She shoved her ordeal with Ronan into a tight, crumpled ball in some unseen corner of her mind. “If it works, I won’t remember; therefore, I won’t be able to tell you.” For the first time, ever, the flirtatious lilt in her voice came natural. She stepped closer and tilted her head back to maintain eye contact.
Reaching for his mug, slower this time, he brushed his fingers against hers. A tight, warming sensation washed through her stomach and kicked the staccato beat of her heart into overdrive. He took possession of his cup and held her gaze as he pressed the mug to his lips.
“Well, aren’t you two cozy,” someone said from the front door.
She looked to the tall, good-looking man who stood glaring at her. He had his arms crossed over an impressive chest wrapped in gray plaid flannel. The highlights in his dark ear-length hair matched the indigo shade of his eyes. This must be Nolan.
Jodi sneered. “Someone forgot to take out the trash this morning.”
“Enough, Jodi!” Bastian snapped, his deep voice rumbling with his command.
Nolan ran a hand through his hair in a way Morgan had seen Bastian do a few times. Yes, definitely brothers. “Jodi, your text said you were having an emergency. What’s your problem?” He held up his hand. “If you say my brother, I’m leaving.”
“We don’t have enough staff to run the bar tonight. The band is coming in an hour, and two of the waitresses we scheduled for tonight have gone missing. I can’t get any of the standbys to come in, and now I apparently have to file a missing persons report. What do you want me to do?” Jodi crossed her arms under her breasts and plumped them up and almost over the neckline of her shirt. Nolan’s gaze never strayed from Jodi’s face. Morgan had to give him credit for that one.
Bastian looked Morgan over from head to toe. The sly grin lighting his face transformed him from very attractive to drop-dead gorgeous. Considering his genetics, poor word choice on her part. The smile exposed a dimple and created a twinkle in his midnight eyes that she found irresistible. The same calculating twinkle, no matter how appealing, made her take a wary step back.
“Don’t even think about it,” she said.
“You ever waitress?” Bastian asked.
In the background, she thought she heard Nolan mutter, “Dude, you’re an asshole.”
“Bastian! Don’t you dare.” Jodi seethed.
Bastian spoke as if his ex-lover didn’t exist. “You need something to do while I go in to the station. Nolan needs a waitress. Problem solved.”
Morgan swept a hand down the shirt she wore. His shirt. “In case you’ve forgotten, I don’t have any clothes.”
Heat filled his eyes and darkened the shade to nearly black. She thought her heart would bounce right out of her chest. He ran his gaze over her neck, down the open V of her shirt. He looked away and ran a hand through his hair just like Nolan had, further disheveling the strands in a very sexy version of bed head.
“Trust me; I haven’t forgotten. Rory is on it. I sent him out to pick you up a few things you’ll need. He should be back soon.”
Jodi’s mouth open and closed. Tiny fists uncurled and then curled at her sides, and Morgan thought she might have seen a petulant foot stomp. “You can’t just hire people. Nolan, tell him he can’t just hire people! That’s my job.”
Bastian shoved the mug at Morgan. She barely caught it before he turned his suddenly ice-cold gaze on Jodi. He wrapped his hand around her upper arm and pulled her around the couch to the front door. Jodi blinked up at him, speechless, feet scrambling to catch up with his long-legged stride. In one quick jerk, he opened the door Nolan had just closed, and set her outside the apartment.
“Go file that missing persons report.” The door slammed shut.
“You don’t want to do this,” Morgan said in a desperate rush. She looked to Nolan, hoping he was the more reasonable one of the two. “I’m a horrible people person. I distract easily, and I’m not good at remembering things.”
Nolan’s lips twitched as if he was fighting a smile. “Way to nail the interview. You’re distracted because your mental shields are nonexistent.”
“Shields?” she asked.
Bastian stopped at his brother’s side. Next to each other, they could have been twins. They were both tall, built, and had enough sex appeal to convert a nun. “With practice you can learn how to block out the ghosts. I’ll teach you.”
Nolan shook his head, and the brothers exchanged a look she couldn’t decipher. It wasn’t a friendly one, that was for sure.
