Page 28 of Bound By the Sleeper’s Harp

We set off, entering through the front doors and taking the elevator to the sixth floor. I shared this floor with Peter, who was across the hall. I couldn’t help but wonder, was he the intended target, and my apartment merely collateral? Or was my apartment the target all along, and poor Peter had gotten in the way?

When the elevator doors opened, the landing was swarming with activity. I expected to see a bunch of cops in uniform, but most of them were dressed in polos and slacks, business casual, all wearing lanyards and badges. A male stepped forward, a WBI badge clipped to his pants. “Bastian, there you are. I assume you’re Vivian Mora’s roommate?” I hesitated then nodded. He’d probably gotten her name from the rental agreement. His eyes flicked to Bastian. “You’d better show her into the apartment, but—” He turned back to me. “Don’t touch anything yet. WBI is working on fingerprints.”

“Uhm… Why is WBI involved in a simple break-in?” I managed to ask. Bastian tensed beside me.

“The body found across the hall had⁠—”

“She doesn’t need the details, Christian.”

“Oh, I think I need the details, Bastian.” I glared at him.

“Later,” he said, putting a hand at the base of my spine, guiding me forward. I really should have complained, instead of just letting him lead me away with a low, “Come on.”

My heart started to race, palms growing sweaty. Everyone we passed nodded at Bastian. I was too fixated on my open door to notice. It was hanging crooked, like it had been kicked in. We moved through the opening. A whine wrenched from my throat. My feet no longer worked, freezing me in place.

Behind me, Bastian let out a low whistle, then said, “Keep going, sugar.” His hand pressed more firmly against my lower back, imparting warmth I didn’t realize I needed.

“Hey, Bas,” someone said, nodding, walking by with a clipboard in hand, right out of my apartment.

“Oh, my God,” I whined. Tears pooled in my eyes. “This… What…?”

“I’m right here,” he said, crowding in close, lips brushing my ear. His thumb rubbed circles at the base of my spine. I didn’t really notice. “Everything can be fixed, Sweetheart. All this can be cleaned up. You’re safe. It’s just…stuff.”

“Stuff?!” I dragged in a deep breath, released it, took another. My eyes darted everywhere, over to the table, the shattered bowl of pasta still on the floor, amid the mess of my apartment. My chest began to ache.

Everything was trashed—absolutely destroyed! The table was broken, the couches had been knifed, with stuffing spilling out, our bookcases were broken, books and trinkets scattered around them, the television screen was shattered. A sob escaped my chest. This wasn’t someone looking for something. It was intentional.

”Fucking, Luke,” I breathed, realization sinking in.

“What’s that, sugar?”

I swallowed and shook my head. It had to be him. Who else would go to so much effort? Who else would purposefully destroy my things? Especially considering I’d gotten away from him last night.

I reconsidered Candice’s words. She said it happened around 3:00am. Luke had cornered me around 12:00am. That meant he’d come here afterward.

So he had known where I lived.

I began trembling. What if Vivi hadn’t gone out of town? What if she’d been here? She could be just like Peter—dead.

A sob broke free of my throat. I clamped a hand over my mouth, taking a deep breath, holding it in. Then I counted to ten and released it. “He knows where I live,” I managed, knowing that my carefully curated life was over. The notion that I was no longer safe had bile rising in my throat as a sour taste filled my mouth.

Bastian frowned, his gaze darting between me and the mess of my apartment. “Take it this has something to do with that human trash from last night?”

I gulped and nodded.

He scrubbed a hand over his face, his rings catching the light. “Well, this just got a whole lot more complicated.”

“Why?” I whispered.

“Stay here while I go check on some things,” he said, ignoring my question. “You can have a look around like Christian said. But don’t touch anything. WBI needs fingerprints.”

Several people were moving around the space, doing exactly that—dusting for fingerprints. I groaned, knowing I needed to see my room. Could I make my legs move me down the hall? Was I prepared to see what I would find?

“You going to be okay for a few minutes?” Bastian’s thumb stroked at the base of my spine, but he didn’t pull his hand away. It remained tucked beneath the jacket he’d given me, warmth radiating through the fabric of my shirt.

“I… Yes. Go.”

I felt his disappearance as cold air rushed in around me. Mustering up my courage, I moved down the hall. My bedroom door hung askew, partly removed from its hinges. I winced but didn’t enter. The space was near unrecognizable. Most of the art was torn from the walls. The mattress was cut open, foam and springs exposed. My clothes had been ripped from drawers, some of it shredded.