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I waited for him to say something, but it didn’t seem like anything was going to be said. Our silence used to make me feel comfortable, but now it was making me anxious. I didn’t know if he was thinking about walking out the door or staying beside me. I didn’t know where we stood anymore. I could usually feel whatever he was feeling—but this time, I didn’t have a clue.
Finally, his baritone broke the silence. “That’s how you see me?” He finally turned my way, his beautiful blue eyes looking into mine. His look wasn’t cold but seared me like a flame. There wasn’t a trace of hostility or rage.
He’d asked a question, but I wasn’t sure if it was a genuine one. “It’s just a painting…”
“It’s not just a painting, baby,” he whispered. “That must have taken you a long time to make. When I looked at it, I could feel the cold… I can feel my breath escape as vapor. I could feel the way that bullet pierced my shoulder.” He rubbed the area, like the bullet was still lodged deep inside his flesh. “I could feel the way my lips burned when I kissed you for the first time. I could feel the deep loneliness inside my chest, that solitude I feel anytime I’m up in Lake Garda. I could feel the way you fought me, the way you impressed me when you crawled across the ground because that taser had no effect on you. I relived that entire night, but more vividly than when I actually lived it.”
My eyes moved down, touched by everything he just said.
“Look at me.”
I didn’t think twice before I obeyed, my eyes shifting back up to look at him.
“That’s how talented you are,” he whispered. “That’s how powerful you are.”
“Powerful?” I whispered.
“You made me feel something… You always make me feel something. You manipulate my emotions without even realizing it. I’ve seen all of your artwork, and I know the only people you ever depict are your family.”
Shit.
“But you painted me…”
No. No. No.
I looked away again, unable to see the knowledge in his eyes.
“Baby.”
This time, I wouldn’t look at him again.
“Don’t be afraid of me.”
“It’s not you that I’m afraid of…”
“Don’t be afraid of us.”
I closed my eyes, wishing all of this would stop. I felt so much guilt, so much rage. I didn’t want to be there in that moment. I didn’t want to be stuck in this sick and twisted situation. If only he said or did something that could sever our ties altogether, everything would be so much easier.
“I asked you to make that painting for me so I would always have a piece of you. I want to put it in my office in Lake Garda. That way I can remember what we had. I can stare at it while I drink my scotch and smoke my cigars. I want to remember how all of this felt…and never forget. Because you aren’t like any other woman I’ve ever been with, Vanessa. And I know I’m not like any other man you’ve been with. When all of this is over…we’ll both never forget what we had.”
I opened my eyes again, relieved that he didn’t see more into the painting. I didn’t want him to think I wanted forever, that I wanted this perverse arrangement to continue indefinitely. We were both addicted to each other, addicted to the good sex and the scorching chemistry. One day, we would walk away from each other. Bones might be my enemy forever, and I would have to face him across a battlefield. Or he would let this blood war go, and he would disappear from my life.
Either way, the outcome was the same.
There was no future for us.
He understood that. I understood that.
These paintings were just snapshots of moments in time. They showed the way we viewed each other, the way we wanted to remember one another.
“You really know me,” he whispered. “Better than anyone…”
“I do?”
He nodded. “And I think I know you better than anyone too.”
I wanted to tell him that wasn’t true, that it would never be true. My biggest enemy was my closest confidant. He was the man I shared all things with, including my body. But an argument was futile, so there was no point in denying it.
I had to accept the painful truth—and try to swallow it.
8
Bones
I had a lot of different hobbies.
I liked to kill.
Drink.
Fuck.
And watch sports.
That was pretty much everything.
But now I had a new hobby, a hobby I acquired three months ago.
Vanessa Barsetti.
I sucked her clit into my mouth and gave it a gentle bite before I swirled my tongue around her nub, tasting her beautiful pussy. My tongue delved into her slit, reaching the moisture that had already pooled for me a long time ago. A man usually went down on a woman to make her wet, but with my baby, I didn’t need to do that.
