The Finished Masterpiece (Master of Trickery Book 3)

by Pepper Winters

I tried to protect Gil, but I wasn’t quick enough as another punch landed on his jaw. He didn’t retaliate. Didn’t flinch. He stood stoic and broken even as fresh blood trickled from his cheekbone. He kept his head high as the man spun and kicked him in the stomach.

  This time, he did fall.

  “Stop it!”

  Slamming to one knee, he looked like a knight waiting for a sword to complete the sentence. But even on the ground before his attacker, he was undefeatable. He might not retaliate with violence, but his entire demeanour shouted invincible.

  Why is he doing this?

  Tears once again burned my eyes as the guy bent down and grabbed a fistful of Gil’s unruly hair. “You have three days.” He spoke with anger, spraying spit over Gil’s face.

  He flinched but didn’t try to get free. “Three days.” He nodded as if he’d struck a bargain written by the devil.

  The guy let him go, wiping his hands on his jeans. “Don’t fuck up, Gilbert. You know what happens if you do.”

  Gil shut his eyes as if the consequences were too much to bear. “I know.”

  The guy sniffed as if annoyed at Gil’s obedience, swung another punch into his temple, and laughed as Gil crashed to the ground, unconscious.

  Chapter Eleven

  ______________________________

  Olin

  -The Present-

  I RAN.

  The second the guy stepped away, I bolted to Gil’s unconscious form and fell to his side. “Don’t you dare come near us again,” I hissed, cradling Gil’s head on my lap, my knees on fire from skidding on gravel, my heart a drum in every extremity.

  The guy shook out his sore knuckles from punching the one person I’d do anything for. “There’s that dangerous word again.” He grinned. “Us.”

  “Fuck off,” I spat.

  I didn’t care that he might try to kidnap me again. I didn’t stop to think about my safety. All I cared about was helping the boy I’d always helped. Patching up his wounds and repairing his injuries. The boy who’d always helped me in return.

  This was a role I was used to.

  This was a man I would defend until the end.

  “I’d be careful if I were you, sweetheart.” The guy backed toward his vehicle. “Those associated with Gilbert always have a habit of getting hurt.” Blowing me a kiss and looking at Gil with a sneer, he chuckled. “I’ll be seeing ya.”

  Turning his back on both of us, he swaggered to his van, slammed the door, and drove off with a squeal of tyres, kicking up dust and a swirl of exhaust.

  I didn’t move until the van vanished at the bottom of the warehouse driveway, turning into traffic and leaving us alone.

  Bastard.

  My gaze dropped to Gil’s slack, blood-smeared face. “Gil.” Brushing his messy, dark hair from his eyes, I expected a fierce command to stop touching him. A snap to leave. A grumpy slur asking why I’d disobeyed him. Again.

  But he didn’t move.

  And that terrified me worse than any shout he could deliver.

  I stroked his stubble-covered cheek. “Come on. He’s gone. Let’s get inside.”

  Still no response.

  His body lay sprawled on the ground. One arm covered his chest while the other lay awkwardly beneath him.

  “Gilbert...” I rocked his shoulder gently, looking up to see if anyone working in the neighbouring warehouses had seen and could offer aid.

  At no point did I think about leaving. I could never in good conscious walk away from Gil even if he didn’t want me in his life. Even if he’d told me in no uncertain terms to stay away.

  I’d been the only one he’d trusted to nurse him.

  That probably hadn’t changed.

  “Why did you let him beat you up for goodness’ sake?” I brushed his arm away, exposing his throat, searching for a pulse. I struggled with unhappiness, not able to accept mindless violence or acts of stupidity.

  And this was both.

  Gil had been so stupid to allow such a thing. No reason on earth could justify letting someone beat you unconscious.

  My thumb found his pulse, relief shooting through me.

  “Why didn’t you fight back, huh?” I whispered, running my finger over his bottom lip, checking he still breathed, not quite trusting the throb of blood in his veins. “Was he the one who hurt you the first day I came here?”

  I knew my questions would remain unanswered but my voice seemed to soothe him.

