Rocking back on my heels, I shrugged again, helpless beneath the truth. “The money they offered, O? It was ten, twenty, forty, a thousand times more than what I could get for a hanging canvas. I accepted every gig. I gave half of everything I made to Jeffrey to say thank you. I introduced him to Olive, believing I’d finally found someone I could trust.”
I dropped my eyes, unable to hold her stare. “I was lonely. I’d done my best to raise her as a single dad, but I knew I was lacking. I didn’t know shit. I wasn’t enough. She needed a bigger network to rely on so she didn’t turn out like me.”
“What happened?” she whispered.
“For a year or so, things were fine. He came round for dinners. He helped me source the warehouse. I offered to let him move in with us. But then, one day, I got a gig worth a fortune. Almost a hundred thousand pounds to do three girls camouflaged into a peacock. It took twenty-four hours, but it was one of my best pieces. Jeffrey popped by after his shift to see, and something switched in him. I felt it. I didn’t know what it meant, but by the next week, he asked for a substantial loan.”
I wiped my mouth with the back of my painted hand. “I gave it to him. Of course, I did. I was nothing without him. But the week after, he asked for more. And again, I gave it to him. I wanted to share everything because he was the reason I had such success.”
“You were very generous.”
“I was looking after family.” I threw myself back into painting, my eyes glazed and colours finding homes upon her flesh. “I couldn’t look after you, so I was determined to look after those I could.”
I shook my head, rushing now, needing this over. “One night, he asked for everything I’d made on a recent commission. I’d already put it into a savings account for Olive’s education and I couldn’t withdraw it due to the terms of the account. He left in a rage. Came back drunk. I kicked him out and told him to return sober and tell me why he needed the money, then we’d talk.”
Scowling at O’s foot, I hunched into myself, finding it unbearable to admit. “The next day, he took Olive.”
O sucked in a breath. “He took her because you refused to give him what you’d saved for her?”
I nodded, painting furiously up her leg, bringing to life little fishes of truth, swimming bright in a sea of secrets. I hadn’t gone to the police because I didn’t want them to know Olive’s origins and risk having her taken from me. I’d stupidly thought I could handle it.
That this family spat would resolve itself without a fight.
I’d slowly fallen further and further.
Bankrupt.
Broken.
Until finally, an accessory for murder.
“How did blackmail turn into killing four young girls?” Olive asked, tears smudging her midnight cheeks.
I dared look up, embracing the agony. My hood cut out my peripheral, keeping my attention locked on her. “He was always a psychopath. I found out later that my father’s whores hadn’t left...he’d killed them. Jeffrey constantly moved because he couldn’t restrain his thirst for death. And I introduced that fucking animal to my daughter.”
“That’s why you let him beat you up.”
“Anything to keep his temper away from Olive.”
“That’s why you gave him every penny.”
“Anything to keep her alive.”
“That’s why you were filthy the nights I came over.”
“I was out looking for Olive, trying to stop another girl getting hurt.”
O cried openly now. “And that’s why you drank.”
“To try to forget what I’d caused.” My voice cracked. “It was my fault he took her in the first place.”
Her entire body shuddered.
She collapsed to her knees beside me.
We were kissing before I realised a fucking tear ran down my cheek.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
______________________________
Olin
HIS BODY CRASHED into mine.
His hands flew up, grabbing my cheeks and holding me firm. He didn’t care about the paint, the art, or the confessions he’d strewn around my feet. He kissed me hard, tilting his head and licking me with twisted desire.
Dragging me closer, we bowed to each other, his body still towering over mine. We kissed savage and unforgiving. Gentle and tender weren’t welcome here.
I’d had my dose of violence, and this was his. This was him doing his best to destroy me and remember me all at once.
This was a punishment.
Punishment for himself and the future he faced.
My hands shot to his face, skimming into his hair and pushing away the black hood. I tore off his mask, revealing the tortured painter, the broken lover, the boy I would always miss.
His teeth clacked on mine as he kissed me deeper, pushing me down until I sprawled on the black sheet on the floor. Bottles of paint spilled, oozing their vibrant contents into the fabric. A tub of rhinestones tipped over, scattering brilliant sparkles and sticking to my skin.
We didn’t care about any of it.
He pressed himself on top of me the moment I lay on my back. His hand cupped my breast, squeezing and claiming, making them heavy and throbbing.
His touch smeared his art without a thought.
I arched my back, demanding more.
Needing more.
I moaned as he spread my legs and settled between them. Once again, he was fully clothed and I was gowned in just his creation. No words were exchanged. No soul-stealing stares. Just the urgency to connect.
He kissed me deeper, stealing our final shreds of sanity.
His taste erased everything. His touch deleted the outside world. It was just us. How it should’ve been. How it could never be.
His hand skated down my breast and over my waist to my hip. Tugging at the knickers he’d painted and pressed a black dripping sponge against my clit. With a savage kiss, he pulled them down until I kicked them away.
The minute I was bare, a slim piece of virgin skin amongst the colours he’d transformed me with, he fumbled with his belt.
I helped him, pushing his hand away and unbuckling the leather. He shuddered as I unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans, then arched his hips as I pushed down the barrier between us.
He groaned as he settled back between my legs. The warmth of his cock, belly, and thighs made me shiver with pleasure. He was heat and hope all at once.
“Fuck,” he grunted as my fingers dived between our shared warmth and wrapped around his length. His teeth clamped on my bottom lip, sucking it into his mouth before kissing me roughly. Our lips never unlocked. We kissed violently but also slowly, devouring each other with ruthless determination. The glide of his tongue almost distracted me from the feather of his fingers over my core.
My back bowed as the feather became penetration.
I cried out as he drove two fingers deep.
He groaned as he found me wet.
His thumb rocked on my clit as his five o’clock shadow punished my skin; his kiss so deep, he smashed my head against the floor.
His fingers withdrew.
The soft nudge of his cock replaced them.
I froze in his arms, teetering on the precious knife-edge of anticipation.
His tongue swept into my mouth.
His cock thrust swift and thick into me.