Shooting Scars (The Artists Trilogy 2)

He was staring at me like he hadn’t even heard a word I said, so I added, with as much venom as I could muster. “You disgust me.”

He blinked a few times, then put his arm around the back of the couch and eyed his watch and the wish tattoo it was covering up. “Well, at least disgust is still something.”

I shook my head, words and sentences trying to come together inside but nothing fit. Nothing made any sense. I downed the rest of my drink in one go.

“You said we ruined each other,” he went on, his voice lower now. “Both of us wouldn’t be here now if we hadn’t.”

I wiped my mouth. “And what makes you think I like where I am?”

He crossed his ankle on his knee, a flash of dark gold skin between his Topside shoes and navy pants. No socks.

“Because I introduced you to your true self. I made you see the world as you were born to see it. You’re not good, Ellie.”

I scowled at him. “You sound like Raul now.”

“No, I am nothing like Raul. I only see the truth. I opened you up to the life you were born to live. You came from … you only knew this growing up. It is in your blood just as it is in my blood. We lead the lives we were meant to, lives that are exciting and dangerous and full of power. We are strong. We are so alike, so very alike, that sometimes I wish you had told me back then who you really were.”

“You would have killed me if you found out,” I said. I feared it then but I knew it now. My hand would have been tossed into the sea, like that angel doll.

He seemed to consider that, angling his head. “Maybe I would have. I loved you so much, so much.”

“Loving someone enough to kill them?”

He smiled caustically. “It’s the romantic in me.”

Suddenly he reached forward and put his hand on my knee. I flinched, my heart exploding in my chest, my eyes frozen wide.

“I’m glad you are afraid of me, my dear,” he said, his fingers tightening on my knee ever so slightly. “I’m glad I disgust you. The more you feel these things so strongly, the more you’ll realize how right I am. That you and I are the same. That I can help you get what I have—the power, the pride, the respect. I can make you my queen. And you’ll give up on trying to be good, to be better. You are better now.”

I felt as if something was lodged in my throat. “I sacrificed my life in order to save Camden and his family. I am good.”

He leaned forward, his lips going to my ear. I held absolutely still, watching the dark waves roll past beyond his shoulder.

“You sacrificed nothing and gained everything. You chose to be with me. Now own it.” His breath tickled hot, even when he pulled away.

After placing his drink on the side table, he began to descend the stairs into his quarters, his silhouette stark against the glow of the cabin. His voice called out, “Sleep well, angel,” and was carried away by the night wind on the Gulf. Even then, I still felt his breath on my neck. The lingering heat. Those damaging words that were oh so slowly getting under my skin.

CHAPTER TWELVE

CAMDEN

One moment I was backing away from the guy slowly, hands in the air in a show of peace. In the next a gunshot rang out from somewhere inside the house. I froze in place, forgetting what Gus had told me, which was to run and get the hell out of there. Instead I acted on instinct.

As the man whipped around in surprise to stare back into the house, I grabbed the gun out of my waistband. I was smart to do so because in the next second, before he even turned back around to see me, to see the pistol, he was going for the gun he had on him.

Unfortunately for him, I beat him to it. I held the gun steady in my hand, pointed right at his head and said calmly, “Don’t you fucking move.”

The man raised his hands slowly and a stupid smile was plastered on his face. “Hey man, we don’t want no trouble.”

“Gus!” I yelled at the house, coming closer until I was a foot away, gun still aimed and ready. “Ellie!”

“Oh,” the man said in surprise. “You are here for the bitch.”

Without thinking, I whipped the neck of the gun on his temple, right on his injury.

The man cried out and grabbed his head, dropping to the ground but I grabbed him by his shirt collar and pulled him back up. I flung him against the door, his head rattling against it and shoved the gun underneath his chin.

“Listen to me you piece of shit,” I said, my voice breaking with rage. “Where is she? You tell me where she is. Tell me!”

The man didn’t look scared at all. The blackness settled in, stoking the fire, and made me drive the end of the gun further into his throat, until I was sure I could feel his pulse riding down the barrel.

“Tell me!” I screamed, not caring if I was attracting attention. If that gunshot was for Ellie … so help me God. I’d burn the entire house down with everyone in it.

He clamped his lips shut, as if daring me to shoot him. I knocked him in the temple again, the blood running harder down his face and then dragged him inside the house. It was dark on the first floor but the upstairs led to rooms bathed in the sunset.

“Gus!” I yelled again.

“Up here,” he said from the second floor. He sounded fine.

“Where is she? I’ve got someone but he won’t talk.”

“Mine won’t either.”

I went up the stairs, dragging the man up until the polo shirt began to rip. I dug one hand into his arm and kept the gun firmly pressed against his ribs. He kept stumbling over the steps thanks to the blood in his eyes but I didn’t care.