  The tension in his body faded. His chest rose and fell with a deeper breath.

  “Are you in some sort of trouble, Gil?” I kneaded his shoulder, doing my best to wake him gently. “What are you involved in? Why are you so determined to make me hate you, all while I know you don’t...not truly.”

  If I truly believed in the icy monster he did his best to portray, my heart wouldn’t prod me to stay. It would accept the truth and move on. But Gil was hiding something. Something scary and secretive and the weight was too much for him to bear.

  “Come on, time to wake up.” I bent and brushed away a piece of gravel on his forehead. “Please, open your eyes.”

  He moaned under his breath.

  My stomach knotted with heavier relief.

  Once again, I felt that string. Knitting together, doing its best to tie its broken ends back together again.

  As much as Gil would like to deny it, an unbreakable chain bound us.

  It always had.

  Ever since we’d stood in that school corridor and I’d told him the truth about my parents, I’d been tied to him.

  He hadn’t judged me.

  He hadn’t pitied me.

  He’d just shrugged as if it didn’t matter. Like I was strong enough to survive without them because he was now my friend.

  He’d saved me then.

  And he saved me now.

  If he hadn’t come out, I’d probably be gagged and trussed in the back of the van heading to who the hell knew where.

  He’d rescued me reluctantly.

  It was my turn to repay the favour and save him.

  “I’ll give you another minute.” Placing his head carefully on the ground, I climbed to my feet and quickly gathered up my belongings scattered on the ground. Shoving them into my handbag, I used my phone to email myself the license plate of the van before my memory played tricks on me.

  I didn’t care what arrangement Gil had with him. That guy was a menace and deserved to rot in jail.

  With the email sent, I slipped my phone into my bag, checked that the envelope with Gil’s cash was still inside, and headed back toward him.

  He didn’t move as I ducked to my haunches and pressed shaking fingertips to his temple, running my fingers through his hair.

  So soft.

  So warm.

  So real and familiar and alive.

  I swallowed back another wash of untenable heartache. I missed touching him. I missed having that privilege.

  My touch roused him enough for him to groan. Licking his lips and the blood staining them, he moaned as pain took over.

  “Hey, I’m here. You’re okay.”

  He pushed off from the ground, his forehead furrowed. I helped him into a sitting position, wedging my shoulder under his arm. “Come on. We need to get inside.”

  “Wh-what are you still doing...here?” he grunted, testing parts of his bruised body as he clambered to his feet. He tried not to put weight on me, but he swayed and shook his head, giving me a chance to wrap an arm around his waist.

  He was solid and strong, and my heart skipped a beat.

  His eyes narrowed once the vertigo left him. “Don’t touch me, O. I told you to go.”

  “Yet I’m still here.”

  “A blatant disregard of my command.”

  “I’m helping you.”

  “I don’t want your help. How many times do I need to tell you?”

  “Too bad. You’ve got it.” Tugging him in the direction of his warehouse, my temper steadily rose. My question wasn’t so gentle this
time. “What were you thinking, huh?”

  He didn’t reply, half trying to shove me away, half doing his best not to show he needed my support.

  “You wouldn’t understand.” His legs were stable, even if his mind still swam with unbalance, and it didn’t take long to step through the pedestrian access and close the door behind us.

  “Try me. I might understand more than you think.”

  “I already know you can’t.” He winced, rubbing his belly where that arsehole’s foot had connected.

  The familiar warehouse welcomed me back as I walked its painting master over the large work area, unsure where to take him. “Do you have a bed here?”

  “None of your business.”

  I shook him. “Answer me. The sooner I find you something soft to rest on, the sooner I can leave.”

  “As if that will ever happen.”

  I pinched his side. “Save your energy for healing, not answering back.”

  His eyebrows settled low over frustrated eyes. “I have a small apartment in the back.” He pointed the way with a tilt of his head. “Through the office.”

  “See? Was that so hard?”

  He huffed, dark and miserable. “Harder than you’ll ever know.” He looked away, not letting me catch his gaze.