“You sort this crap out. I’ve got shit to do and a pissed-off manager to coddle.” With that, Nolan turned and left.
“I don’t think your brother likes me.”
Bastian waved off her concern and jerked a thumb in the direction of the kitchen she’d seen off the side of the living room. “When was the last time you ate?”
She took a sip of coffee, had a second to imagine his lips in the same spot as hers, and followed him into the kitchen. “I don’t know. A few days ago, maybe, before someone started sending me dismembered body parts. After that I couldn’t seem to hold anything down.”
“I don’t blame you. Sit. I’ll fix you something. You like omelets?”
Morgan curled herself into one of the high-backed chairs at the table in the dining area. At least she thought it was a table under the stacks of yellowing newspapers. Knees to her chest, arms around her legs, she enjoyed the way Bastian moved around the messy, dish-strewn kitchen.
“Do you actually need to eat food to stay alive, or is it just a habit?”
The hand he had on the chrome refrigerator door froze. He turned and blinked at her.
“What?” she said defensively. “It’s a legitimate question. Does the blood you steal from hapless females sustain you, or do you need other sustenance as well. I’m curious.”
“I eat, drink, piss, and shit. Occasionally I jack off.”
The cup at her lips paused midtilt. She was glad she didn’t have anything in her mouth, because she might have spit it all over the place. “That was way too much information.”
His slow, sexy grin widened to show a set of slightly crooked teeth. One of his muscular shoulders lifted. “You were the one who was curious.”
She gave a short, disbelieving laugh. “Not about your bathroom habits.”
He bent and rummaged around in the open fridge. She tried not to stare at his ass, failed horribly. The thin gray athletic shorts clung to his tight backside. She angled her head for a better view.
“Have you ever lived with a man before?” Through the sounds of food items shifting around, drawers opening, and bottles clanking around, she had to strain to hear him.
Morgan tore her gaze from his assets seconds before he turned to look at her. “No. And who says I’m moving in?” She pulled her lip between her teeth.
“You got anywhere else to go?”
Her eyes narrowed. “No.”
“Then you’re with me.” Something in his eyes changed, became fierce. He set his bounty of ingredients onto the counter and closed the refrigerator with his foot. Walking over to the table, he stopped and grabbed the back of a chair opposite her. He leaned across the space separating them. “You asked me not to let him hurt you anymore. That’s what I plan on doing. He isn’t going to stop, Morgan. Ronan is tenacious and single-minded when it comes to what he wants. Right now, you’re what he wants.”
She hated the fear his words evoked. Even more, she hated how the thought of walking away from Bastian sent her heart racing. She didn’t know him, not really. “I’m paying you rent and for my share of the groceries.”
“I don’t want or need your money. You want to pull your weight around here? You can clean. I hate dishes, laundry, dusting, and sweeping. If it involves sponges, brooms, or mops, I despise it.”
“You don’t say? I hadn’t noticed.” She glanced around the kitchen. Only parts of the marbleized granite countertops were visible under piles of dirty plates and glasses.
&
nbsp; “Are you always this much of a smart-ass?”
“Maybe. But you should know I’m a horrible cook. You might want to tackle that if you want to survive.”
“How very domestic of us—you cleaning, me cooking,” he said and turned to make breakfast for dinner.
He chopped vegetables, scrambled eggs, and grated cheese like a pro. The silence gave her time to think. Had she just made a huge mistake in agreeing to let him take care of her? She didn’t like being dependent on anyone except herself. How was it possible to trust someone, to put your life in their hands when you didn’t know them? Then again, knowing someone didn’t mean they wouldn’t stab you in the back at the first opportunity.
Her high school friends had betrayed her.
Her adoptive parents had betrayed her.
The man she’d known as Dr. MacHallen had betrayed her.
Would Bastian betray her? At the thought, an ache spread from her stomach to encompass her chest. She replayed the tender way he had stroked her back. She remembered how he cupped the back of her head and pressed his nose into her hair. His chest had inflated against hers, and she knew he’d been pulling in her scent, much like she’d done with his.
