Destroy (Sordid 2.5)

My vision faded to black for a moment with rage. “I’m not working with—”

“Oh, yes, you are.” His palm cupped my cheek, but I jerked away. “I own you, Nikita Petrov. You already agreed to the work. Go back on that, and I’ll tell the cops that”—he swung his arm out, gesturing to the disaster—“this was all you. Whose word do you think they’ll believe?”

They’d believe his, absolutely.

I was a murderer. Destroying a piece of art would sound like a simple job for someone like me, and Maritza would side with Luke. I was trapped. Caged by this enigma of a man who had brought me pleasure and pain like no one else. I felt physically ill. Had he intended to destroy my art all along? Had he slept with me just to toy with my emotions? Damage me so I could come out stronger on the other end?

I glared up at him, feeling beaten. “You’re a monster.”

“Oh, Nikita.” His grin was cruel, and my blood turned to slush. “That’s too small a word to use for me.”

-8-

I had a complete breakdown and for the first time in my life, I wept. It didn’t matter that Luke was watching.

Nothing mattered anymore.

He stood stoically by as I sobbed at the death of my art like a mother grieving the loss of her only child. I had nowhere to put my emotions and they poured from me, littering the floor along with the broken shards of the yellow petals.

I crawled along the hardwood, gathering them up noisily into a pile. I sensed he was moving and heard the slide of a drawer, but I didn’t pay any attention to him. If I could pull the broken pieces of my sculpture together, perhaps I wouldn’t be so fractured. Maybe I’d have enough strength to get up off the floor and escape the brutal villain looming over me.

My nose was running, and I used the back of my hand to wipe it away before tucking a lock of hair behind my ear and focus in on my task. But my vision was blurred with tears, and I jolted backward as something dropped abruptly before me on the ground with a thud.

It was a gray tube with a black cap and it took me a moment to recognize the brand of industrial glue that could bond to almost any surface. I’d used it for repair a few times in the past. Was this some kind of sick joke? Another twist of the knife he’d stabbed me with? Luke had to know both my sculpture and I were too far gone to be salvaged.

“It’s going to be all right.” His voice was gentle, and I despised it. “I know this is hard, so take all the time you need.”

His attempt at comfort only made me hate him more. More than I had hated Sidor and more than myself.

Luke bent at his knees, dropping down to meet me at my level, and his expression was sincere. “When you’re ready, we’ll start.”

For the second time since I’d arrived at his studio, my gaze flicked to the crowbar on the workbench and violent thoughts rushed loudly through my mind. I could pick up the heavy metal bar and try to destroy him as he’d done to me. I’d find a new place to store my emotions when I bashed his head in.

I had nothing left to lose. I’d learned to live with killing a man and was fairly sure I could do it again.

Except . . .

Every choice I’d ever made when it mattered had been the wrong one. I’d come out of each bad situation even worse on the other side, and that thought was what froze the tears in my eyes. My time in prison had taught me no matter how bad things had become, they could always get worse.

I sat back on my heels, drew in a deep breath, and glared at him, wordlessly demanding his direction.

His eyes lit up with power and dark satisfaction.

LATER

The poured concrete floors were gray with dark tones swirled in them. As was usual with most galleries, the space was neutral so it wouldn’t compete with the art. People milled about, sipping their glasses of wine, perusing the sculptures that rose above the crowd.

I stood in an alcove off to the side, an untouched glass of champagne cold in my hand, trying to get a read on people’s faces as they looked at the displays. I wanted them to love each intricate detail and every exaggerated, blown-out aspect. I needed them to.

“Why are you hiding back here?”

I turned and swallowed a breath as I gazed at Luke. He wore a gray suit with a black tie, and the California surfer I’d come to know had vanished. This man was refined and elegant, and so attractive I wanted to curse at him. There had been many days when we were locked in his studio where I did just that.