  My heart beat painfully as I held him tight, and we shuffled through his office together. Papers scattered the only desk. No chair. No filing cabinets. His method of records archaic.

  Reaching the door to his apartment, he froze. His hand landed on my shoulder, pushing me resolutely away. “I’m not an invalid.”

  “You might fall.”

  “I won’t.”

  I let go, even though it felt like needles of coldness without him close.

  He swayed, catching himself against the wall. I gritted my teeth to prevent saying ‘I told you so’ as he wedged a palm into his temple, blinking back stars. We had a lot of messiness between us, we didn’t need petty quips too.

  “You’ll feel better when you sit down.” I followed him as he pushed off the wall and led me into a tiny lounge. My eyes skittered over the space. A TV that’d seen better days, a couch that looked recycled, and a kitchen that held no clutter or signs of being used.

  The industrial tone of the warehouse flowed into his residential abode with harsh brick, exposed metal, and no-nonsense decorations.

  The only thing brightening up the space was the back wall where two doors remained closed, bordered with graffiti I had no doubt Gilbert had done.

  It had his signature all over it.

  A vibrant wash of reds and greens, purples and blues. A tropical rainforest with palm trees, heliconias, and parrots flying in the fronds.

  “Wow.” I stopped, noticing where the spray paint ran a little to give the illusion of muggy humidity, where he’d feathered the colour to give parrot wings depth and flight.

  My voice barely registered as I said, “You always were amazing with a can of spray paint.”

  He’d shown me some of his work when we were younger, proudly revealing his after-dark hobbies. He’d almost kissed me while pinning me against one. I’d almost offered him my virginity, all because I couldn’t stand to be so in awe and so in love with him and not claim every inch of him for my own.

  He muttered something under his breath, something harsh and cutting.

  I was glad I didn’t hear it as he inched toward the fake leather couch with holes in its cushions and lay down. His eyes closed, his forehead furrowing with deep tracks.

  My heart squeezed unbearably as I ghosted forward. “What can I do for you?”

  His lips thinned as I stopped by his side. Keeping his eyes resolutely shut, he murmured, “Go home, Olin. I’m fine.”

  Ducking to my haunches, I laid a hand on his head, my fingers slinking through his hair. “Please...don’t turn me away.”

  He turned to stone. His teeth sank into his bottom lip. His entire body vibrated as if he broke beneath my touch. A giant fissure through his chest. An earthquake in his soul. The couch creaked as he jerked his head away, trying to free himself from my touch.

  I let my hand trail down, fingertips crying for more.

  “Just lie there. I’ll look after you.” A phrase I’d uttered before. A phrase he knew I meant. No matter what’d happened between us, I would always look after him.

  Gil didn’t say a word as I moved around the small lounge and into the kitchen. Opening wooden cabinets, I searched for a glass. Instead, I found bare essentials. Only a couple of each item, mostly chipped and well-worn, a couple of plastic cups and bowls only suitable for children. Splodges of dried paint decorated them, signalling they weren’t used as utensils but for means of holding pigment.

  Sighing, I grabbed the least chipped glass and filled it with water. Taking it to Gil, I placed in on the low coffee table, shoving aside an unfinished sketch of a blue whale. “Where do you keep your painkillers, Gil?”

  This time no argument or angry commands. His throat worked as he swallowed. “Medicine cabinet. In the bathroom.”

  I didn’t ask for permission to enter a more personal part of his home just off the kitchen. I didn’t need to second-guess why there were multiple boxes of different pain relief hidden behind the mirror above the pedestal sink.

  I doubted the habit of having such drugs close by would stop anytime soon, especially seeing as he’d allowed that bastard to hurt him.

  He’d done nothing to protect vitals. Nothing to prevent damage.

  He could have internal bleeding from being kicked in the stomach or a concussion from being knocked out.

  He should see a doctor.

  But he won’t.

  Gil didn’t have a fond relationship with doctors, thanks to his past. He said he didn’t want his dad to be arrested for what he did to him, but I knew he didn’t want to be taken away from me and put into foster care.

