planned to stop him.
Bastian gave a reluctant shrug. He held up a brown suede jacket. “This is for you. It’s too small for me. I’ve been meaning to have my personal shopper return it.”
Of course he had a personal shopper. I slid my arms into the jacket. It was only a little too big, and boy, it was nice. Nicer than most of my own wardrobe.
I watched Bastian pull on a black leather jacket. “Can I drive one of your fancy cars?”
He arched a brow. “No.” Then his brow creased. “Stay here. Let me deal with this.”
“No, I’m coming.”
The groove in his brow deepened. “Fine. I need to stop by the security office and get some things first. Let’s go.”
Multiple police cars lined the street outside of my apartment building, along with a big crowd of onlookers.
I scanned the crowd. Fear and worry filled many faces, but also a lot of morbid curiosity.
I wondered what it was like to have no intimate knowledge of death. That you were so far removed from it that it made you curious and excited, rather than sick.
“Let’s go around the back,” I said.
Bastian followed me, a small, black backpack slung over one shoulder.
We’d stopped at the fancy security office in the lower levels of the Avernus and I’d really wanted to take a good look around.
I’d waited while he’d disappeared into a room and came back with the backpack. I was curious to know what was inside.
We circled around the back of the complex. There was a uniformed cop standing by the back gate. I tugged Bastian around the corner of the fence and out of sight of the cop. I heard the squawk of a radio.
“Officer Ramirez, here.” The cop’s voice drifted back to us. He continued talking for a few seconds.
“We’ll have to go over the fence,” I murmured.
Bastian didn’t say anything, just gripped my waist and lifted me. I peered over the fence, didn’t see anyone, and climbed over. A second later, Bastian scaled the fence with an easy, practiced twist of his body.
We crossed the courtyard, where weeds were valiantly trying to grow through the cracks in the concrete. I saw Bastian eye the place, assessing.
“Sorry it’s not up to your lofty standards,” I said.
“I grew up on the streets. Once, this would’ve been a palace.”
I jolted. I knew a little of his history, but not the details. “You lived on the streets?”
Bastian being homeless and on the streets did not compute.
“I never had a home, little bird. I was abandoned at birth, went through the foster system, and eventually ran away. I figured I was better off on my own. It taught me to survive.”
My heart beat hard in my chest. That could’ve been me. If not for Ed.
Hell. That ugly, complicated mix of emotions hit me hard.
I focused on the apartment building ahead. That was all I needed to think about right now.
As I expected, there was a uniformed cop stationed at the rear door.
“Follow my lead.” I set my shoulders and fell into character as we approached.
“Sorry, folks.” The officer held up a hand. “This is a crime scene.”
“I live here.” I shot him a tremulous smile, trying to look small and nervous.
His name badge said Croft. “It’s so terrible, what happened.
” I swallowed audibly. “I live here. Apartment Fourteen.” I clutched my throat.
“It could have been me.” I added some nervous fluttering of my hands. “People were really killed?”
The officer’s face softened a little. “Yeah, they were.”
“So terrible,” I whispered. “Thank you. For the work you do. For taking care of this terrible situation.”
The cop straightened and nodded. “Thank you, ma’am.”
“Um, I need to grab some things so I can stay with my brother tonight.” I jerked a thumb at Bastian. “Officer Ramirez said to find Officer Croft, that he could let me up if I was quick and didn’t go near the crime scene. Is that you?”
Officer Croft frowned. “Yes.”
“Do you need to radio Officer Ramirez? We can wait. I do promise to be quick. I need some clothes and my medication. I’ve got asthma.” I let out a little wheeze. “I don’t think I can live here again. Knowing what happened.” I turned to Bastian and leaned into him.
Croft eyed me, then waved at the door. “Go on up. You need to be quick and go straight to your apartment.”
I shot him a shy smile. “Thank you.”
Bastian and I moved into the stairwell, our footsteps echoing.
“You are good, little bird.”
“I know.”
Just as we reached my floor, a group of crime scene technicians in windbreakers headed down, carrying boxes and bags. We stood against the wall to let them pass.
We continued up to my floor. As we entered the hallway, I saw one last CSI walking out of an apartment ahead, talking to the uniform at the door.
I jerked to a stop.
“Lark?” Bastian shifted closer.
“God.” I pressed my palm to my stomach, staring at the door.
His hand gripped the back of my neck. “What is it?”
“It was them. The couple who lived across from me. They were nice.” I couldn’t believe it. “They tried to be friendly. The woman, Tawnee, wanted to make me freaking cookies. I could tell they were nice.”
“Hey, stop.” He tilted my face up.
“I was mean to them. Rude and cold. I couldn’t let them get close, couldn’t let them take too much notice of me.”
“This isn’t on you.”
I just blinked, feeling sick.
“It’s not your fault,” he said.
I nodded, but it felt different. No matter what Bastian said, this felt like my fault. He urged me on, and we headed down the hall. The uniformed cop was distracted by his conversation on the radio.
He turned away from us, and I glanced at Bastian.
“Now,” I whispered.
Silently, we ducked under the yellow tape.
The living room of the couple’s apartment was cute.
The layout was a mirror image to my place, but that’s where any similarity ended.
Their place was filled with life and color.
It was homey. There were cheery potted plants, framed paintings done in pastel colors.
There were also lots of framed photos of them on the bookcase, the side table.
Sludge settled in my chest. They were dead. Because they were unlucky enough for me to stay next door to them.
I quickly moved down the short hallway, Bastian right behind me.
The familiar scent of blood hit my nostrils.
I stopped at the bedroom door. “God,” I whispered.
Their bodies had been removed from the scene, but there was lots of evidence that the crime had taken place. The crime scene technicians had left behind black powder everywhere they’d dusted for fingerprints.
There was also blood. So much blood. It soaked the bed, sprayed the walls. My gaze locked on a small, bloody handprint on the wall. My guess was, the woman, Tawnee, had tried to escape.
“Fuck me,” Bastian muttered. He took my hand.
I swallowed hard. Then I turned and froze.
He followed my gaze and cursed violently.
Words were scrawled on the wall, written in blood.
You’re next.
Below it was a crude drawing of a bird.
There was a distinctive little tuft on its head.
A lark.