My nose burns from the dank, musky smell of the basement cellar. The converse high-tops I carelessly slipped on this morning are soaked through to my feet from trudging through random puddles on my way through the dilapidated parking garage.

This was a mistake.

What if he hates it?

I check my watch, tapping my foot when I realize there’s still at least ten minutes before he shows up. Will my toes even last that long? I have no idea.

Blowing out a steamy breath into the cold air, I turn back toward the table sitting behind me, triple-checking that my company is still completely knocked out. My nose scrunches at the new dark spot staining his groin. Add piss to the myriad of smells assaulting my senses.

I hope he likes his gift.

It wasn't easy to get. Probably one of the hardest physical challenges I've had to overcome. But Bash needs this. He's kept up a good front this past year, but I know him better than anyone. You can't just flip a switch and turn the predator off.

You have to feed it.

At least, that’s what Sienna explained once I finally picked up on her not-so-subtle hints a few weeks ago. I’m not sure how she can present herself to me the way she does with Bash, especially since we assumed it was only their sibling bond that allowed him access to her. But she visits me, too, at the most random times.

We’re still getting used to setting boundaries. Unfortunately, she doesn't realize or remember the essence of privacy. That sometimes, I don't want her startling me. Although, there’s a side of me that wishes she was here now, so I didn’t have to stand here alone with my drifting thoughts.

When I finally caught on to what Bash needs, I called Eliza and requested a face-to-face meeting with her. Of course, she was hesitant. She'd been removed from the field and was on desk duty for this and a few other cases after nearly failing to complete her task. But she cares for Bash—probably more than most of the people who claim to—and she’s too curious to pass it up.

Two weeks ago, I told him I was flying back to Styx for a quick visit with Halen and Kennedy and he had no reason to doubt me. I hated lying, but if this fell through, I didn't want him to be disappointed. I'd find a way no matter what.

Eliza, in all her infinite knowledge, was well aware of Bash's… extracurricular activities when she was working for him. Ever the loyal servant that she is, she conveniently left it out of her reports.

Balance. That’s what she claimed. She thought Bash’s involvement in the untimely demise of the men she was pursuing was a balance to the system. That there was no way they could catch them all, and it was a small price to pay to let him roam free, especially when he was getting rapists and monsters off the street.

Once we stopped beating around the bush and talked to each other straight, I realized this would be the perfect, mutually beneficial plan.

I could help Bash scratch that itch he's been struggling with, and her cases would be closed faster as the suspects disappeared. All with the added bonus of ridding the world of another murderous pig.

I'm still amazed that we could pull it off. Getting him into the basement cellar of this parking garage unseen was tricky, but I learned a lot to take into account for next time.

A shiver snakes its way up my spine as the chill in my damp feet creeps into my legs with a pulsing ache. For starters, I need to wear waterproof boots.

And it wouldn't hurt to make my starting point a little closer to an elevator in case things go south again. Dragging a limp body down the stairs was a bitch.

Shifting between feet, I look back at my watch. Three minutes have passed.

Knowing Bash, he'll be early. He never likes to keep people waiting.

Something shifts behind me and I spin around to assess the man on my table, my eyes tracking the restraints that I tightened and secured multiple times.

A low groan rumbles through his chest, and I roll my eyes toward the cement ceiling, stomping over to him.

Can anything just go as planned?

Next time, I'll need to add more tranquilizer.

“Keep your mouth shut,” I command sternly, tugging on the leather strap across his left wrist until it bites into his skin. “He's going to want the pleasure of being here when you wake up.”

His agonized groan is the only answer I get, but his eyes remain closed.

Heavy footsteps splash through the gathered puddles outside the metal cellar door, and I breathe a sigh of relief.

Finally. He's here.

The lever rattles as he struggles to get it to unlatch. My eyes dart between the door and the table beside me, my heart kicking into high gear as insecurities flutter through my mind.

What if he hates me for this? What if I misread what he needed and he thinks something is wrong with me? What if I'm the only one who craves spilled blood and this was all in my head?

Clasping my hands in front of me, I shake the thoughts away just as the door swings open and the other half of my soul appears behind it.

Brilliant green eyes scan the room, ceasing movement as soon as they land on me. His dark brows fall, and then his gaze flicks to the groaning man beside me.

“Surprise,” I mumble weakly, wiggling my fingers in the air beside the bruised body.

Bash steps further into the cellar, letting the door slam shut behind him as his gaze bounces from weapon to weapon splayed across a second table sitting behind me, and then back to the helpless man.

“What's this?”

“A-a gift,” I stutter, feeling the weight of all of this pressing on my chest. “I thought you might like it. Or need it, rather. He's part of the Order…” I ramble, absently running my fingers along the leather strap wrapped around the man's wrist. “His name is–”

“I know his name, Stardust. I was raised calling this man my uncle,” Bash interrupts, his voice low.