  I hadn’t wanted that either, but not a day went by that I didn’t beg him to tell someone, reveal what sort of hellhole he lived in, so he was no longer used as a punching bag.

  Grabbing a box, I sighed heavily. Gil wouldn’t have managed most days at school without relying on popping a few pills. No matter his injuries, he’d only ever let me tend to him—no matter if they were far above my basic skills.

  I had a terrible case of déjà vu.

  Spinning to leave, I frowned as a whiff of synthetic strawberry shot up my nose. The sweet scent didn’t match the masculine bareness of the bathroom with its grey linoleum and white tile walls.

  Glancing into the shower, I scanned the bottles on the glass shelf. Nothing—just a block of cream-coloured soap.

  No sign of strawberry anything.

  Sniffing the air again, nothing sweet teased me.

  Not wanting to snoop, I returned to the lounge and found Gil sitting upright with his phone in his hands. The back of his neck strained. The muscles of his back visible beneath his grey T-shirt.

  With a heart-wrenching groan, he raked a hand through his hair, threw his phone to the floor, and rocked over the injuries in his stomach. He trembled as if he wanted to tear apart every piece of furniture all while he almost crumpled to his knees.

  My heart tripped all over again—falling over an invisible obstacle, derailing my future all because I was still in love with a man who seemed totally destroyed.

  With the lightest footsteps, I padded closer and sat beside him. My hand landed gently on his thigh.

  He reared back, his head soaring up, his eyes flipping open. For a second, I worried he’d strike me. I braced myself for something horrible.

  But he leashed himself, his eyes bleeding pain. His voice cracked with rage and confusion. “I’m running out of strength, O.” His head bowed. His heavy palm landed over mine and squeezed.

  As quickly as he’d touched me, he plucked my hand from his thigh and placed it onto mine with a firm rebuff. He shuddered, inching away from me with a faint, agony-filled hiss. “You can’t be here.”

  I didn’t ask wh
y. I didn’t offer to be his strength. That wasn’t how our friendship worked. I merely offered a place of sanctuary. No questions. No demands. Because I’d learned as a young girl that Gil didn’t need someone to tell him what to do. He just needed someone who cared.

  Sniffing back years’ worth of emotion, I said, “No matter what’s happened, I care about you. I’m staying until you’re not so in pain.”

  He groaned with torment, too exhausted to answer back.

  Cracking open the painkillers, I popped three for him and two for me. My head hurt from being used as a weapon against that madman. “Here.”

  His gaze tracked to my upturned palm. “We’re not kids anymore. I don’t need you to play nursemaid.”

  I didn’t reply, reaching for the glass I’d filled for him and stealing a mouthful to swallow my own pain relief.

  Comprehension darkened his face. “Did that fucking bastard hurt you?”

  “I’m okay.”

  His large hands landed on my shoulders, spinning me to face him. “Olin.”

  His eyes trapped mine and he could no longer hide the truth. His amazing, incredible heart that held galaxies worth of love, despite his upbringing. His kindness, his concern, his—

  Shutters slammed down, blocking me from seeing anymore. His fingers spasmed on my shoulders before tearing away as if I was made of flame and I’d just scorched him to his very core. “Goddammit.”

  Pretending my lips weren’t on fire to kiss him and doing my best to hide my sudden trembles, I held out the pills for him again. “Take these.”

  He stared at them as if he didn’t know what they were and he was no longer human. His thoughts trapped within whatever prison he’d wrapped himself in.

  I waited. I stayed.

  Finally, he reached out and flinched as our skin kissed, his fingers on my palm, taking the offered painkillers. With a tight jaw and tighter muscles, he tossed them into his mouth and reached for the glass.

  His throat worked fast, gulping back the liquid before slamming the glass down and standing. “Thank you. I’ll walk you out.”

  I stood too, feeling far too small and weak on the couch with him towering over me. I sucked in a breath, ready to fight for what I wanted. “I won’t ask what happened out there, not again. But I am going to ask if you’re in trouble.”