Page 206 of Tempting Little Thief

Chapter 38

Rocklin

For the millionth time in a row, I wake from a dead sleep. My eyes fly open, and I hold perfectly still, unsure of what I heard if anything at all. I reach toward Bastian, prepared to shake him awake, but my hand hovers over an empty space, the spot he was in when I fell asleep now vacant.

A deep groan and muffled shout sound once more and I tense, jerking up in the bed.

Bastian …

I kick the comforters off and jump from the bed, tiptoeing across the thick plush carpet until I reach the black flooring, following the gurgling sounds as my heart beats double time.

A third mumble sounds and my head jerks left and I rush toward the closet, quietly easing it open as I peek inside the dark space. His bare feet come into view first, and I push the door open a little farther, frowning slightly when I spot him lying on the floor with nothing but a pillow, his chest rising and falling in rapid breaths.

Pausing there a moment, I watch him.

His body jerks violently in his sleep, his face contorting and thrashing from side to side, lip curling as his hands ball into fists over his chest before flattening on the floor beside him. His mouth moves, words coming out, but they’re so jumbled I can’t begin to guess what it is he says.

I go to him, lowering to my knees at his side and gently run my fingertips over the side of his face, he jerks at first and then his features settle as he turns his cheek into my palm.Slowly his breathing evens out, his hands unclenching, but it only lasts a moment. Suddenly his eyelids twitch, and then he lurches. I’m flipped to my back, a gun digging between my ribs in a second.

I clench my teeth together to hide the wince as I stare up at him and he glares down at me, lip curled into a sneer. Then he blinks and blinks again and throws himself back, crawling on the palms of his hands as he looks from the gun on the floor to me.

His mouth opens, but he says nothing and then he glares.

We stare at each other a moment, and suddenly, it makes sense why he would never be in my bed in the mornings after he would stay the night. Why he wouldn’t share a bed at the hotel.

Bastian has nightmares. Of course he does.

He was beaten by his father his entire life, alongside his sister, as his mother watched on, doing nothing. The one man on the planet he should have been able to trust, the one who was supposed to love him unconditionally, who he was supposed to love in return, he killed instead.

He was barely fifteen then and his problems weren’t solved with the bullet—or two—he put in his head because then he was forced to make a choice, yanking himself away from the only person who ever did love him.

Slowly, I lean forward, planting my palms on the floor and working my way to him. I grip his hand in mine and stand. Reluctantly, he rises with me, allowing me to drag him back to the bed he tucked me into last night, and together, we dip under the covers. I wrap myself around him and he does the same, burying his nose in my hair.

A few moments pass, and he takes a heavy inhale. It’s not long after that his chest rises and falls with full, deep breaths, and I know he’s fallen back asleep, but I don’t. I keep stroking down his bare stomach. Every handful of minutes or so, he jerks, but I just keep touching him at the same steady pace and eventually, just as the sun begins to rise outside the slightly open curtains, his body relaxes completely.

I lie there, replaying the last few months in an attempt to avoid the last few days, but I can’t. I’m half tempted to crawl out of this bed and make my way back to Greyson Manor before he does, so I can speak to my father and the others alone. The only thing that’s stopping me is the utter chaos that would follow if Bastian blew up and ran in there half-cocked. Or all the way cocked, if that’s even a thing, because I’m not sure he does anything half-assed. My disappearing on him to run home definitely wouldn’t be the situation where that happened.

The sound of the door opening catches my attention, and when Bastian doesn’t stir in the slightest, I slip off the bed and out into the hall.

From the overlook at the top of the stairs, I spot Bastian’s friend Hayze coming out of a large steel door with one of those giant wheel-style locks dead center. He doesn’t close it, rather he leaves it hanging half-open as he stalks off in the opposite direction.

I make my way down, looking to where he disappeared before slipping through the door. No more than five steps down, it opens into a narrow walkway, creepy yellow-tinted lighting flickering along the path, almost as if it was intended to add to the serial killer vibe the place gives off.

It’s freezing in here and I only need one guess as to why. My dad’s “work” basement is the same.

I carry myself off the last step and move the next few feet. From here, I can see four doors in total, So, when I ease the first one open, I expect to see a narrow space, but instead, find a wide open one, but that’s not the shocking part.

Nor is it the giant chains hanging from steel bolted rings on the ceiling, three sets in total, all perfect distance from one another.

It’s not even the thick smears of blood on the one farthest from me, the poor attempt to hide whatever happened here revealing it’s not aged blood, but on the fresher spilled side.

No … it’s the long wooden box at the edge of it with the lid off. Inside, bunched up, there are red-stained sheets sticking out that garner my full attention.

Suddenly I wish I had shoes on as I inch my way closer, crossing my arms over my chest as the chill gets more severe within the new set of walls. I glance at the small splatters of blood trailing from the first set of chains to the second, noting the softball-sized stain beneath the second set, but I keep moving toward the end, toward the home-crafted coffin that can only have one thing inside it.

I’m three feet from it when a golden gleam catches my eye, and I turn my head to see what it is.

I would recognize the custom shade of gold anywhere.

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