They’d all had red ribbons tied on their wrists. The press had dubbed him the Red Ribbon Killer.
I flicked again, knots forming in my stomach. A family. My heart stopped. They’d had two kids who’d been killed, as well. They’d been on vacation at the beach.
The kids had barely been teenagers.
Bile rose. I surged up, the file slapping to the rug.
I raced to the powder room, dropped to my knees, and was violently sick in the toilet.
Sucking in air, I hung my head. I sensed Bastian behind me and a second later, his arms closed around me. I jerked.
“Shh, I’ve got you.” His big body wrapped around me, and he pushed my hair back from my face.
Then I did something I’d never done. I leaned into him and let him hold me.
My stomach contracted again. I leaned over the toilet and heaved again.
Ed. The man I’d idolized had been a monster. He’d killedkids. He’d done to families what had been done to mine.
Inside, I was screaming. The traumatized little girl was screaming.
Finally, I was done. My stomach was empty and I was wrung out. Numb.
Bastian lifted me off the tiles. He set me down at the vanity and poured a glass of water. “Rinse.”
I did and then he handed me a new toothbrush. Like a robot, I brushed my teeth, and heard the toilet flush behind me.
Lifting my head, I looked at myself in the mirror. My skin was sheet white, and my eyes huge, dark, and haunted.
Once again, he wrapped the blanket around me and lifted me. A flutter ignited in my belly. Feelings were doing their best to break through the numbness. I felt like I was encased in ice, but everything Bastian was doing was breaking through.
No one ever carried me. One time, I’d been shot, and I’d dragged myself three miles to get to safety.
My chest was tight. Like there was a ball of pain inside me, growing and twisting. I pressed my fist to my breastbone, trying to hold it together.
This time, he didn’t return to the couch. He carried me down a hallway and into a darkened bedroom. I knew instantly that it was his.
Like the rest of the penthouse, it was dark and stylish. The bed was enormous, with a glamorous, padded, black leather headboard and silky, black covers. The nightstands were glossy black wood and trimmed with bronze metal. A circular piece of artwork made of intricately twisted metal dominated the wall above the bed.
He set me down on the bed and cupped my cheeks. “Don’t hold it all in.”
I shook my head. I couldn’t let it loose.
“Yes. Let it out.” His tone was clipped and bossy. “If you keep it all inside you, you’ll only hurt yourself.”
“I can’t lose control,” I whispered. “A good assassin is always in control.”
Bastian sat beside me and pulled me onto his lap.
I breathed in the scent of him. The expensive cologne he favored. He smelled like sandalwood and spice. I’d found the exact scent: Clive Christian No. 1. I’d not been surprised todiscover it was one of the most expensive men’s fragrances available.
Slowly, I settled against his hard chest.
“Fuck Ed’s rules,” he said. “Here, you aren’t an assassin. You’re just Lark. You just learned that the man you cared about, a man you admired, is a serial killer.”
The numbness cracked.
“How could he!” Anger poured out of me. “My life was destroyed by a killer, and he did it to other families.Why?”
