“I loved him too, Lark. It broke something in me to know that he was capable of this.”
My throat locked. It felt like claws were ripping my chest open. I sagged against him.
Bastian’s gaze was on me. After a beat, he eased back.
And I attacked.
I reared up, and rammed my tied hands into his handsome face.
He cursed. I got a leg free and rammed it up as best I could.
It didn’t hit where I was aiming for, but it slammed into his thigh. With a grunt, he rolled off the couch.
I scrambled up on the couch, standing on the cushions. I kicked at him.
He blocked my foot with his arm, but I jumped and kicked my other leg at his head.
It connected. Hard. He fell.
I crashed into the couch, bouncing on the cushions.
Then, there was a sickening crack, and I rolled to my knees.
Bastian was lying on the rug beside the fancy coffee table. Not moving.
“Bastian?” My heart lodged in my throat and my chest locked.
Leaping off the couch, I scrambled over to him, carefully avoiding the broken glass I’d smashed earlier. The sharp scent of spilled alcohol hit me, but my full focus was on Bastian.
There was blood on the side of his head. He’d hit the corner of the coffee table.
“No, no, no.” I knelt beside him, pressing my fingers to his neck.
A strong, steady pulse.
Relief poured through me. I pressed my palm to that pulse, savoring it, drawing it in. I wasn’t going to think about that, or the fact that I was supposed to want him dead.
I swallowed.
Fuck. Reaching out, I pulled a throw pillow off the couch and gently slid it under his head. I pushed some of that thick, dark hair back off his face. He was so still.
I drank in his hawkish features. He had such a force of personality that I realized I’d missed some details. Like his thick eyelashes, the small mole high on one cheekbone, the faded scar on the top of his lips.
I brushed my finger gently over the thin, white scar. Then I gently touched the graze and the bump on the side of his head.
“He’s not hurt badly,” I whispered to myself. “He’ll be fine.”
Rising, I went to the kitchen and quickly cut the zip ties with a knife. I rummaged around in the cabinets and found his first aid kit.
Heading back to the couch, I once again dodged the broken items and glass. Our fight had made a mess of his shiny penthouse.
He was killing people.
Bastian’s words echoed in my head. I closed my eyes, my hand clenching the first aid kit tight.
He was killing for fun.
My stomach revolted. Dropping the first aid kit, I rushed to the powder room. It was dark and moody like the rest of the penthouse. The walls were dark gray, a rectangular mirror glowed with a bronze light, and the vanity was veined marble.Ignoring the decor, I dropped to my knees in front of the toilet and was violently ill.
