Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 78295 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78295 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
I stare at the room. It’s as I left it, nothing changed, except I’m stuck here with that forged painting, the beginnings of a false Rembrandt, staring at me from the easel.
I take deep breaths. I try to gather myself together. But it feels like I’m sinking, when suddenly, in a complete blind panic, I rush to the rack of paints and fish around behind it, looking for the portrait of Erick I hid there.
It’s gone. I check all over, but it’s not in this room.
I slump onto my stool, feeling like I’ve been drained of everything. I stare at the canvas, at my job, but there’s no spark. There’s no excitement. Only dread. Only terror.
I don’t know how long I’m sitting like that before the door opens. Marina comes in with lunch. Tea and tuna sandwiches. “Eat and drink,” she says. “Yell if you need the bathroom. Tony will take you.”
“Alright.” I don’t even look over.
“Try to work.” Marina’s voice is almost kind now. That hurts even more. “You feel better when you work, so try to do the job, okay?”
“It doesn’t feel the same anymore.”
“No, I’m sure it won’t, but try anyway. You’ll get through this if you can keep on working.”
She leaves. The door locks. I eat, drink some tea, and look at the canvas.
I can paint.
There’s that place in me still, that zone where the world disappears, and I don’t want anything more than to escape into it. I can hide there, throw myself into the canvas, into the job.
Nothing hurts in that place, in that flow. There’s only the art.
No Erick. No Dad. No failures.
I sit down on the stool. I pick up a brush.
Marina’s says I’m happy when I work, but she’s wrong about that.
I’m not happy—I’m just not here.
Chapter 34
Erick
I stay far away from the house in the desert and sleep at the casino. I have a condo I barely ever use, and it feels empty, bereft of warmth, barely more than a space to drink too much and pass out until morning. I want to go back to that place—I want the smell of wet paint, the taste of a wooden brush between my teeth, Hellie’s laughter, her deep breaths, her rolling eyes and her moans. I want it all, crave it like my heart needs blood.
Instead, I refuse to go back.
My days drift. Ren updates me on Hellie’s progress. He never mentions her by name—she’s only ever the girl or the painter, but I still can’t help but picture her, feel her lips against mine, her hair wrapped in my fist, her thick, dark, wavy curls against my nose as I breathe in her smell. I hear her whimpers, her laughter. I taste her still. Every day.
I can’t shake her, even when I try.
Work isn’t enough. It’s all I have but it only dulls the edge. Drinking helps, but only for a little while. I still wake in an empty, cold bed, wondering where Hellie’s at—only to remember that she betrayed me, tried to run away, and manipulated me into feeling something for her.
That’s what hurts the most. She said she didn’t want to be anything like her father, but now I can’t see what’s true and what’s a part of her game.
Days pass like that. One morning, with a particularly nasty headache grinding in my skull, Ren intercepts me on my way down to the office. “I got a call from Gallo’s people, they want a meeting with you and Frost later this afternoon.”
“What do they want?”
“Don’t know, they didn’t say, but it can’t be good.” Ren hesitates. I can tell he’s about to mention Hellie—he always gets this guilty look on his face before he does it. “The girl’s fine, by the way. We have that place locked down tight.”
“Good. Make sure it’s guarded. I don’t want her getting away, and I don’t want anyone getting in either.”
“You don’t have to worry about it. I’ve got it under control.”
I grunt in response. My relationship with Ren hasn’t been good since he pulled this testing shit, and even though I understand he did it for the family, I still don’t like it.
He did it behind my back knowing I wouldn’t like it.
I’ve always valued Ren’s independence. He’s clever, works hard, and is very loyal. Maybe too loyal.
Except this time, he crossed a line, and I don’t know if I can go back.
Though I can’t blame him for Hellie’s choice.
Later on, after another agonizing afternoon hating myself, I’m in the back of a black SUV heading over to another neutral location. Ren’s with me while Wolfie’s driving up front. Nobody’s talking and I prefer it that way. The tension’s heavy, almost unbearable, but why the fuck should that matter? Ren doesn’t deserve my friendship right now. He betrayed me the same way Hellie did.