Bastian GP Page 10

  Antonia looked at her. “That I thought he started smoking because he smelled like a matchstick. I told him it was a stupid habit and asked if he was suicidal.”

  Smoking was not suicidal. It was just careless. Ophelia came up behind Bastian. His scent surrounded her like it had been waiting for her. “And Tiny is…?”

  “Quentin Segal. We call him Tiny. He likes having a street name.” Her chuckle was full of derision. “I think he gave it to himself.”

  Ophelia tried not to snort. The only street Tiny knew was the one his chauffeur dropped him off on at the fancy private school primes went to. “So, Tiny, has been dabbling. His parents set him up?”

  “Possibly,” Bastian replied, and he spoke to Antonia. “Were the Segals gone as much as your parents?”

  Antonia shook her head. “No. Well, sort of.” Her gaze fell, and her lower lip quivered. “Not like Mother and Father. I was…a little envious of him.”

  Bastian’s lips flattened, and he nodded. “I understand. Trust me. We’ll do what we can to help him.”

  A sob ripped from the girl and she threw herself into Bastian’s arms. Ophelia recoiled and backed away. Her anxiety faded as she watched the pair.

  Bastian held Antonia and promised to do what he could to help her friend. The girl was terrified for this Tiny but confident Bastian would help. She likely wouldn’t have told him otherwise.

  Again, it was clear how much Bastian truly cared for Antonia. Like a father, or at least the one Ophelia had wished for when she was Antonia’s age. Like how the guys she worked with would be with their children when the day came.

  Antonia pulled away and wiped her face. “You’ll come back, though. Right?”

  “Of course. I’ll be back by dawn.”

  “You can send me a text. Do you have the number of the phone they gave me?”

  A reassuring smile flitted over Bastian’s face as he nodded. “You have ways to spend your time?”

  The girl’s expression lightened. “Oh yeah. There are a ton of movies and games. And books that are actually interesting. Not like what Mother…” Tears flooded her eyes and her face crumpled. “Why’d she hate me? Why’d they both hate me?”

  Oh hell. Ophelia wanted to crawl out of her skin and never see it again. She backed to the door.

  Am I so hard to love? Why wasn’t I enough?

  The same thoughts had haunted her each time Nadair had come home smelling like another female. Her throat tightened until drawing in a full breath of air strained her neck muscles. Antonia’s despair haunted her. It summoned memories best left buried. Her chest burned. Air. She needed air.

  She had to get out of here.

  Stumbling out the door, she turned left. Or was it right? Head tucked down, chin to her chest, she wove down the hall.

  “Hey, Ophelia. Are you—”

  “Yep. Fine.” Ophelia didn’t know who spoke. One of the other females sent to babysit Antonia for the day? Fyra seemed to volunteer for those duties. The extroverted demon liked to be around people.

  A wave of heat and sweet-smelling brimstone wafted over her. Yep, definitely Fyra.

  The farther away from Antonia and her teenage angst Ophelia got, the better she felt. Until Bastian’s patient presence behind her put her back on guard.

  She wanted to rub her throbbing temples so badly. But she tucked her hands into her weapons belt and kept walking to the garage bay. “Ready?”

  Neither of them had been to the Segals. Today was a driving day. A day to be enclosed in a small space with Bastian. Perfect.

  “Ophelia.”

  “We’re wasting moonlight.” She raced for the garage bay doors.

  “You excel at hiding your true feelings. But they’re making you waste away.”

  She stopped, her palm flat on the solid metal door. “It’s none of your business.”

  “Perhaps. What happened back there?”

  Just like with Antonia, he knew what to say to keep her from tearing him a new orifice. And he used the tone of voice that made her want to spill her deepest, darkest, ugliest emotions. “I don’t care to see someone’s weakness.” Not when it matched her own.

  Bastian laughed softly. “I’d like to say a bout of crying and seeking comfort isn’t a weakness, but I fear that in Antonia’s case, her parents’ callous treatment of the worth of her life is going to be her fragile spot.”

