Page 60 of Their Reckless Thief (The Below #1)

LUCA

The room designated for torture in Vincenzo’s basement was drenched in shadows. Only faint light from a single, bare bulb hanging overhead illuminated the otherwise dim basement that smelled of sweat, blood, and fear.

The man in the chair slumped forward. The only reason he was still on the chair was because his wrists were bound behind it. He was barely conscious, a thin line of blood dribbling from his split lip and onto his shirt, already darkened with stains from the hours of punishment I’d put him through.

I leaned against the far wall, watching him.

My hands itched, shadows coiling at my feet, crawling up the walls like living creatures, waiting for my command.

I’d spent hours questioning him, torturing him in ways he didn’t even think were possible.

He had given me nothing useful. Just excuses and pleas for mercy.

Pathetic.

“Wake up.” I wasn’t in a rush. Torture was a game of patience, a slow descent into madness that broke a man not just physically, but mentally. This piece of shit was nearly there.

The man groaned and raised his head slightly. One of his eyes was swollen shut, his face a mess of bruises and cuts. He blinked, trying to focus on me, but the terror was already there, lingering in his gaze.

“Please… I didn’t know… I didn’t…”

I stepped forward, shadows gathering around me. “Save it. I don’t care what you didn’t know.”

The man trembled, his body twitching against the restraints. I could hear his heartbeat—pounding, erratic, frantic. He was terrified. Good. He should be.

But fear wasn’t enough. Not after what he’d done.

“You drugged her,” I said, my voice steady, but the darkness in my tone was unmistakable. “You put something in her drink. That was your first mistake.”

“I... I didn’t mean to. She was so fucking hot, and someone slipped me a hundred to drug her,” he whimpered, his words stumbling over themselves, desperate for forgiveness he was never going to get. “I didn’t think it would turn into anything.”

I tilted my head, studying him with cold indifference. “Who slipped you the money?”

The shadows around me stirred, responding to my growing anger, slithering across the floor like snakes closing in on their prey. The man flinched, his breathing becoming shallow, as if he could sense what was coming.

“I swear,” he babbled, his voice cracking with terror. “I didn’t know she was connected to you or?—”

“Doesn’t matter, you fuckwit. That type of behavior is strictly forbidden in this territory.

” I crouched in front of him, meeting his gaze.

“I’m starting to realize that girl actually means something to me.

Which makes this personal. You drugged the wrong fucking girl. And now you’re going to pay for it.”

The man’s face paled, panic setting in as he realized there was no escape. No amount of begging or pleading was going to save him.

“I swear, I don’t even know who paid me. I’m… I was just looking for a good time!”

I stood, towering over him as the shadows curled around his legs and crawled up his torso. He gasped as they constricted, like invisible bands wrapping around his ribs, squeezing tighter with every breath he took.

“No! No, please—” The shadows coiled around his neck, cutting off his words in a strangled gasp.

I watched him struggle, his body jerking against the restraints, but it was no use. The shadows were an extension of my will, and right now, my will was to make him suffer. He choked, his face turning red, then purple, veins bulging in his forehead as he gasped for breath.

I took a step closer, my face inches from his. “You fucked with the wrong girl.”

His eyes bulged as the shadows tightened more, his breaths turning into desperate, gurgling noises. I waited, watching the life drain from his eyes, savoring the fear that turned to panic and then to nothing.

With barely a thought, I instructed the shadows to snap his neck.

His body went limp, slumping forward, his head lolling to the side like a broken puppet. The room was eerily silent, save for the buzz of the lightbulb overhead.

I stood there for a moment, staring down at the corpse. Normally, I’d feel satisfaction after ending someone like him, but tonight? Tonight, it felt empty.

It didn’t change the fact that Celeste had been hurt.

It didn’t take away the image of her in Vincenzo’s arms, unconscious, fragile in a way I wasn’t used to seeing.

It didn’t erase the gnawing guilt that clawed at my insides, the thought that I had been too caught up in feeling her up on the dance floor to stop it from happening in the first place.

I ran a hand through my hair, exhaling sharply. The shadows around me retreated, slinking back into the corners of the room like obedient pets.