My mouth snaps shut so hard, my teeth clank together. I have no idea if this is a good or a bad thing. What if he has some emotional attachment to this guy? Could all of this have been for nothing?

“Oh, okay…” I finally say when the silence becomes too much to bear.

Bash has always been better at handling silence than me.

“Last I heard, he was nowhere to be found.”

It's my turn to pinch my brows together in a scowl. Has he somehow been keeping track of the Order members who escaped behind my back?

I wouldn't be surprised. Bash is thorough. But how could he do that without telling me?

Pot, meet kettle.

This one wasn’t in town when his father set out on his suicide mission. He’s supposedly a high profile target, and one that Eliza was more than willing to pass to me when I asked. Apparently, he’s been giving the feds a hard time with his capture, even going as far as raping and murdering family members of agents on his case.

He’s a true winner. Any doubts I had were quickly wiped away when he was more than willing to follow me into the old, dilapidated parking garage when he thought I was offering a much different evening.

“How did he get down here?” Bash asks when it's clear I won't be responding to his last statement.

Lifting one shoulder, I can't help the smirk that pulls on the side of my mouth as I recall the past few hours.

“I brought him.”

His eyes widen for a fraction of a second, then return to his neutral stare. “Alone?” 

Nodding, I shrug as if it were no big deal. The soreness in my right shoulder when I lift it reminds me that it was actually a huge deal and a pain in my ass that will leave me aching all over for the next week.

“Next time, I'll be sure to start closer to the finish line,” I mumble, more to myself, as Bash steps closer to the table.

“You brought him here for me to…” he looks back at the weaponry, shaking his head in disbelief.

“I think that part is obvious.”

“Is it?” His lips tilt up into a teasing grin.

Of course, he’s going to make me say it. Clearing my throat, I straighten my spine and lift my chin, refusing to let him see how nervous I am. “Yes, it is. I know you have… needs that you’ve been neglecting. This was a part of you for some time, and abandoning it is harder than you imagined it would be. It’s not something you can talk about in therapy or vent to your colleagues about, but I know you better than that.”

“So you willingly captured a wanted criminal—a man who, by the way, has a track record for taking advantage of and butchering women who look exactly like you—and dragged him down here for me to kill?” He tilts his head toward the knives. “Or perhaps… to maim.”

Keeping my chin high, I nod. “Exactly. Because I love you.”

A humorless laugh shakes his shoulders. “Stardust…”

“Don’t,” I interrupt. “Don’t try to patronize me and pretend that what I’ve been seeing with my own two eyes isn’t true. You’re withering here. There is a side to you that was set free all those months ago—or whatever it was—and it doesn’t want to stay shoved in whatever box you keep it in. At least admit that you need this.”

Sighing, he rolls his head back and glares at the ceiling. “Okay,” he quietly relents. “I need this.”

A victorious smile splits my face in half. “Now tell your wife thank you, and then butcher this guy. He smells like piss and he gives me the creeps.”

Bash drops his head back down, revealing the wolfish grin he was hiding. “Thank you,” he whispers, just as the man begins to struggle against his restraints, his eyes wide open now.

Damn. I wanted to see him wake up.

Stepping toward the side of the table, Bash glares down at him, and I know the exact moment that recognition seeps in and the man realizes who he’s in the presence of.

“Richard,” Bash greets blandly. “How nice is it to see that withered face again?”

Richard thrashes around even more, shaking his arms as if the motion will somehow break him free of the tight leather straps. His head lifts off the table, only for him to realize there’s a strap across his chest as well. To my disappointment, the scrap of fabric I knotted around his head begins to slip out of his mouth and onto his chin, allowing him enough space to voice garbled threats against us.

Tighter next time.

“Oh, Richard,” Bash berates condescendingly, slipping on the leather gloves I set on the edge of the weapon table for him before grabbing the sides of the fabric and slipping it back into place. “You know better than to threaten me. You’ve been on the giving end of this exchange enough times to realize that this is it for you.”

Richard doesn’t like that answer. His muffled screams grow louder as he kicks his feet around.

“Jovie, baby. Can you hand me that knife over there? It seems our friend Dick needs a little motivation,” Bash asks me, keeping his gaze locked on the man before him.

Without hesitating, I reach beside me and grab the knife he pointed to, then hand it over, struggling to look down at Richard now that he’s fully aware of what’s about to happen. I’m not sure how Bash grew used to the hateful gleam they get in their eyes right before they die.

As the metal hits his gloved palm, he turns toward me and I finally see it—the predator that lives within him. He’s flipped his switch.

And some sick, deranged part of me revels in that. I shuffle out of the way, opting to stand on the other side of the metal table to give Bash space and allow myself a full, uninterrupted view of what's about to happen.

Perhaps the real reason I've gone through all this trouble.