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“Oh.” Her hurt look faded, and her lips curled up into a secret smile.
“I have your ring picked out,” I told her.
“You do?” she said, looking at me with all the love in the world.
“And you can pick your wedding dress, but I pick what you wear underneath it. Or don’t wear.” I tap my chin. “I think I’d like you to walk down the aisle bare under your dress.”
“Bastien!” Scandalized, a blush rose to her cheeks. Her chest rose and fell quickly, the way it always did when she was turned on.
“I haven’t decided yet.” I grinned fiercely at her. My gaze roved over her thin T-shirt, finding her nipples were hard.
My heart was so full.
“Bastien. Bastien. Wake up,” a voice says urgently. “We don’t have a lot of time.”
I groan and make a swatting motion.
I don’t want to wake up.
“Bastien. Your parents set you up. There was no car accident.”
A fucking nightmare attempting to ambush a perfect memory.
“Dammit, Bastien, wake up so you can get out of here!” A man’s voice, sharp and impatient. “Bastien! You’re not safe here!”
The voice is lying, and I must be on some very heavy drugs because I sink back into blissful sleep.
Except it’s not blissful anymore.
Damn the voice. Damn my life.
Damn Camille.
Because now I’m back to the worst day of my life. I’m dreaming about the day it all ended.
CHAPTER4
Bastien
I was in a dirt cellar,standing over the poor tortured bodies of over a dozen rats. One had died only days ago, and his body stank. Splotches of blood stained his pale fur. My heart pounded with rage. I’m not entirely sure why. I don’t give a fuck about rats.
Maybe it’s because, despite my darkness, I don’t condone meaningless violence of this magnitude.
I’d followed the asshole down to this very cellar, underneath a boarded-up building in a stinking alley. A surly Moroccan sailor who spat curses at me when he saw me. It was the only reason he was on my radar. Such unwarranted hostility demanded repercussions, and I was on the hunt for retribution.
He was holding a squeaking, struggling rat by the collar, and he’d already cut it once. I stepped closer to him, and the look in my eyes dried up those curses in his mouth. He dropped his bloody knife and ran. The rat ran too, shooting out of the cellar like a rocket.
I grabbed the knife and chased him, caught him, and carved him up very slowly.
My reaction to his murdering rats is extreme, but with further thought, I realize it has little to do with the rats and everything to do with the monster inside breaking free and unleashing a lifetime of repressed violence.
That was earlier this morning. Afterward, I’d cut the man to pieces and stuffed him in a dumpster. I wish I’d had more time, but I was supposed to meet Camille in an hour. I returned to the cellar because I figured I’d just have enough time to clean up the basement of dead rats and bury them with some respect. Poor pathetic things.
Filled with sorrow, for these meaningless lives or what I’d just done, I crouched down over the rat that was most recently killed and stroked its fur, the bloody knife still clenched in my hand. I wasn’t very careful back in those days.
And then I heard a voice cry out in horror.
“Bastien!” It was Camille.
