Page 145 of Tempting Little Thief

I’m a rich girl through and through. I was born into money, and I’ll die with more of it. I have everything and the means for more. There isn’t a person in my world who wouldn’t jump at the chance to befriend me, to crawl into my inner circle, or be the very center of it.

People respect me, love me, and yes, some fear me. A few may want to secretly drive a knife through my back, but they wouldn’t dare do it, at least not yet anyway.

I have two of the best friends a girl could ask for, both of whom would literally die for me if it came down to it. A sister I love who, despite her many flaws, would stand beside meno matter what. A father who protects me at all costs, quite literally.

I have all these things people can only dream of.

A dark, fairy tale life full of glitter and glam. Gold and silver, diamonds and fucking pearls. Galas and art shows and musical theater, where I’m the future queen, my throne warm and waiting, my people supportive and loyal to a fault.

But beneath the smile and strong, assured words is a crack that runs deep down into the darkest part of my soul, the part Bastion Bishop bled into, filling the hole that hid there with his own brand of bad. Of good.

Of him.

He didn’t look at me and judge me or call me pathetic for feeling like a princess in a caged castle I dutifully pretended I was in charge of when, at the end of the day, it wasn’t true. Like everything else in my life, for as long as I can remember, the decisions that mattered didn’t come from me or the girls. They came from the men who latched our leashes into place.

If I was in charge of my life, I would have taken the hand he offered and pressed my body into his waiting one, melting into his warmth, while his entire focus remained solely on me and me alone.

Every single eye in the place would have been glued to him, desperate to know who the man of the moment was, curious beyond reason about the uninhibited power leaking from his very being, demanding their attention without their permission, but he wouldn’t spare them a single glance. He would have known in the back of his mind they were watching because he’s alert like that, but he wouldn’t have spared them a single second of his time, reserving it for me and me alone.

Always me.

He cooked for me, fought for me, learned how to freaking dance for me, and I couldn’t even give him five minutes to show me how quick of a learner he was. I bet he picked it up fast; I bet he had perfect form and unmatched rhythm.

Dance with me, baby …

A true, physical ache stirs in my chest as his rasped words replay in my head for the hundredth time. When he spoke them, I didn’t catch the hint of nerves or the tiny bit of shyness that was woven within them. He stood there strong with sharp, crystal-colored eyes and a small smile as he asked me to take his hand.

I almost did, my mind so overtaken by his closeness in the calm that comes with his presence alone that I almost forgot where I was. All that mattered was where I wanted to be, and that was in his arms.

What’s more disgusting is if I could go back in time and do the evening over, I’m not so sure I would have done much differently.

My father cannot get his hands on Bastian.

He’ll take him from me and I …

I what?

I don’t fucking know, that’s what!

Huffing, I kick off the bathroom wall, only to drop my shoulders against the other one.

I want to rage. To walk into enemy lines, all so I can fight with someone, stab them with the stupid blade Bastian didn’t come back for and watch them bleed all over the floor.

It would slice skin so easily now that I sharpened it.

Goddammit, I’m going fucking crazy and it’s all Bastian’s fault!

My dad has me on complete and total lockdown. I’m not allowed to leave the manor unless it’s to skip over to campus and that’s it. The Enterprise has been taken off the table for me, my own fucking creation, and I’m not even allowed there. He keeps telling everyone it’s a security measure, but it’s not.

It’s his arrogant asshole way of doing all he can to keep me away from the boy he doesn’t want me near, the boy who could never meet his impossible standards. Sure, okay, he still thinks I’m sneaking away to meet some assassin who’s going to snipe me in my sleep or something equally ridiculous, but hey, his wife was murdered in the room they shared, so I guess I can’t blame him. Not that he’ll admit it.

And then there’s the Enzo issue and the fact that there doesn’t seem to be one.

There has been no sign of Enzo whatsoever. Zero movement at his estate, no record of his plane returning to the States as my dad claimed, nothing. From what Bronx gathered, he’s still sitting tight in Costa Rica, drinking mimosas for breakfast with a bunch of bougie businessmen. Or mass murderers who dress like businessmen, it really could be either and the latter is more likely.

The point is, he’s not here, and my sister still is, and there hasn’t been a single hint of trouble he claimed was coming, so what the fuck?

My leg starts to bounce and I flip my hair one way, only to flip it the other before counting down from ten.

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