The Finished Masterpiece (Master of Trickery Book 3)

by Pepper Winters

  And I was unbelievably scared.

  A snarl built in his throat as his tongue lashed mine. Then, with a haggard groan, he forcibly pulled away.

  Keeping his eyes downcast, he scrambled from the shower and ripped a black towel off the rail on the wall. Wrapping it around his waist, he stalked from the bathroom without a word.

  * * * * *

  “You can wear these,” Gil muttered as I stepped from the bathroom in a matching black towel. “Seeing as your clothes are, eh...”

  “Torn and painted?”

  He nodded sharply. “Yeah.”

  “Thanks.” My voice was soft and quiet as I took the offered clothes while we stood in his living room. Licks of colour still baptised us from our lack of cleaning and too much kissing in the shower.

  His eyes met mine.

  Any sign of an emotional connection was gone. Snow and ice decorated his features, placed there by self-preservation. “I’ll show you where you’ll sleep.” Turning on his heel, his white T-shirt and grey sweatpants looked delectable with his bare feet and damp hair.

  I clutched the clothes and towel and followed him as he opened the door to the right in the graffiti artwork of jungles and wildlife. My eyes strayed to the left door. The door I’d caught him exiting the night vodka and lapsed decisions ensured a memorable event on my hands and knees.

  What’s in there?

  My curiosity clawed to find out as I stepped over the threshold into Gil’s bedroom. I paused, studying the dark slate-grey walls and the simple king mattress on the floor. No bedframe. No side tables. No lamps or art or sign of habitation.

  An impersonal box with no hint of the complex man standing beside me.

  I frowned, sensing a pattern with his belongings. Either he didn’t have time for the typical stuff an ordinary person did or he lived frugally.

  Peering deeper into the shadows, I noticed indents in the beige carpet where a tallboy would’ve stood. There were signs of a rug at the bottom of the bed. Hints that this room wasn’t always so sparse.

  “Did you always live this simply, or is it a new lifestyle choice?” I asked, feeling as if I’d once again trespassed and wasn’t welcome.

  Gil raked a hand through his yellow-streaked hair. Polite decorum camouflaged barely leashed sorrow. “Over the past year, I’ve sold some stuff.”

  “Why?”

  He winced as a tidal wave of pain washed through his eyes. “Doesn’t matter.”

  My stomach twisted.

  That response was getting old.

  I wanted to ask if it was related to his regular bruises, beatings, and mysterious secrets, but I bit my lip and stayed silent.

  What was the point when I already knew?

  Heading toward the small wardrobe in the corner, he pulled out fresh sheets and blankets. Tossing them onto the mattress, he stood and shrugged as if he was as lost as I was about all of this. “I’ll, um, leave you to rest.”

  “We haven’t even had dinner.”

  He grimaced as if I’d announced he had to fight a hundred wolverines and battle for his life instead of eating a meal with me.

  His reaction bruised me. His tension made me fake a yawn. “You know what? Doesn’t matter. I’m not hungry.”

  He gave me a grateful nod. “Good.”

  “Okay, then...” I moved toward the bed, uncomfortable and desperate for my own space.

  I wanted to go home.

  I wanted to be alone...so I could come back when I was calmer and tell Gil once and for all that he had to choose.

  Choose me.

  Choose help.

  But Gil gave me a tight smile and bowed his head. “Goodnight, Olin.”

  Olin.

  No more nicknames. No more thawing.

  Hugging the clothes he’d given me, I nodded as he stepped from the room. “Goodnight, Gil.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  ______________________________

  Gil

  -The Past-

  I’D BEEN PAINTING a lot.

  Ever since Ms Tallup hinted at what she wanted from me, I couldn’t outrun the terrible sensation of sickness. Each class we had with her, I was repulsed. Each look she gave me, I was petrified Olin would guess something was wrong.