Had everything this morning been lies? No. Yes. Maybe. She didn’t know. He obviously wasn’t faithful as a lover. But, he wasn’t offering her a sexual relationship, was he? Aside from the kiss and some heated looks, he hadn’t said he wanted more. He needed blood, and he took it during sex. She didn’t expect him to change because she’d stumbled into his life.
“Morgan?” Bastian asked, and by the tone of his voice, it wasn’t the first time he’d called her name.
“Huh?” she croaked, throat suddenly dry.
“Are you okay?”
She could barely hear him over the alarm bells blaring in her head. The anxiety sharpened each breath. Every lungful of air was like a knife, one she needed to run from.
She rose from the chair and stood on wobbly legs. “I’m just going to…” Pointing vaguely behind her, she gestured somewhere, anywhere away from him. How far could she get, dressed in nothing but a man’s shirt with no money and no shoes?
As if he knew she planned to bolt, he crossed the kitchen in three long strides. He grabbed her arm and urged her into a chair. “Sit.”
She sat and tried to push away the fear so she could think rationally. In the past, she’d ignored the foul taste in the back of her throat every time her parents, her friends, even Ronan had lied to her. She was smarter now. She’d learned deception had a certain flavor.
Bastian crouched before her until they were eye to eye. She searched his gaze and tried to prepare herself for his betrayal. She only needed to ask him two questions.
Three brisk knocks on the front door had Bastian’s gaze shifting from her to the living room. He lifted from his kneeling position, his eyes narrowed on the door. Tension filled the room. “I’m not expecting anyone.”
“Rory?”
He shook his head. “He wouldn’t knock.”
Bastian stalked across the room and looked through the peephole. His sigh was long, deep, and highly annoyed. The door swung open on his aggravated, “Gorman, what the hell do you want?”
“Man, I’m sorry to do this,” someone, whoever Gorman was, muttered in an apologetic voice.
Morgan rose from the table as three police officers dressed in wrinkle-free blues spilled into the apartment. Not again. Shit. They’d found out about her apartment, about the bodies. They were here for her. Her breath came in quick gasps.
A short, slightly bulbous guy stepped in front of Bastian with a sad look on his face. He never even glanced her way. None of the men did. She found out why a second later.
“Bastian Hale, you are under arrest for the murders of Madison Cox and Deanna Lane. You need to come with us.”
Chapter Ten
“Tell me, Mr. Hale, did you enjoy raping and killing those women? Did carving your name into their skin make you feel powerful?” Detective “Asshole” Roberts sneered at Bastian from across the metal interrogation table. Sitting beside the rat-eyed bastard was Roberts’s partner, a much more subdued asshole named James Jeffries. Jeffries at least had enough smarts not to look Bastian directly in the eyes.
They’d been going at this for over an hour. The too-hot, small, windowless room did its job better than intended. Sweat dotted Bastian’s forehead. The heat, the self-restraint on his magic ratcheted up an anxiety he had to force himself not to show. These two imbeciles were nothing compared to the psychopath he’d been raised by.
Ronan.
Guilt gnawed. Between them, pictures of two mutilated bodies littered the table. His name, HALE, carved into the once-smooth skin of the women’s stomachs—just one more image to haunt him when he closed his eyes. Bastian might not have killed them, but they’d died because of him.
He clenched his fists. His voice came out even and steady when all he wanted to do was shout. “It’s Detective Hale to you, Roberts. And for the last fucking time, I didn’t kill them.”
As if he hadn’t spoken, Roberts pressed closer. “You had a sexual relationship with both of them, though, didn’t you?”
Bastian set his cuffed hands on top of the table and used his body to intimidate. He straightened his broad shoulders and leaned across. “Would you like a list of women I’ve screwed? Would that make you feel powerful?” He slammed his palms against the table and sent the pictures scattering. Both men jumped back as if the restraint attaching Bastian’s ankle to his metal chair would snap. “Take off these cuffs and stop being an asshole.”
