“You’re staying here tonight,” Bastian tells me as he drags me out of the car, shoving a duffel bag into my chest. “Tomorrow, I’m taking you to the basement. I already know how the first few days of cold turkey looks. I don’t want that around Verity.”
“Do you know what the next few months of cold turkey looks like?” I snap.
“You’re an addict, Maddox. It won’t ever be easy.” He tells me as he walks to the elevators of his warehouse home.
He doesn’t have a clue, but I do. I’ve done this before. Last time I’d been using off and on for two or three years, the headaches and nausea lasted weeks. This time, it’s been all day, every day for the last five years. I didn’t ease into it. It wasn’t a weekend party thing. I just needed everything to be quiet for a minute. I needednot to feel.
“When we get in there, you put on that act you’re so good at performing.Capisce? Do not upset my wife or our guest.”
Ordinarily, I would never think of upsetting Verity. She’s a sweet girl that’s been doled out far too much shit. She was trapped in a gilded cage, only let out and placed in a cell far worse. One where she was abused for many years. But if I upset her, maybe it will get Bastian to leave me alone.
Or he might shoot me.
Then I finally realize the second part of what he said. “What guest? I don’t want to see anyone. I don’t even want to see you.”
“It’s Verity’s cousin. She’s been staying with us for a couple of months. Since she left her bastard husband.”
“What is it with you and the damsels in distress?” I grunt as I follow him into the antique elevator. “And I thought Verity’s family cut her off.”
“I cut them off. But she did have an aunt and a cousin she was close to. Verity contacted them once she was no longer afraid of someone finding her. She’s stayed in touch, so when her cousin showed up a few weeks ago in tears, Verity offered her to stay with us.”
“Bet you loved that,” I chuckle, knowing Bastian does not like strangers in his city, much less his house.
“Yep. Been a blast.” His jaws clenches as he speaks. “The girl—well, she’s had a rough few months. Don’t make it worse on her by acting like an asshole.”
“Or what?” I taunt just to get under his skin.
He rolls his neck a few times, and I swear I see him counting. “You’re not an asshole, Maddox. Stop trying to be.”
“You have no idea how much of an asshole I can be,” I warn.
“If you make either one of them upset, I swear I will break both of your hands. Can’t play music without those.”
“Fine,” I relent because if he’s not going to kill me, I don’t want him taking one of the few things that helps me escape from my mental hell.
Before the gate slides open on the elevators, he shoves something in my hand. My brows furrow as I stare at the baggy of white power. “What’s this?”
“It’s been less than six hours, and you’re already fidgeting and edgy. Told you, I’m not having you lose your shit around Verity.”
“Dude, this won’t even take the edge off,” I scoff. I don’t even know how many of these I do in a day, I realize. It’s constant, though. As soon as I start coming down, I’m chasing the next high.
“I’ll take care of it if I think you need it. You’ve been this long, though. I think you can make it through the night.”
“If I didn’t already hate you, I would now,” I growl. “What I do isn’t your fucking business.”
“Good thing I don’t care if you hate me,stronzo. I only care if you’re breathing. You don’t need to like me to do that.”
“Vaffanculo, bastardo,” I grit between my tightly clenched teeth.
And he is an asshole because he just grins. “Bravo, bambino.” If he were more condescending, he could be president.
He raises the gate, and we step inside his home. In all the years I’ve known him, I’ve never once set foot in this place. I can’t say I’m surprised by what I see, though. It’s very Bastian with its concrete walls and steel beams. It’s wide, open, and spacious, with ductwork and plumbing showing from the ceiling. A very recycle, reuse feeling to it.
Before we make it more than a few feet into the expansive place, Verity appears in front of us, and she looks a lot different than she did last time I saw her, which was—well, now that I think about it, it’s been since before we went to Europe. I’m wracking my brain trying to remember how long ago that was. Six months? Two years? I can’t even remember what today is. I don’t forget anything ever. Except time.
It has definitely been a few months, though, because she wasn’t pregnant when I saw her last.
“Principessa,” Bastain says, pulling her into his arms.