  I despised Ms Tallup for taking the one place where I found sanctuary and turning it into yet another cesspit. I was no longer safe there. I was as hunted in those corridors as I was at home, and the stress steadily increased my sleepless nights, giving me a temper toward Olin when she didn’t deserve it.

  The only thing that helped was when I lost myself in a drawing. Sketching had been the Band-Aid I needed, but when I stole some spray paint and decorated the side of an industrial building one night while everyone slept, I found a drug I needed to eradicate the symptoms of my life.

  If only temporarily.

  I hadn’t told Olin I’d been breaking the law.

  I hid the overspray on my fingers and didn’t show her my sketchbook again in case the images I drew scared her—images of violence and gore and people being tormented by circumstances outside their control.

  But tonight, Olin’s parents had been particularly cruel to her. She’d shown me a text her mother had sent during school. Some short sentence about going to a gala and for her to fend for herself. It wasn’t anything unusual apart from the gala was for the children of the employees who worked for their telecom company.

  Her parents were hanging out all night with their employees and their children and didn’t even want to take their own.

  Arseholes.

  The second the class ended, I’d stolen her hand while throwing a loathsome look at Ms Tallup, and yanked Olin from school grounds. We used the small amount of money her parents gave her for dinner and shared a burger and fries, then blew the rest on some game parlour in downtown Birmingham, playing air hockey and racing car games, earning a few tokens to win a silly stuffed ostrich which became Olin’s new nickname for the evening.

  Afterward, licking sugar from our fingers and wandering empty streets, I pulled a can of spray paint from my dirty backpack and shook it. The mixer inside clicked against the metal. “Fancy doing something not exactly legal, little ostrich?”

  I waited for her to shake her head in shock, but instead, a dainty smirk twisted her lips. “With you? I’d do anything.”

  And I fell head over heels.

  No one else could compare.

  No one else meant this much to me.

  Of course, I’d known for a while now that I was in love with her.

  I knew it each time my heart flipped when she wriggled in her seat in front of me in class. I tasted it every time she touched me, smiled at me, cooked for me, and studied with me.

  But right there, I knew I loved her to my very core while standing beneath a streetlamp on a dreary English night.

  I loved her.

  I wanted to keep her.

  My life would be infinitely better the moment it was just the two of us.

  No matter how much time passed. No matter what shit I put her through, I would always love this girl because she owned me heart and soul.

  “So...you’re a secret rebel?” I chuckled under my breath. “Who knew.”

  “I’m a rebel if you’re a rebel.” She plucked the can from my fingers and shook it. The rattle made my heart pick up speed. “You’ve done this before?”

  “Done what?” I crossed my arms, feigning innocence.

  “Graffitied some innocent building.”

  I laughed cynically. “No building is innocent. Most of them house monsters. I’m just making them pretty.”

  “So you have done this before.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Show me?” Her sneakers scuffed the pavement as she came closer. So close the gold in her hair glittered beneath the streetlamp and her eyes were more green and stars than hazel and reality.

  Without a word, I grabbed her hand, looped my fingers in hers, and together, we jogged to the last place I’d ‘decorated�
��.

  It didn’t take long to get there, but excitement coursed through me to show her how my art was improving. Always improving. And improving fast with the amount of time I dedicated to it these days.

  I barely slept. I hardly went home.

  I focused on a talent that’d been hidden from me but I never wanted to lose again.

  “Oh, wow. Gil...” Olin broke away from my touch, running toward the wall where the trio of colours I’d been able to steal blended together to form a monochromatic landscape of flamingos.

  Pink, red, and black were the only colours in snatchable distance when I’d gone to the warehouse that housed art supplies.

  I didn’t like stealing, but I had no cash to my name.

  I’d pay them back...when I started earning.

  Olin’s fingers traced the feathers of the largest flamingo. “This is so good, Gil.” She spun in place, her face alight and eyes full of pride.

  I smiled, enjoying her response. “Glad you like it.”

  “Like it? I love it.”

  “Next time, I’ll try to get browns and fawny colours.”

