Page 189 of Tempting Little Thief

My brows pull, unease weaving up my spine. “Understand what?”

“What happens to people who touch or dare to fuck with what’s mine.”

We stare at each other for a long minute, and while his words are clear, the meaning behind them is lost on me, but then I hear my phone ring in the room somewhere and reality slams back into me.

“Oh my god.” I scurry away, eyes flicking around as I search for where the sound is coming from, panic forming a knot in my throat.

Please be good news, please be good news.

I freeze as it rings again, looking to Bass, who pulls it from his pocket and holds it out with a sharp glare. My sister’s name flashes across the screen and my breathing grows short as I flash back to the call that came the day my mother died.

My twin, who I was separated from for the first time in my life, called to tell me our mother was dead and that she was all alone when she found the body.

My eyes burn, clouding over, but still, Bass holds my cell hostage.

“Bastian, I need to answer. It could be about what happened—”

“It’s not,” he cuts me off.

My mouth opens but closes quickly. “How do you know what I was going to say?”

“Lucky guess.”

My eyes narrow, and his words from moments ago come back.

He said they had to know, that they had to understand, not that they need to or will.

Had.Past tense.

No. No.

He wouldn’t … I mean, he couldn’t … could he?

My eyes fall to the new shoes and jeans, to the gleaming diamond-encrusted watch around his wrist and my pulse pounds wildly in my ears.

I stare at him in horror, but his expression remains as unreadable as ever.

“Bastian … what did you do?”

His gaze hardens, but I can see beyond the anger, down deeper to the fractured soul inside, the one that speaks to mine. He says nothing, but when my phone rings again, this time, he answers, the device held between us as he puts it on speaker.

I can’t find my voice, but I don’t have to. The person on the line speaks for me.

“Sweetheart,” my dad’s cautious tone drawls.

My knees shake and I pull in a shuddered breath. Bastian’s eyes tighten even more, never leaving mine, his fingers on the phone turning white because he’s clutching it so hard.

“Dad?” I breathe.

“Are you okay?” he fires off, but his tone holds a gentle edge.

I nod, even though he can’t see me, quickly swallowing and responding with a rasped, “Yes, I’m okay. Are you?” The question leaves me in the lowest of murmurs and for a moment, I wonder if he can even hear. I want to say I’m not sure why I fear that answer, but staring into Bastian’s eyes, I’m not so sure that’s true.

“Rocklin, I need you to tell me where you are,” he says instead.

Bastian’s lips press into a firm line, but he says nothing, demands nothing, and he doesn’t hang up the line, not even as my father adds, “You’re not safe. Tell me where you are.”

My mouth opens and then closes and then it does the same thing again because, on the one hand, I want to tell him where I am, if only for peace of mind and because he’s my father and he asked. I always do as I’m told. I have to.

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