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“Yeah. So has your mother. The guards let them in.”
His eyes narrowed into beady slits. “I’ll deal with them.”
“Good,” I replied huskily. “You should. Your words sent me running to people who didn’t love me, who made me feel like I was a slut, but it was the only way I knew to keep Shay safe from someone who I thought hated me and would hate him. From this world where the cops are the enemies not friends.”
He gritted his teeth. “Help me up?”
I glared at him. “Why?”
“I want to show you something.”
“I don’t want to see it.”
“Tough.” He sighed, wiped his other hand over his face, and muttered, “Please?”
What was I supposed to do? Leave him there floundering on the futon?
Although, the day this manflounderedwas the day I had to visit a coffin maker. Declan didn’t flounder. He was quiet, pensive, until you knew him. And I’d known him very, very well.
I reached down and helped him up, not used to him needing me in this way, and finding I didn’t like it. A man like him was born to be strong. Born to flash society the bird.
It was why he was my soulmate.
Well, before he’d broken everything that made memeand ruptured it like he’d slipped a dagger into my gut.
When he was standing, I noticed he didn’t pant as much as he did the day before. Not that I’d let him know that I was watching… Did I look like a fool?
The second he thought I had my feet under the table, he’d pull it away from me. The level of hatred he’d aimed my way that day, that had to have been brewing for a long time, so I knew whatever payback he was going to serve up would be a nightmare.
I was the queen of nightmares now though.
I made them my bitch and turned them into masterpieces, because suffering made my art shine that little bit harder.
And that was the tragedy of being an artist.
