Page 73 of Watched

“What if she was a pawn,” I conclude, “one of distraction?”

“To what?” Blade asks.

“Put something obvious in front of someone, they don’t pay attention to their surroundings.”

“I know what a fucking distraction is.”

“The other two,” I grit out. “What if they’re moving?”

“London,” Dad concludes, pointing his cigar at me. “Check the fucking airports. I want them watched. I’ll have men posted on shift.” He stands, tense, and leaves the room with Kieran in tow. The door opens and closes with a thud, leaving a thick silence behind.

“You’ve fucked us.” Blade’s callous tone echoes in the large room. “This could have been handled years ago, but you didn’t ask for help.” He stares forward, refusing to look at me.

“I tried to have them taken out on the assumption they would seek revenge.”

“I would’ve gone in there and dealt with it myself.”

“You would’ve put yourself in prison? Alexa tried to send you there, but you were meticulous about covering your tracks.”

His jaw tightens, eyes still not moving with a blink. “At least I’d be in the same country as her.” I stand and round the chair away from him. “I do feel, you know.” His monotone voice suggests otherwise.

I stop in the double doorway and spin around, staring at his mussed-up hair. “I doubt that.”

“I may be the villain in your story, and hers. I don’t care if I am, but I do feel. Anger. Hurt.”

“But you don’t care if you inflict those things on others.”

“No.”

“Then why should I give a fuck about how you feel? Or the fact you want her in your life?”

“Call me a heartless monster, I don’t fucking care. I can’t see the beauty in a flower or a sunset like most people. They’re mundane things, and for some reason, people associate happiness with bright colours. Grey is happiness. The only one I’ve found.”

“Black rids grey,” I throw back. “You made that happen.”

“I need her, Rain.”

It’s times like these when can’t tell if he’s trying to manipulate me, pulling at my heartstrings and jostling me like a goddamn puppet.

“She’s healing,” I say. “You have their number. If you want to hear her voice, then call. If she doesn’t want to talk to you, I’m sure you can understand why.”

“Can you paint her?” The question stumps me as I stare at him, completely still in the seat. “Landscape, her nose and eyes—that’s all I want. I know you remember every detail. All grey.”

I do. Of course, I remember everything, I couldn’t forget if I tried. “I’ll work on it when I have time,” I deadpan.

He nods once.

After sifting through airport footage all night and finding nothing, then working out for two hours, I still can’t exhaust myself. So, I open the door to my studio and flick on the light. A white grand piano is positioned in the far-left corner, a window seat to the right overlooking the back of the estate and the forest within it. Three large windows expand across the far wall, allowing the space to be lit by natural light.

Taking a new landscape canvas from the shelf and placing in on my easel, I open the container of lime-wash to prep to canvas.

My alarm blares and I take out my phone, dialling the number. My smile falls when it rings through. I dial again. It rings, twice, and the excited bubble in my chest returns when it connects.

“Hello?” his sleepy gruff tone flows into my ear, making me forget about the brush I was about to pick up.

“Morning, baby.”

“Why are you calling so early?”