Shooting Scars (The Artists Trilogy #2)

I went through the courtyard bathed in twilight, walking faster as I went, until I got to the room. I wrestled with the old key for a few moments before the door opened and I went flying into the dark coolness. I locked the door behind me and flung myself on the bed. And I began to cry. Bawl. Sob. I cried because at the base of it all, I was scared, mostly of myself. And if I couldn’t trust myself, I had no one left at all.

I cried it all out of me and even when I was done, when it felt like I had nothing left inside, I rolled over onto my back and the feeling was still there. Disappointment in myself. For letting things go so far. If things went sour in the next twenty-four hours, I’d only have myself to blame.

I lay there for a few moments, praying for sleep to come and take me away, so I wouldn’t have to face anything or do anything or be anyone anymore. I was drifting off when I heard it. The sound of metal, delicate; a hanger on a closet rail.

Someone was in my room.

To be more specific, someone was in my closet.

I sat up slowly, looking around for a weapon. I had been left here with nothing, not even my gun. What the hell had Javier been thinking? No, what had I been thinking.

“Who’s there?” I asked, my voice breaking. “I know you’re in the closet.”

The hangers moved again. I held my breath and started calculating the distance from my bed to the front door. Could I make it out before the person caught me?

I had to chance it.

I scrambled to my feet and started running across the floor, my sandals sliding on the tiles almost bringing me to the ground. The closet door burst open at the same time and a large dark figure flew out of it, coming for me.

I was almost at the door, my hand reaching for the knob, when the person tackled me from behind with one arm going around my shoulder. Instead of pitching me forward onto the stone cold tiles, the person started to twist as we fell, his body taking the brunt of the impact. He landed on his back, and I landed on top of him.

The man let out a cry of pain, familiar and sharp, but my body was still on an adrenaline high and I tried to get off of him, to get away, to scream for help.

He was quick and before I could move, his hand went over my mouth and he held me, the back of my head against his hard chest and grunted in my ear, “Ellie it’s me.”

The sound of his voice immediately made me relax. I nodded against his hand and he let go. I flipped around and found myself face to face with Camden.

“You weren’t a dream,” I said, finding my breath again. I trailed my fingers down the side of his face, feeling the stubble, the strength of his features. “You actually came for me.”

He flinched a little under my touch then his face became all steel. He swallowed. “Of course I came for you. I told you I would.”

I was lost in his eyes, the sincerity beneath the blue. How honest he was. I never considered that he would have kept his word. I never thought I was worth that.

Oh god, the guilt. Javier. He couldn’t know about that, could he?

“How … how did you find me?” I asked.

He closed his eyes, resting his head back on the floor, wiggling his jaw back and forth. It was only then that I noticed the sling around his shoulder, his t-shirt soaked in one spot.

“Oh my god, Camden. What happened to you?” I got off of him quickly and tried to help him up. He’d taken the fall for me so I wouldn’t get hurt, though that couldn’t have been good for his arm.

I hope he doesn’t know. I hope he doesn’t know.

“I got shot,” he said, letting me get him to his feet. I’d forgotten how big he was.

I’d forgotten everything.

“You got shot?” I said when everything finally registered. “When? What?”

He grimaced and tried to move over to the bed. “I need to sit down. Do you have anything to drink? Something really stiff?”

“I don’t know,” I told him, running over to the mini bar to check. It was stocked with small bottles of alcohol. I grabbed four of the tequilas and two glasses and placed it on the bedside table then made a move for my purse where I put the bag of limes from earlier.

“I don’t need lime,” he said trying to unscrew the cap off the bottle with one hand, finishing the job with his teeth.

I had an unpleasant flashback to the tequila shot I’d taken with Javier the night before.

Did he know? Did he know?

He spat the cap out then emptied the contents of the bottle straight into his mouth. He did the same to another bottle.

I watched in silence, hovering nervously like a bird, wiping my hands up and down my sides, unsure what to do with myself or what I was to him anymore. He’d come so far, all this way, just to make sure I was okay. I didn’t want to tell him what a mistake it was, that he’d wasted it all on a terrible, terrible girl.

He’d gotten shot. For me. And I was sleeping with the enemy, believing this man would never come save me.

Now Camden was watching me, his breath slowing. The look in his eyes was dark and calculating, reminding me a lot of the time he discovered me trying to rob him. Only he didn’t have the gun to my head.

I wished he did.

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