Page 87 of A Devious Arrangement

A smile tugs on my lips, and I’m sure if I had a mirror, it would resemble Bash’s devious smirk. As much as he’ll be upset, I’m looking forward to telling him all about my little adventure.

I searchhow to tie a slipknoton my phone. It’s harder to understand with just subtitles, but after a couple of tries, I’m able to get it.

I tug on the end a few times, and I’m proud when it stays together. Maybe I really am getting better at this. Anastasia Volkov, professional thief.

Alright, enough stalling. This isn’t even the hard part yet.

My arms burn as I pull myself up the rope. Who would have thought I’d retain enough knowledge from gym class to help me get up this thing? I keep it hooked around my hip and shin as I inchworm my way up. Somehow, I remember this being easier.

I’m sweating by the time I’m at eye level with the bottom rung, and I’ll be happy if I never see a rope again. Getting up here was only half the problem; now, I have to transfer to the ladder.

I release one hand and reach out to grab the steel bar. It’s cold against my palm as I wrap my fingers around it. Three deep breaths later, I reach with my other hand. The movement causes the rope to sway, swinging my legs. The force yanks my right hand off, leaving me dangling. I kick my feet against the wall, trying to find a perch to regain my balance, but the smooth design makes it impossible.

Fear lances through me as my hand starts to slip, and I frantically try to catch the rope with my feet. The strength sucked out of it from the climb. I have to swallow my scream as my fingers let go, and I fall backward.

This is going to hurt.

Instead of the thud I expect from my crash into the pavement, there’s a soft chuckle against my ear as Bash catches me.

“I know I’m pretty, but I didn’t expect you to be falling all over me.”

Chapter 41

Bash

“Jesus Christ, Stas.”I have to grind my teeth together to keep the panic from my voice. My heart is still pounding from seeing her fingers slip and her plummeting to the ground. Had I been a second later, I wouldn’t have made it.

She’s light in my arms, her body feeling more fragile than it ever has before. I want to crush her to me and never let her go, but the overwhelming need to make sure she’s not hurt takes over my body.

I drop her feet to the pavement, my hands shifting her small frame from side to side to look for any injury. Her all-black outfit makes it near impossible to see anything.

Frustration vibrates through me. I want to shake her for coming out here without me. I run my fingers over her cheeks, neck, down her collarbone and arms, searching every inch of her. My stomach twists, and bile rises in the back of my throat at the way she’s cradling her closed fist to her stomach like a wounded animal.

She flinches when I reach for her, and a prickling sensation ripples through me. I gently graze my thumb over her knuckles and coax. “Let me see it, Princess.”

She stiffens but slowly uncurls her fingers. The pulse in my neck ticks, and a low growl surfaces from my gut at the sight of her raw palm. It’s red, and the skin is raised and angry from the rope burn.

My breath hisses out. “Jesus Christ, Stas. Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

Her whimper slices through me. “This is going to be a bitch to heal.”

I should have been here sooner. I’d been feeling anxious throughout the entire ceremony. Clearly, my girl can’t be left to her own devices. I should have been here with her; after all, there’s no better accomplice than her future husband.

She’s hurt because of me, and I’m furious with myself for not just getting the fucking tiara to start with. Her hand’s so delicate in mine as I examine it. Thankfully, it’s not starting to blister. It’ll sting for a bit, but I think she’ll be okay. “You should have waited for me to get it.”

“What do you mean?” Her voice is crisp.

“I would’ve gotten it tomorrow,” I reply, still concentrating on her hand. There’s got to be some kind of ointment we can put on this. I’ll have to message the doctor to meet us at the house. I push up her sleeve only to see more abrasions, proof that she struggled to climb the rope.

“Buthowwould you get it?” There’s something broken in the way she asks, and my gaze snaps to her as I process the question.

Guilt racks through me, and I try to wipe it from my face, but I’m not fast enough.

“I told you I’d help,” I answer, and even I know it’s too vague.

“Don’t dodge the question. I thought you meant we’d break in together. You’re making it sound like you could have gotten the tiara all along.”

She’s trembling, and all I want is to hold her close, to make all of this go away. “Stasia, you have to understand…”

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