  “Trust me. It will.” Why had she said that?

  She pushed open the door and slipped inside. More talk on this subject and she’d be steeped in her worst nightmare: bawling on Bastian’s shoulder, lamenting about her shitty life.

  He followed. “What can I do for her?”

  Choosing a set of keys, she went for a black compact sedan. She hated having to take a running leap into some of the SUVs they had. But really, she was stalling and she knew it.

  Again, Bastian had said one of the only things that wouldn’t put her walls back up.

  “Don’t betray her trust,” she said.

  “You mean, I shouldn’t tell her that I’ll be back by dawn when we might run into trouble?” His tone was grave. He was regretting his choice of words.

  Yes, in her line of work, they may not return. It was the hazard of the job. But that wasn’t what she’d meant.

  “Don’t take advantage of her.” As simple as that, yet so hard for some not to do.

  Bastian shook his head. “I have no need for her money. If I could go back to the way I grew up, I would.” He gave her a wry smile. “But I think it’d destroy Antonia.”

  Her lips twitched. Moving to the boondocks where wifi didn’t reach? That would be hard for the girl. But like before, that wasn’t what she’d meant.

  “Don’t take advantage of her innocence, or her need to feel loved. Or her body.” There. She’d said it.

  The look of horrific disgust that hit Bastian’s face was instant. “I would never.” He gave his head a shake as if to banish the thought. “Never.”

  “Then you’re solid.” Ophelia spun on her boot. The car they’d take was at the end of the line.

  “Is that…?”

  Her shoulders went rigid. Hellfire. Why had she said a damn word?

  Bastian didn’t run in front of her and stop her from getting into the car. He didn’t grab her by the shoulder and spin her around. He didn’t rush to cut her off. All he said was “I’m sorry, Ophelia. What happened to you was wrong. Deplorable.”

  “Why do you think— Never mind. Yes. It was.” Was it so terrible that someone knew she’d been traumatized? After all, how could she stay silent when another innocent young girl needed her help?

  Except Antonia didn’t need protection from Bastian.

  Then why had Ophelia let so much of her secret out?

  Shouldn’t there be like a huge weight off her chest? A valve of relief that was cranked open?

  Nope. Still felt like the same fucked-up Ophelia. Only now she’d get that dreadful pity from Bastian. The same look her own household staff had shot her way growing up. The murmurs of sympathy from them as her parents let their “friend” visit her repeatedly. And after the—

  The burn of tears behind her eyes spurred her into action.

  She might have let one part of her nasty past out, but she wasn’t going to revisit the worst of it.

  She climbed into the car and punched the garage door opener. The engine fired into a steady purr by the time Bastian slid in on the other side.

  He didn’t say anything. And she didn’t look at him.

  “I appreciate any insight into Antonia you could give me. It’s important to me that she doesn’t turn out like her parents.”

  Ophelia tightened her grip on the wheel and stomped on the gas pedal. “Or like me?”

  “I’d be proud of her if she was as strong as you. But I will admit that I’d rather she learned to share her feelings and be comfortable around others.”

  And I’m not? What do you mean by
that? Either of those replies would be empty. She knew she couldn’t tolerate being around others for long.

  “You’re honest to a fault.” She kept her eyes on the road as the tires crunched over snow that had melted during the day only to freeze once the sun dropped below the horizon.

  “Deception isn’t always the better choice.”

  “Touché.”

  “I didn’t say that to make a point, Ophelia. I’ve been around you enough to know that the choices you make aren’t random, nor are they made to keep others in the dark for your own perverse thrill. You have reasons.”

  She did. But it hadn’t made the outcome any better. Perhaps it had kept it from being worse and that was enough for her.

  ***

  Bastian stared out the window. He wasn’t often the passenger. The car he’d driven the Gastons around in had been much like this one.

