Shooting Scars (The Artists Trilogy #2)

I shot him a hard look. “We ruined each other.”


“You see it one way, I see it another. It was good for something. Once upon a time I thought it was good for everything.”

Me too, I thought, then buried it.

He watched me for a few moments, wheels turning behind those hawk eyes. It used to kill me never knowing what he was thinking. Now, I didn’t want to know. Our exchange had got a little too close for comfort.

I still couldn’t rule out the fact that he would never hurt me. Fool me once and all that jazz.

When he was satisfied with his observations, his attention darted over to my plate. “Your bacon is getting cold.”

So it was. And then he left, turning sharply away from me and snapping up the newspaper from the table. He rolled it up as if he was going to punish a bad dog and walked swiftly to the staircase. I had to wonder where he was sleeping, perhaps in the spare bedroom downstairs. Perhaps I was alone here at night.

“When is the expedition?” I called out after him.

He paused and looked like he was going to say something smart-assey when his cell phone rang, a sci-fi type ringtone. He frowned and fished it out.

“Yes?” he said, clearly annoyed already by whoever was calling. He listened and as I moved over to the table with my plate, I watched his face contort in absolute rage, a look that, for all his short-temperedness, I very rarely saw on him. It made me sit down and shut up.

“What do you mean they’re gone?” he practically screamed into the phone. “Did they see her?”

Suddenly he was looking at me and switched to Spanish, lowering his voice as if it took all the effort in the world. It probably did.

Now, Eden White never knew Spanish and Ellie Watt was still pretty rusty at it but she knew some. I couldn’t make out everything he said and I was probably wrong on what I was interpreting anyway, but what I could gather was that it involved me. Or some other woman but I was going to assume it was about me. It was a problem that I was here or someone knew I was here. Not a he, but a group of people it seemed. Of course, that could be more my paranoia talking than my grasp of Spanish.

Suddenly Javier jabbed at his phone and slipped it in his jacket pocket. Javier’s back was to me, which was somehow more frightening because he could be turning into a drug cartel Hulk and I wouldn’t know it until he turned around.

He sighed, loudly, gazing up at the ceiling, his fingers clenching and unclenching. Part of me was happy to see him so pissed off, that things weren’t going his way, the other part was scared. Because he could take it out on me. Because things might have just gotten worse.

I waited there at the table, afraid to eat, afraid to move, afraid to breathe.

Finally he turned around, his skin dark red at the temples but otherwise looked calm. He gave me a smile that read false. “Change of plans.”

I raised my brow and remained silent.

“We’re going to Mexico.”





CHAPTER EIGHT



CAMDEN


She was in my dreams again, Ellie. Only this time, the fire that consumed us came from within. I was in a black, cavernous room with no walls, no windows, and a floor made of ebony satin. She was lying at my feet, naked and curled up, sleeping.

Her eyes opened and she saw me. She smiled. I could barely bring my eyes away from her body. She was curved in all the right places, places that felt like home to me, like the area underneath her ass where it melted into her thighs, or where her full breasts swooped up into her soft arms. Her nipple ring sparkled, diamonds now, and I felt myself grow instantly hard, wanting nothing more than to tug at it with my teeth. She groaned with so much pleasure when I had done it before. I’d give anything to hear that sound, even if it wasn’t real.

She turned over onto her back, her breasts inviting me for a taste. Beckoning me with her finger, her sly look almost undid me. I was naked as well, my erection impressive. I’d heard that I was a “big boy” from many women and looming over Ellie like this, seeing the raw hunger in her eyes, the anticipation, I couldn’t have been more grateful. I was petty, even in my dreams.

I dropped down to my knees and crawled over her, pinning her body between my limbs, the contrast of the dark hair of my legs to the milky white of hers, the cherry blossoms more delicate and vibrant than ever. I brushed my cock against the fine hair of her pubic bone, pressing it up against her belly, a heavy weight between us. Her breath quickened, mine deepened. I wanted nothing more than to thrust it inside of her, feel her warmth, her wetness, her tight grip that felt better than heaven.

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