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)
“Tell me something nice now. You’re getting too tense.”
“Yeah? What’s nice?”
“Tell me how you want to fuck me tonight.”
His eyebrows raise. “You want me to talk dirty to you while you’re painting me? You don’t get much work finished if we go down that road.”
“Very good point. Maybe I shouldn’t rile you up.”
“Too late, devil girl.”
I grin at him and he smirks back, but at least his shoulders drop and his hands stop clenching the armrests. “Think you can hold that pose for, I don’t know, an hour?”
“Doubtful. I’m having some very filthy thoughts, Hellie. I don’t think I can sit still for much longer.”
“Try. Have some self-control.”
“No, self-control is for weaker men.”
“Oh, now you’re a big, strong bad boy, huh?”
“Damn right, and don’t forget it.”
I laugh, making more fast marks on the canvas. “I like it when you look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re going to get up, walk over here, grab me by my hair, drag me into your bed, and fuck me senseless. It’s a very nice look.”
“I bet you like it. When did you get so dirty, devil girl? I feel like I’ve corrupted you.”
“Painting makes me relax. I guess I just say whatever comes into my head when I get like this.”
“You’re drunk on art.”
“Wow, yeah, it is sort of like that, isn’t it?”
He laughs and sighs, glancing toward the windows. “I love your work. It’s beautiful, you know that? It shows something in you, a deeper layer that I feel like I’d never reach without you bringing it out on the canvas.”
“You think so? I always like to imagine I’m digging that layer out and revealing it in others.”
“You could be doing both.”
“Oh, look at you, an art theorist now.”
He chuckles, I grin at him, feeling good and relaxed. I paint for a little while in silence, getting sucked into that deep focus again. It becomes less about teasing and flirting, and more about creating. That flow, moving through my hands, translating into paint. Erick comes into view, a figure of lights and darks, glowing in front of a dark background, a contradiction and a smear, gorgeous and dangerous. A threat and a promise of deeper pleasure.
But I’m torn from my zone when someone knocks at the door. It flies open and Marina steps into the room, breathing hard. “Erick. The truck.”
Erick gets to his feet. “What’s wrong?”
“The truck,” she repeats, looking panicked. She glances down at me, her hands coming to her face. “He took the truck.”
I drop my brush. Paint splatters on the floor.
Chapter 43
Hellie
Erick makes calls. He has dozens of guys searching in town for any sign of Dad or the truck. Ren gathers a little posse, and they drive around in Jeeps with big spotlights, combing the nearby desert in case the truck is just a diversion.
I sit on the couch in Erick’s office, leaning on my side with my knees pulled to my chest, feeling empty and confused.
“Why would he do this?” I ask, staring at the floor, seeing nothing. “We were trying to help him. Why would he skip out again?”
“It’s in his nature.” Erick stands at the window, palm against the glass, glaring into the night.
“No, that doesn’t make sense. He’s sick. He wasn’t faking it.”
“Are you sure?”
“I think so, I mean—” I stop myself. Am I actually sure he has cancer? Dad can fake a lot of things. I’ve seen him do it before. But he’s so thin and gaunt, and he looks so sick. “I never saw any paperwork.”
“Even that can be faked.” Erick’s fingers curl. “I’m sorry, Hellie. We’ll try to find him.”
“What if we didn’t?”
He glances back at me. “Hellie.”
“What if we let him run? Maybe this is his way of taking the decision out of our hands. He knows there’s no real way for you to save his life. Gallo and Frost would find out about him eventually if you tried to hide him here. I’ve been racking my brain trying to come up with a solution, but there’s nothing. What if this is his way of making things easier for us?”
Erick’s quiet. He’s considering, but I don’t need him to agree. I know what he thinks of my father, and he isn’t wrong. Dad’s a con man, a liar, a cheat. Anything he does always has an ulterior motive, and those motives always lead back to him, back to whatever he needs and wants.
But for once, I want to pretend like my father’s doing something hard that benefits everyone but himself, even if that goes against his character.
“We’ll find him,” Erick says at last. “And if we don’t, I don’t know what’ll happen. I hope he doesn’t stumble right into Gallo’s or Frost’s hands.”
“I hope so too.”
It’s a hard night. Ren’s men come and go, updating when necessary. The phone keeps ringing and Erick talks quietly, giving orders. Nothing happens, nobody’s found. Marina brings tea and snacks. She’s haggard, exhausted like everyone else, but she won’t go to bed, not even when I tell her to. “I’ll be here for you,” she says, patting my arm.