  What was Master Gaston up to? In a way, Bastian wished the male would find a way to get himself ashed, but at the same time, he didn’t want more emotional trauma for Antonia. Yet as long as her father roamed, Bastian would always have apprehensions about Antonia’s safety.

  The girl’s presence was throwing Ophelia off. By saying so little, she spoke volumes. Her past had mirrored Antonia’s to a point, only Bastian suspected there’d been no well-meaning father figure to jump in and save the day.

  Ophelia was twice his age, but he guessed she’d been as young as Antonia. He also guessed from her behavior that her abuse had been sexual.

  He worked his clenching jaw before he could puncture skin with his fangs. The passive male in him would love to turn aggressive and wrap his fingers around the throat of the guilty party and squeeze until he’d separated the head from the worthless body.

  Then he’d pour lighter fluid on the remains and light a match. Once every piece of ash blew away, then he’d leave.

  But he would be surprised if Ophelia hadn’t done exactly that. Perhaps not until her adult years, but she wasn’t the type to stand by while her abuser hurt another.

  Her revelation explained a lot about her relationships. About the ways she kept her partners at a distance. A form of sexual pleasure other couples used to bond together in passion, she used to keep from having to deal with any messy emotions that might develop, or to prove her strength of mind and body. She’d tolerated a manipulative male to meet her sexual needs while providing the perfect barrier to other males.

  She probably hadn’t realized she’d trusted Nadair—to an extent. And the seedy male he was, he’d taken advantage of her.

  Bastard.

  She didn’t drive through Freemont but took the back roads to the outskirts that hid the elaborate homes of the wealthy. He always wondered if the citizens of Freemont ever questioned the number of manors and grand estates in and around Freemont, but they weren’t all claimed by vampires.

  It didn’t matter the species; the rich liked their privacy.

  The roads were well maintained. Snow was piled neatly along the sides and free of drifts. The humans came through and cleared paths through the snow, then his kind went out at night and cleaned them better by making it safe for two vehicles to actually pass each other without getting stuck in the buildup on the side.

  He sensed she was done talking about herself. “What’s our plan with the Segals?”

  “We’ll start with knocking and go from there.”

  Okay. In other words, follow her lead like he always did.

  She pulled into the circular drive. The Segal manor was a modern structure that lacked the size of its neighbors but was still large by middle-class standards. From its square rooflines and plain angles, he’d guess it had been recently built, in his lifetime. According to Antonia, they only had one lower level, but they made up the square footage aboveground with a sprawling first floor. She’d used the term “new money” with Tiny. His family had built their wealth after the Second World War and had gritted through the troubled financial waters since.

  No wonder Quentin had insecurity issues. The primes wouldn’t allow the Segals to forget their original place in their society.

  Ophelia parked, and they got out. He waited for her to approach the house first. He was not afraid, apprehensive maybe, but he sensed he’d cross the line to her bad side if he charged to the simple, unadorned door first. This was her expertise. Answering the door was his, but that wasn’t his place today.

  Ophelia rang the bell. “Do you think they have surveillance?”

  “It’d be the same as the Gastons. The butler may be able to view the footage, if he had a phone.”

  If they had a butler. Hard times were settling over many prime families. Had the Segals upgraded with the necessity?

  The door opened to a female he guessed to be younger than he was. Her gaze was inquisitive when it settled on Ophelia but sparked with interest when it lifted to him.

  “May I help you?” Her cultured voice was appropriate for her station. Had he made it look that simple when he answered for guests? This female had likely been born into a serving family while he’d had to pretend within an inch of his life.

  Ophelia’s tiny body vibrated with dammed hostility. Was she always like this when she called on primes?

  “I need to talk to the master and madam.” An order. Not a request.

  “And who may I ask is—”

  “You may not.”

  The female started at Ophelia’s abrupt statement. She covered her disquiet with a serene smile. “But I must insist. Master Segal may not see you otherwise, and I would hate for you to be disappointed.”

  Ever the diplomat. It was as much a servant’s job to moderate as it was to wait on their employers.