“Better watch that temper, Hale.” Roberts motioned to the two-way mirror where his captain, who also happened to be Roberts’s father, most likely watched. “Where were you this morning between the hours of four and nine?”
Bastian looked to the ceiling for patience. So they were going over this. Again. “I got home at three in the morning, where I spent the rest of my time in bed with a woman. Where were you? Jacking off to porn on your cell in the bathroom so your wife wouldn’t see?”
Roberts’s nostrils flared. The hand the detective had resting on the table tapped restlessly. “See, that’s where we disagree.”
Bastian let a slow smile curve his lips. “About you jacking off? Oh, I’m sorry, were you finger fucking your ass instead? My mistake.”
Roberts nodded to Jeffries. At the signal, the other man slid a knock-off tablet across the table until Bastian could see the screen. Roberts said, “I’ve got video surveillance of you dropping off two dead bodies on the steps of the station. Ballsy, I’ll admit, but damn stupid.”
Bastian watched the grainy video. He had to admit the man who exited the unmarked van with a body bag over his shoulder did look remarkably like him. Same height and build. Same facial structure. A dark baseball cap pulled low hid the perpetrator’s hair but didn’t hide the bright blue eyes. It wasn’t until the man in the video turned to retrieve a second corpse and smiled for the camera did he know who it was.
Fucking Ronan.
Bastian pushed the tablet to Jeffries and leaned back in his chair. “This is your only proof that I raped, killed, and mutilated two women? A grainy video of a man who looks like me? You fucking idiots. This entire thing reeks of a setup, which you would have known if you’d dug a little deeper. I was at home, and I have proof.”
Roberts bristled. When he spoke, saliva sprayed from his mouth and dotted the remaining photos between them. “Your proof is some skank you picked up in your brother’s bar? Not gonna fly. She’s a hot bitch, I’ll give you that, but I bet she’d say anything you told her to.”
Red flashed in front of Bastian’s vision, and he made his first mistake. He jerked his ankle against its cuff and wished the metal holding him in place would disappear. “Call her a skank or a bitch again”—his voice went what Rory would call scary low—“me and you are going to have problems.”
Roberts might have steeled his resolve, but Bastian saw the subtle swallowing,
the way the other man’s hand trembled. “Is that a threat?”
“I said a problem, not that I was going to rip off your head and shove it up your ass.” He angled his body to Jeffries. “My brother’s bar is wired from head to toe in HD. Check those feeds, and you let me know where I was between the hours of three and six, when I got home with my woman and my brothers, and stayed there until you dickheads came knocking on my door.”
Jeffries swallowed and jumped up from his chair, sending it skidding back a few feet in his haste. “I’m on it.”
“Sit,” Roberts barked.
The door to the interrogation room swung open, and Bastian drew in a welcomed breath of fresh air. Any longer and he was going to suffocate.
“This interview is over.” Detective Ramirez, one of the few men outside of Bastian’s brothers he considered a friend, strolled inside as if he were a giant instead of five feet six. He set an extra-large cup of steaming coffee in front of Bastian and went about unlocking the cuffs from his wrists and ankles. “Sorry about all this, man. Captain’s orders. None of us were cool with this shit, just so you know.”
Captain’s orders. Right. That old bastard, even more of an asshole than his son, had had it out for Bastian since he climbed the ranks seven years ago. He was probably afraid Bastian was after his job. He could keep that bullshit paperwork for himself. Bastian rubbed his chafed wrists and glared at Jeffries, who he noticed inched for the open door. Coward. He swung his gaze back to Ramirez and took a welcomed sip of coffee. Even though it tasted like shit, he kept drinking.
Ramirez scratched his black beard before running a hand over his bald head. “I already talked to your woman, and I got someone on picking up the videos from your brother’s place.”
His woman? Dread tightened his stomach, and he knew without even having to ask. “Tell me Morgan didn’t come to the station.” After he’d been cuffed, read his rights, and all but dragged from his apartment, he’d given Morgan specific orders not to leave his apartment for any reason.
“Uh…” Ramirez looked to his scuffed loafers. “I put her and your brothers in your office.”
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