  She nodded in excitement. “To do woodland creatures?”

  I shook my head, crowding her against the pink splashed wall. With a hand on either side of her, I trapped her.

  I didn’t mean to. It just happened.

  But with her imprisoned, my system drenched with hunger that I’d been ignoring for way, way too long.

  “Not woodland creatures.” My eyes locked on her lips as she licked them.

  Her chest rose and fell, brushing mine with her rapid inhales. The silence of the evening thickened until it hummed with energy. Energy that electrocuted me.

  The chemistry that constantly burned between us scorched my veins.

  She moaned a little. Her eyelids fell to half-mast, becoming as drunk as I was. “What then?”

  Fuck, I needed her.

  I couldn’t stand the pain anymore. The self-imposed celibacy when all I wanted was her mouth on mine and my hands all over her.

  Bending closer, my brain fogged with lust. My body clawed for more. I leaned against her, her frame flush with mine. I shivered with how goddamn good she felt. “Owls. Lots and lots of owls.”

  “Oh.” Her voice was just breath.

  “Owls for O. For you. I’ll do an entire portrait with every animal starting with O.”

  She melted into my touch as I cupped her cheek and held her still. We stared at each other. Our senses turned primitive...only taste and touch remained.

  Her hands landed on my chest, bunching fistfuls of my T-shirt as her head fell back against my graffiti. “Gil...”

  “Yeah?”

  “Do you think...would you...I mean—”

  “You want me to kiss you?”

  She shuddered; her eyes closed.

  She nodded weakly.

  I closed the final distance, her breath so delicate and sugary on my lips. Her skin so soft and her body so intoxicating.

  I’d waited so fucking long for this. I’d reached the end of my control.

  “O...” I brushed my lips on hers.

  Just once.

  A simple graze.

  But it was enough to punch through my ribs and drag a gasping, bleeding heart out of me.

  I groaned.

  She moaned.

  I struggled to stay the gentleman she knew and not the bastard she didn’t.

  Her chin tilted upward, seeking my mouth.

  I went to kiss her.

  To give in to her.

  But then, her phone rang.

  Shrill and demanding, it sliced through the thick intimacy that’d bubbled around us, kicking us back into the world like a bucket of ice water.

  I cleared my throat, stepping away and adjusting the constant agony in my jeans.

  Olin stomped her foot, her face wild and eyes annoyed as she jerked the offending device from her pocket. She paused. “That’s strange. It’s my dad.”

  “Answer him.”

  It would give me time to get myself together.

  What the hell had I been thinking?

  Kissing her in a dark alley, alone in the middle of the city? Anything could’ve happened. What if I couldn’t stop? What if I’d done something as horrendous as all the johns who visited my father’s whore house?

  I hadn’t even told her I was in love with her.

  She hadn’t told me.

  I’d promised not to touch her until I was sure she was mine in every way.

  “Hey, Dad.” Olin answered the call on the fourth ring. “Yep, I’m good. Uh-huh. Nope. Oh, really. Ah, okay. Yeah, I guess.”

  I couldn’t make out what her father said, but by the time she hung up, the strained pressure in my jeans had faded enough for me to be semi-coherent. “Everything okay?”

  She shook her head, shock and trepidation on her face. “They want me to join them at the gala.”

  “What? Now?” My eyebrows rose. “It’s late. And...you’re not exactly dressed.”

  She smoothed down her grey hoodie and jeans. “I know, but he said they feel awkward not having me there. They’ve probably been asked a lot why I’m not there, seeing as it’s kids related, you know?”

  “I understand.” I raked a hand through my hair, forcing a bright smile for her. “See? They’re finally realising the benefits of having a daughter.”

  She laughed sadly. “Yeah, right.”

  Scooping up the forgotten spray can from the ground, I held out my hand for her to take. “Come on. Let’s get you to that gala, little ostrich.”

  I held her hand while we waited for a taxi.

