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)
“You want me to paint… just for myself?”
He nods and sips his coffee. “Yes, I’d love it.”
“Oh.” I lean back, considering. “Huh. Okay. Are you going to sell it?”
“No, it’ll be yours to keep, or I can find a buyer and the money will be yours.”
“You’re serious?”
“Very serious. I want you to be happy, Hellie. I don’t want you to forget why you make art.”
I shake my head, mystified. This gangster, this monster, the guy that freaking kidnapped me—doesn’t want me to get burned out on painting.
He wants me to create my own stuff purely for the pleasure of doing it.
What the hell?
But it almost makes sense. He’s been taking care of me from the start, even if I’ve been too oblivious to notice. Maybe this is part of him making sure I’m satisfied.
A warm feeling wraps around my guts. There are very few people in my life that have truly encouraged my painting, and now he’s one of them.
Which is confusing, because I’m supposed to hate him. He’s the enemy. He’s the reason I’m in this mess.
“Alright,” I say after a while. “I’ll paint. If I want to.”
“Good. I hope you do.” He stands, a piece of bacon between his teeth. “Have a good day, devil girl.” Then he’s gone, and I’m left with a pile of food and no appetite at all.
Chapter 22
Erick
It’s late by the time I’m able to get back to the desert house. I’ve been busy as hell catching up on all the work I’ve neglected—running a casino isn’t fucking easy, there’s always a fire smoldering somewhere—but my mind’s been squarely back in that studio.
Back with Hellie.
I head straight upstairs as soon as I’m in the door, pausing only to loosen my tie and check myself in the mirror. Since when did I become so vain? Since when did I care what I looked like? But I want to look good for Hellie; I want her to see me as something more than a killer that stole her from her life. I’m excited as I reach her studio door and knock once before opening it.
She’s sitting on a stool in front of a painting. Her legs are crossed and her brush is up in the air. Paint drips from the tip. I watch as she makes a stroke, a quick slashing line of color, blue from top to bottom. I’m transfixed as she turns to me, wearing an oversized sweater, her hair in a messy bun, a smile on her lips. She’s glowing as the sun sets behind her, and I’m struck by how beautiful she is, and how precious, and how easily I could destroy her.
“You’re home,” she says, her voice sounding stronger than it did this morning.
“I’m home,” I agree. “You look better.”
“I feel a lot better.” She lets out a long sigh. “I didn’t even know I needed that.”
“Needed what?”
“My own work. A little time to express myself. It’s like therapy.”
I walk into the room and linger over her shoulder. The canvas is medium-sized and shows a blue sky, fluffy clouds, a cartoonish sun in the corner. A man’s hammering in a fence, a man with huge arms, an oversized snout-like face, curly black hair, simple jeans, and a shirt. I vaguely recognize him.
“That’s Ren,” I say with a laugh.
She beams at me. “You figured it out.”
“My god, what did you do to him?”
“I made him into a dog person.” Her smirk is wicked. “He’s stuck in hell building fences for suburban housewives for all eternity.”
I look closer, and Ren-dog’s face is twisted in an expression of pure horror. “He’d love this.”
“Good. I’ll show him when it’s finished.” She yawns and stretches, but she holds up her hands when I give her a look. “I took breaks. I swear. I even showered.”
I lean down, pretending to sniff her. “Not bad.”
“Hey, get out of here.” She tries to push me away, but I grab her wrists and pull her up.
“You’ve had enough painting time. I don’t need you turning into a zombie again.”
“Easy there,” she says, laughing, as she pretends to struggle. “No, please, let me get back to the paint. I need the paint. It nourishes me. You don’t understand!”
“Oh, god, she’s lost her mind.” I dip down and lift her up over my shoulder. She yelps in shock as I carry her back to her room, her fists pounding against my back the whole way.
“Put me down, you psycho,” she says but she’s laughing and kicking. “Oh my god, you can’t just lift me up like I’m nothing.”
“Can and did.” I dump her on the bed, grinning huge, my heart racing. “There. I saved you from yourself.”
“You do realize I have to make more paintings, right?”
“Yes, but we’ll set you on a schedule and manage things. I’m going to take care of you, little devil girl.”