Pulling out my phone, I dialed my cleanup crew. They knew what to do: dispose of the body, erase any trace of what had happened here, and don’t ask any questions. I wasn’t in the mood to deal with the details tonight.

“I’ve got a mess in the basement. Take care of it.”

I ended the call before they could respond, shoving the phone into my pocket. The adrenaline from the torture session was wearing off, leaving me with a hollow feeling in my chest.

As I walked out of the basement, leaving the body behind, one thought echoed in my mind.

I could never allow myself to be so caught up again.

For now, I needed to regroup. I had to report to Vincenzo, and more importantly, I needed to make sure Celeste was okay.

I found Celeste in the living area, curled up on the leather couch with some trashy reality show playing on the TV.

The TV that, until today, hadn’t even existed in this house.

Of course, Dorian had brought it in and set it up for her.

It wasn’t like any of us ever cared much for television, but apparently, when Celeste wanted something, she got it.

She looked better. That was all that mattered.

The color had returned to her face, and there was a strength in her bearing that hadn’t been there several hours ago.

After what she’d gone through, seeing her like this, sitting there with a blanket wrapped around her, looking so normal…

It made me feel something . Something I didn’t want to feel. Couldn’t feel.

I told myself not to care. That I didn’t need to check on her. That I didn’t need to see her like this. Yet here I was. And now that I was in the room with her, I didn’t want to leave her side.

She glanced over at me as I entered. “How’d the poor bastard who drugged me fare?” she asked, the corner of her mouth quirking up in a half-smile. She was trying to make light of it, but I knew better.

I kept my expression cold and distant, the way I needed it to be. “Not well,” I said flatly. “He’s not your problem anymore.”

She nodded and turned her gaze back to the screen, but I could tell she wasn’t watching it. There was something else behind those eyes, something weighing on her.

I wasn’t going to let it get under my skin.

“Feeling better?” I asked, more out of obligation than actual concern.

Even now, I could feel my own walls coming up, reinforcing themselves.

I couldn’t let her get too close again. Not after last night.

Not after I’d let my guard down for a second.

One fucking second was all it had taken for her to get hurt.

She shrugged, pulling the blanket tighter around her. “Much better. Thanks.” She didn’t say more after that, and I felt a heaviness settle between us. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence, though. It was just there.

I nodded toward the laptop on the end table. “You should see the footage.”

I’d already watched it. Over and over. Replaying every moment, every move that bastard made before he’d dropped the drugs into her drink. I’d watched it until the anger inside me twisted into something so dark that I couldn’t contain it.

It was her turn to see it.

She hesitated, then she nodded. Grabbing the remote, she turned off the TV and took the laptop. I watched her face as I loaded the footage.

The club was dark, loud, and filled with bodies moving to the beat.

She’d been in the middle of it all, dancing with me, with Dorian, with Vincenzo.

She didn’t say a word, but I saw the brief glimmer of lust on her face as she watched us all dancing together.

She’d been so vulnerable, right there in the middle of us. And we’d all missed it.

We were grinding up on one another like nothing else mattered, like no one else was there, and in that moment, no one had been watching her drink.

The guy appeared in the frame for a split second. He wasn’t anything special to look at. He blended into the background—the kind of guy no one gave a second thought to. He moved so smoothly, slipping past, raising his hand just enough to drop something into her drink when none of us was looking.

She paused the video, her finger hovering over the screen. “That’s the guy,” she murmured. “The one who asked me to dance when we first got there.”

I nodded.

She was quiet as she stared at the screen, then, almost absentmindedly, she said, “I had fun dancing with you guys.”

Her voice was soft, vulnerable. She wasn’t just talking about the dancing, she was talking about everything.

About the thrill, the fun, the way we’d all been so close, so lost in each other.

She was opening up, and I couldn’t allow that.

I couldn’t let her think there was anything here other than what it was.

“You had fucking fun?” I asked, my voice sharper than I’d intended. “It wasn’t fun , Celeste. You could’ve died.”

She looked up at me, her eyes widening slightly, and I saw the hurt there.

For a split second, it cut through me, but I shoved it down.

I needed to be firm, to make her understand this wasn’t a game.

She was in danger, and the walls I had built to protect myself were the same walls I needed to protect her.