Sins & Needles (The Artists Trilogy #1)

It echoed around the small room in slow motion and my actions reflected the pace. When you know you’ve got a gun aimed at you, everything moves just a little bit slower.

I turned my head in the direction of the sound, knowing it was a dicey move. I saw a blinding flashlight illuminating my face, my hands, my bag of his money, and the empty open safe. I saw his silhouette in the doorway, barely lit by the room’s lamp. I saw the glint in his eyes and the matching shine of his smile as he pointed a gun at my face.

“Gotcha,” he said. His teeth gleamed white.





CHAPTER TEN


I was breathless. Speechless. Immobile. I could only stare at him, at Camden McQueen, as he held the Magnum like it was just an extension of his arm. This had to be a bad dream. This couldn’t be happening. He wasn’t in his office, catching me in the act of robbing him blind.

“Put the bag down, Ellie,” he said, his voice emotionless. With the light blinding me, I couldn’t see the expression in his eyes. I didn’t know how to play this. “Put the bag down, then slowly stand up and put your hands in the air.”

I tried to swallow but couldn’t. “Camden, I—“

“Shut up. Just shut. Up. Put the bag down. Stand up slowly. Put your hands in the air and face me.”

Fuck, I couldn’t move.

“Now!” he screamed in shaking rage.

The shock of his voice made the feeling come back into my limbs. I put the bag down, raised my hands, and slowly got to my feet. I turned to face him, squinting at the flashlight.

I heard the metal click of a handcuff and saw him bring out a pair from his back pocket.

Oh shit.

He raised them in the air. “Now here’s what we’re going to do. You’re going to turn around and put your hands behind your back. Then I’m going to cuff you. Don’t you dare try any funny stuff because I just loaded this gun. The bullets are ready to go. I don’t have a problem shooting you if you don’t cooperate. Maybe in your other leg to make things more even.”

Tears pricked my eyes. Shocked wasn’t the right word. It didn’t convey enough of what I was feeling. None of this made sense. This wasn’t the Camden I knew. I didn’t know who the hell this was.

He was terrifying.

“Are you an undercover cop?” I asked, picking up my voice from the floor.

“Turn around, Ellie. I cocked the gun to make a point. The next point I make will involve pulling the trigger.”

I did as he said. As he walked toward me, I ran through my ways out of this. I could chance it. I could predict where his gun was and turn and knock it out of his hands. I could go low and kick him out at the shins. Or the balls. Anything that would get him to drop the gun, anything to reverse the roles.

But I’d never done that to someone with a loaded weapon before. I didn’t trust my reaction time. I couldn’t count on my limbs to do the job. It was too much of a risk and I’d already taken too many.

I felt him stop behind me, his breath tickling the back of my neck. It was no longer erotic, it was horrifying as hell. His hands went for mine and he slowly placed the cold cuffs over my wrists. When they clicked shut, it was the sound of defeat.

“No, I’m not a cop,” he said to my neck. His voice was so flat, so inhuman, he might as well have been a robot. “I’m just a tattoo artist. I’m just a guy who used to be in love with a girl. I’m just a fool who’s been fooled too many times before. I’m just a man who’s finally getting his revenge.”

“You’re a monster,” I spat out.

He laughed, cold and sharp. Then he placed his hand around my throat and squeezed hard. My windpipe crushed, I could barely breathe.

“Do you ever look at yourself in the mirror?” he asked, his voice rising. “Do you like what you see?”

I fought for breath, trying to squirm away under his hand but it only made him tighten his grip. Those wonderful strong fingers would be the death of me.

“I made an assumption about you,” he said, his voice calm again. “And I was right. If I’m a monster, then you must be the creator of them all. You’re my Dr. Frankenstein.”

And like that, he suddenly let go. I bent over, trying to get air into my aching lungs, trying to think past the burn in my throat. My heart was pounding so loudly I was almost deaf.

“Come here,” he said, and grabbed me by the elbow. He threw me roughly into his desk chair where my hands were crushed against the seat. With the gun still on me, he bent down and scooped up the Safeway bag.

“You know, if you needed the money, you could have just asked me.” His voice was a little gentler now. “I would have given it to you, no questions asked.”

“Why?” My hat fell off my head onto the floor and my hair obscured my vision.

He walked over to me, putting the bag on the desk, and crouched down in front of me. Through the strands of hair I could only see the shiny barrel of the gun in his hands.

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