  I kissed her knuckles as she stepped from the vehicle and climbed the stairs of the large convention hall.

  I paid the fare with money she’d given me and made my way back home.

  But I didn’t enter the house of horrors.

  Instead, I crept through my neighbourhood with a half-empty can of spray paint and partook in my new form of medicine.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  ______________________________

  Olin

  -The Present-

  A HAUNTED NOISE echoed through the warehouse and into Gil’s bedroom.

  I jolted upright, ripped from whatever dream I’d been having.

  I blinked with disorientation, brain hazy and eyes fuzzy. The nest of blankets around me were warm and cosy, but whatever woke me came again, launching me from the covers.

  What the hell is that?

  Scrambling upright, I dashed to the door and cracked it open. Darkness yawned deep and endless, hiding familiar and unfamiliar things. The borrowed clothes hung on my slim frame. Gil’s size wasn’t exactly in keeping with my own, and I hoisted up the waistband of the black sweatpants he’d loaned me, retying the strings tighter around my hips.

  I’d struggled when I’d slipped his belongings on. They’d smelled of him. Smelled of comforting washing powder and the citrusy paint smell that permeated his skin. It was a scent that hurt my heart.

  After he’d left me, I’d dressed and made the bed, then sat and stared at the door, trying to decide what to do. I hadn’t meant to fall asleep. I’d been trying to come up with an excuse of going home. But after so many sleepless nights and a paint-smeared evening, I couldn’t fight the fatigue anymore.

  A cool breeze nibbled at my bare feet.

  How long have I been asleep?

  A warbled grunt came from the warehouse. My protective instincts sent adrenaline flowing.

  Gil!

  Rushing from his room, I padded through the night-shrouded lounge. The too-large T-shirt wafted around me as I crept toward the warehouse.

  A curse shattered the silence followed by a thud.

  I ran.

  Bolting through the office, I skidded to a silent stop as my eyes locked on Gil fast asleep on a tatty couch by the wall. Moonlight and the faint stirrings of dawn highlighted his strained face.

  No one was hurting him. No one else was here.
/>   Just Gil and his nightmare.

  His legs were tangled in a plaid blanket while he lay on his back. One hand rested on the paint-speckled floor while the other was balled into a fist on his belly. His brow tugged over shut eyes while his chest rose and fell as if he’d run from a monster in his dreams.

  Another groan vibrated through his body, tortured and broken, almost wet with tears.

  I froze.

  Chills scattered down my back with the utmost knowledge I was not supposed to see this.

  “O. God...I’m so sorry.” His face switched from distraught to fury. “Don’t! No—”

  My knees threatened to buckle.

  Did he dream of me?

  Was I the O he pleaded with or did he know another?

  “Olive—” He thrashed as if fighting mercenaries of cruel illusions. “I’ll save you...I-I promise.”

  Olive.

  He’d never called me Olive in our youth. Oatmeal, Oreo, Oregano, yes. But never Olive.

  His limbs seized with nightmare-induced energy, twisting the blankets tighter around his thighs. His hand thumped on the floor, indicating the thud I’d heard was just Gil struggling in his sleep.

  I’d had my fair share of night terrors.

  For months, I’d dreamed of tumbling through the restaurant window while glass sliced me to shreds. I’d woken up crying with imaginary blood on my fingers.

  But those weren’t the worst ones.

  The worst were the happy dreams where I flew into my dance partner’s arms—lithe and limber and forever graceful.

  Gil’s lips pinched together as he grunted, sounding less coherent and sucked back into unconscious horrors.

  I stood there a little longer—a watcher in the dark as he calmed and quietened. I didn’t move to wake him. I doubted he’d take kindly to my interruption, nor appreciate that I’d seen him at his most vulnerable.

  I wanted to reassure him. I wanted to curl into his side and kiss away his troubles.

  But I’d already pushed hard enough.

  He needed to rest.

  So do I.

  Hugging myself from the cool emptiness in the warehouse, I backed away and headed through his office.