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He kisses me. I kiss him back, breathing in through my nose as his tongue invades my lips and his grip on my throat tightens. He holds me there against the window, the cold glass against my back, kissing me, tasting me, and I breathe him in, feeling his muscular body, the power in his fingers. This man, this beast, he could destroy me, but instead he’s done nothing but keep me going.
The kiss breaks apart. He leans his forehead against mine.
“I won’t force you to stay here forever, Hellie, but while you’re under my roof, you will do the best work you possibly can.”
“I’ll try.”
“No, don’t try, just do it. Create like you’ve never created before. The forgeries and your own work. While you’re here, take advantage.”
I laugh and he steps away. He’s entirely serious, which is so bizarre. “Why do you even care?”
“Because you may never get another shot at doing something great, and I think you have it in you. So fucking try.”
He turns and walks to the door. I stare at him, head ringing. I look toward the painting hidden behind the cans and wonder if maybe he’s right and I’ve already started.
But he doesn’t leave. He pauses, shoulders tense.
He speaks one last time. “Tonight, come to my room when you’re finished.”
I stand stiffly, eyes wide with surprise. “Your room?”
“Yes. My room. You know where it is.”
“I know, it’s just, we’ve never, you know, gone in there.”
“I want you to sleep in my bed tonight. I won’t force you, but I will be waiting up. Don’t make me wait too long.” Then he leaves without another word.
Chapter25
Hellie
Another morning, another empty bed. This time though, everything’s different.
Erick’s room is simple, even compared to my own. Bare walls painted gray. A desk with a tower computer, the multiple monitors all turned off. An en-suite bathroom, a walk-in closet, a dresser. The furniture is wooden and smooth, almost like he made it himself.
I’m sore in a good way. After working on another painting of him, this time an image of him standing in the desert, crawling from a ravine, I found him shirtless and reading a book. He didn’t take long to put it aside, drag me into bed with him, and spend the rest of the evening taking what he wants from my skin and giving even more in return.
Yes, I’m sore, and I’m pretty sure I have a big old handprint bruise on my ass, just like he wanted.
I get up, dress, use his bathroom, and I’m about to leave when I pause.
I’ve been in this house for a while now. A couple weeks, if I’m thinking right, and I haven’t had any contact with the outside world. My boss is probably worried, and I’m sure Nicky’s wondering where the heck I’m at.
Erick never expressly forbade contact with the outside world, only I haven’t had the chance—until now.
I walk to his computer, turn on the monitors, and find the computer is already logged in and tuned to webpages showing stock prices. Complicated charts with lines that make no sense bloom like strange clouds. I click out of them, pull up Chrome, and navigate to my email.
Nervous energy jangles into my knees. I keep looking over my shoulder, waiting for Erick to walk in and catch me. Instead, it’s silent, and I stare at all the messages cluttering my inbox.
It’s mostly spam. Gone for two weeks, and the only people that really care are the ones trying to get me to buy something. But buried in there are a few panicked messages from Nicky, wondering where the hell I am, telling me to call her when I get a chance.
I pull up a reply window and my hands hover over the keyboard.
What do I tell her?
I could give her the truth. Beg for help. Get the FBI and the freaking CIA scouring the desert. Erick Costa’s kind of famous in the Vegas scene, which means someone’s got to know where this place is. If I tell Nicky, she could get the process started, and I might actually save myself.
But what happens next?