  Bastian interjected before Ophelia could tell the female off. “Please let them know that a friend of Antonia Gaston’s would like to talk to them.”

  A beat of relief passed through her face, and she dipped her head. “You must come in out of the cold while I inform Master Segal you’re here.”

  They stepped in and the door was shut behind them with a squeak, unlike the arched and heavy wooden doors of the older manors. Bastian was prepared to stand in the foyer, soaking in the calming floral scent that permeated the area. Was the fragrance part of the house or did it emanate from the maid? She smiled at him, but it wavered as she scanned his weapons. She sucked in her lower lip at Ophelia’s impressive stash. “I-If you will follow me.”

  She led them to a small study off the entryway. He entered after Ophelia and the vanilla-lavender smell faded. The maid must dose herself in addition to her natural scent.

  He roamed the room. A common receiving parlor, but like the rest of the manor it was plain. The door was a hollow-core interior door. Bastian rarely found those in prime manors. Wooden blinds covered the windows and matched the oak trim. There was no furniture aside from a settee and a few chairs, no books. Everything was done in earth tones that paired well with the area rug covering the hardwood flooring. This place had little use other than to store guests near the exit in case they were as unwanted as suspected.

  “Aren’t you the gallant one to come to her aid,” Ophelia said.

  He spun at her snide tone. “I thought I was helping you get to Master Segal, not helping her.”

  “Oh, you were helping her.”

  What was this about? Drifting closer to her, he kept his hands behind his back. “I’m not sure what you thought my intentions were, but Antonia is my first concern because she’s a child and can’t take care of herself. My second concern is you. Because I care about you, though you can take care of yourself.”

  Ophelia gave him a sharp look. “We don’t even know each other.”

  “Don’t we?” He kept his voice too low for any eavesdroppers to overhear. “I know you better than an attractive young maid I’ve never met.”

  Anger flared in her gaze and he knew where he’d gone wrong.

  “My apologies. I meant attractive in general. She does not
interest me, nor would I disrespect you by acting on any feelings she might stir. Though I doubt I’ll meet another who stirs me quite like you.”

  He wanted to stroke her cheek, to feel her soft skin slide under his fingertips. But the tension coiled in her would earn him stubs for fingers if he tried.

  “Such pretty words,” she said, but her voice wavered.

  “You deserve them.”

  She jerked as if slapped. “We’re working,” she hissed.

  He leaned close and dropped his tone further. “Then do try to rein in your jealousy.”

  Her nostrils flared as she sucked in a breath. He chuckled, then realized too late it could come across as trifling with her. He’d meant to tease her, but she’d been more than teased and taunted. She didn’t take words lightly.

  “Ophelia—”

  The maid appeared in the doorway and ushered a familiar couple in.

  The madam eyed them shrewdly. Her face was taut, her eyes bleak. “Do you have word of Quentin?”

  The maid disappeared, swinging the door closed. It didn’t click shut.

  “Excuse me?” he asked. He’d meant to wait for Ophelia’s cue, but what about Tiny?

  Master Segal pushed forward. “Quentin. You said you were here on Antonia’s behalf. Is she missing as well?”

  As well? Ophelia exchanged a look with Bastian before she asked, “How long has Quentin been missing?” She stepped around and clicked the door shut.

  Madame Segal pressed shaky hands against her forehead. “We went out last night and he was gone. It was past curfew, but we waited. He’s—he was gone all day.”

  A sixteen-year-old gone all night and day wasn’t a good sign, but it didn’t always mean tragedy.

  Master Segal stepped back. “Wait. You aren’t Antonia’s parents.”

  Would her parents have ever made the effort to search for her if she’d been missing? Technically she was missing, but her father wouldn’t advertise the fact. It’d make him look incompetent.

  Ophelia glanced at him to answer. She must think he’d have better luck mollifying the Segals. Their concern was genuine enough. Unless the boy ran to save himself, but if he spoke the way Antonia had said, that was unlikely.