I walked into a small sitting area and a kitchen that faced a porch through two French doors. One of the doors was open, a salty breeze coming through. This is where Ellie would have had her dinners. Had she cooked for him? Did they have morning coffees together?

“I’m here,” said Gus and I followed his voice down a hallway to an open door at the end, ignoring the cramp in my hand from holding the gun so tightly. I peered inside the room and saw Gus standing at the foot of an unmade bed, a bullet hole in the wall. On the floor was a large bald guy, shot in the shoulder, a gun a foot from his open hand. Blood was soaking the carpet beneath him.

I know what I’d just done to the man in my hands, but the sight still took my breath away.

“Is he dead?” I asked.

Gus nodded, eyes still on him, as if he was expecting the guy to jump up from the grave. “Unfortunately I had to shoot first, then ask the questions.” He looked to me, noticing the guy for the first time. “Who is that?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “He answered the door. He knows about Ellie.”

Gus shook his head. “She’s not here.”

“How do you know?”

He shrugged and kicked the guy’s leg. “I just do. They’re gone, Javier and her. Raul. His bodyguards. These guys are sloppy. They’re the ones who get left behind to water the plants.”

The man in my hands grunted, as if insulted by that remark.

“Well I guess we should try and get him to talk,” Gus said coming closer. He peered at the man, then shot me a look I could have taken as impressed on any other day. “Re-injuring an injury. Smart boy.” He pointed at the bed. “Here, set him down. We’ve both got guns, he’s not going anywhere.”

I yanked him forward and then pushed him so he went flying. Blood sprayed on the sheets. It was only then that I realized what I was seeing. Ellie and Javier’s bedroom.

I almost joined the man on the bed, if only to smell the pillow. I needed to know that she had slept here, that she was alive, just to remember what she smelled like. But I kept it together. Instead I noticed a pile of clothes leading into the bathroom. I went over, confident that Gus was watching Javier’s house sitter and picked it up. Ellie’s jeans. Her tank top. The very ones she was wearing the day she went with him.

I held them to me, like they were some injured creature.

“No blood,” Gus said, his gun out and aimed at the man though his eyes were on the clothes. “Just dirty. Weren’t ripped off either by the looks of it.”

I took a step into the bathroom. The shower was dripping sporadically, the towel damp to the touch. She was here. She showered. Shed her dirty clothes. And then what? What did she wear? Was she alone getting changed or …

I had to choke back the bile that was flooding my throat. The thought of Javier and Ellie together. Her naked, him touching her. Taking advantage of her.

The blackness spread quickly. I felt myself floating away.

I spun around, throwing her clothes in the sink and marching right up to the boy, gun back in his face.

“Did Javier hurt her?” I seethed, spitting in his face.

The boy let out a little laugh and I immediately whipped the gun across his face. It cracked, crashing against bone and teeth.

“Hey, Camden,” Gus said sternly but gently. I pretended I didn’t hear him.

“I’ll do it to the other side to make things even,” I threatened. “Now tell me if he hurt her. Tell me what happened to her. Tell me where she is.”

The man spit out blood and peered up at me through a running red eye.

“I’m not telling you anything. Except that she deserves whatever is coming for her.”

“Camden,” Gus warned me. I bit down on my tongue until I tasted copper, my lungs squeezing and squeezing, a hot black hand wrapped around them, egging me on, wanting me to let loose and drive that gun back into the guy’s head. I knew he was saying this shit to aggravate me and it fucking worked. He didn’t see how serious I was. He didn’t know how far I would go.

Even I didn’t know how far.

But part of me was really curious.

“Rope,” I grunted through grinding teeth. “Get some rope, Gus.”

Gus hesitated but went straight to the closet. He opened and let out a low whistle through his teeth.

“What is it?” I asked, not taking my eyes off the guy. He was still staring back at me, daring me to do something, to shoot him. I didn’t want to shoot him. I wanted answers.

“Ellie’s clothes,” he said quietly. “They’re all here. That nutter saved them all these years.”

That wasn’t helping. “Rope, Gus.”

I heard metal jangling and he came over to me with a belt. “Belts work just fine.”

“I need three more. We’re tying him to the bed.”

He sighed and came back with more. “Do you mind telling me what you’re going to do?”

I shook my head. “I want answers. Then we’ll leave.”

“Well you better make it fast because unless they have gunfights here every evening, someone’s going to report that. You can probably bet on the cops showing up.”

“It’ll go fast if he talks. If he doesn’t talk, we’ve got nothing.”

The man smiled at that. I took the energy I wanted to pummel into his face and put it toward wrapping the belt around one arm and looping it around one of the bedposts. Gus took care of the rest. Because the guy was quite short, we had to improvise around his legs with the addition of Javier’s silk ties. It felt somewhat poetic.