Shooting Scars: The Artists Trilogy 2

by Karina Halle

  I turned around and walked away. I could hear her calling me, her voice thin above the chatter of the marketplace, but I kept walking. I’d come so far to find her and now I was running from the person I’d been looking for.

  I pushed through the crowd, going as fast as I could without fucking up my arm, trying to keep my damaged heart still in my chest, trying to breathe through that inner pain when I suddenly spotted a familiar beer gut in a Hawaiian shirt, speaking in Spanish to a pretty Mexican lady in front of a stand of socks and underwear.

  “She’s here,” I said to Gus as I stopped in front of them.

  Gus gave me a disappointed look. “Camden, this is Esmerelda.”

  I gave her a curt nod. Now wasn’t the time for pleasantries. I looked back to Gus. “What do we do?”

  “Okay, well then let’s go talk to her, this place is as good as any.”

  “Can you do it?” I asked him, feeling ashamed the moment I did so. I went on, “You’re not as emotionally involved.”

  “Says you.”

  “I should keep my eyes open to see if Javier or Travis pops up.”

  Gus raised his eyebrow. “Javier wouldn’t dare show his face here. Now how about you man the fuck up, put your big girl panties on and go get your fucking ex-girlfriend back?”

  I felt like I’d been slapped in the face. It went red immediately and I hoped Esmerelda didn’t understand a lick of English. But it worked. I shoved my pride aside for a moment and decided to do what we came here to do, what we fought so hard for.

  I only hoped it was all for a reason.

  Gus shook Esmerelda’s hand goodbye and I led him back the way I came, hoping Ellie was still about somewhere.

  “Oh shit,” Gus said under his breath. He’d stopped on the spot, causing a woman with a bag of fruit to collide into his back and let loose a string of Spanish obscenities. I followed his eyes. Beyond the crowd of people, where this aisle intersected with another, was a wall of men in black. Bodyguards protecting someone.

  I knew who it was, even before Gus muttered, “Travis. We have to get out of here.”

  “Why, we’re just tourists?” I whispered back, ignoring the frustrated shoppers trying to go around us.

  “What was that quote I said about casting doubt …?”

  “Something about shadows,” I filled in. “It wasn’t very good.”

  He turned around, pulling on my good arm. “Come on, let’s go down the next aisle and look over that way, see what’s happening.”

  We went around and all the pain and heartache I was feeling was being replaced by a more familiar feeling: dread. With Travis in the picture, an actual living breathing real life threat, someone more dangerous than Javier could ever be, the reality began to settle in. I started to feel like a real fucking chump, turning away from Ellie in the market like that. We stopped beside a shopkeeper selling poorly made pottery. No one was stopping there and we were able to get a clear view into the next aisle over.

  There was Travis. Not at all like I expected. He was tall, reed-thin with a shock of slicked back grey hair. He was much older than I thought, well, at least in his sixties like I assumed Gus was. However, Gus put out this air of being crotchety but harmless and people probably underestimated him. There was no underestimating Travis. He oozed power, like it sustained him more than oxygen. Everyone, from the stoic bodyguards to the scared people walking past, giving him quick but furtive glances, were aware of this power, this energy this … evil. That was dramatic but true.

  Then there was Ellie Watt, or Eleanor Willis as she now was. Standing in front of him, trying to look like any other girl. Of course I could see that she was more than any other girl. She was a heartbreaker. She was a temptress. She was lost. And now she was found, at least by me. I hoped Travis didn’t pick up on any of those things. I hoped he saw her as a beautiful, average American tourist. I hoped she knew exactly what she was doing and that the confidence she was portraying was more than an act.

  We watched them like a pair of creepers until Travis stuck his arm out for her and she accepted it, having him lead her away, the wall of bodyguards flanking her.

  “The fuck. Where are they going?’ I said. “What is she doing?”

  The shopkeeper with the shitty pottery picked this time to get annoyed with us and shooed us away once he realized we weren’t going to buy anything. I began to go after Ellie but Gus reached out and grabbed me by the shirt.

  “No,” he said. “We don’t follow him. We can’t get away with that, not here.”

  I swallowed painfully. “How can we just let her go off with him?”

  “We can. We have to. We don’t know what her plan is. At any rate, we don’t have the option. To follow her is to put her in danger and that’s the last thing either of us wants, you got that? Look, we’ll go back to your hotel room. I’ve got all the stuff now. Unpack and wait.”

  “Wait where? What if Javier or Travis follow her back?”

  His mustache twitched. “We’ll get you in her bedroom. You’ll already be on the inside when she comes back.”

  If she comes back, I thought. Gus looked at me like he was thinking the same thing.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  ELLIE

  I remembered being about eleven years old when my parents first started talking about leaving Mississippi. It was a hot spring day, hot like hell, and I was sitting on the front step of our trailer, watching the kids run down the street, laughing, having a good time. They were all wearing their bathing suits as kids tended to do when it got in the 80s with one hundred percent humidity.

  Not me. I sat there in the hot sun, in my own sweat, wearing jeans. They were baggy, really lightweight and I had a hole in one knee, but it didn’t make up for the fact that I could never be like one of those kids. I used to be then that all changed in one night. After that, I fell asleep in tears because it hurt so bad, my teeth being ground into nothing because my mother refused to give me anything stronger than Children’s Tylenol. During the day, when the pain was a bit better, I’d cry anyway because I could never be normal again. All I wanted to do was strip down to my bathing suit and join the kids in their search to find the nearest hose or sprinkler. But I couldn’t. I didn’t dare. Fear of being different, of being made inferior, had consumed me at a young age.

  So I sat there on the steps and watched the world go on without me. Behind me there was a screen door to let in the filthy breeze and behind that my parents sat at the table and started discussing my future. I don’t know if they realized I was listening and could hear them or if they didn’t care, but they talked about me as if I wasn’t there.

  My father was scared because Child Services had visited him at work, wanting to check in. I suppose they had come by when I was at school too. I hadn’t really seen any of them, least not that I knew of. No one was asking me questions yet, but that’s what they were afraid of. I wanted to tell my parents that I knew my lie so well I wouldn’t do anything to get them in trouble. Funny thing is, I don’t think they ever believed me. I bet they sat around in fear like I sat around in fear, thinking that one day I would turn on them.

  Instead, they’re the ones who turned on me. They’re the ones who got up and left me one day, leaving me with my uncle.

  Anyway, before that even happened, my parents were planning their escape. I remember it was my mom’s idea for us to go to California. My dad was totally against it, and as I sat there on the porch and started thinking about how magical California sounded, how my uncle Jim seemed like a real cool guy, I wondered why. My dad kept saying if we went to California, we were only going so we could see “him,” but not her brother, someone else, and the last time my mother pulled a stunt like that, it had nearly gotten me killed.

  At the time all I could fixate on was California and movie stars and the wild Pacific Ocean. Everything else went over my head.

  Now all I could wonder about was how on earth my mother was able to have an affair with Travis. Not that she wasn’t
a gorgeous woman back in her day, that real Eastern European look, but why? How did it get started? What made my mother look at him and want him for herself? I didn’t care how charming he was or sweet he must have been to her – wouldn’t she have looked at him and seen the monster underneath? Did she seriously think she could fix him? Redeem him? Was she ever in love with him, or had she just been a fool, foolish and reckless enough to use her own flesh and blood to get back at him?

  The longer I sat across from Travis at a small, smoky bar that blotted out all the light and heat from outside, the more I couldn’t understand her. How she could be with him and not be afraid for her life. Because I was her daughter through and through. And I was extremely afraid for my own life.

  I eyed the bodyguards who flanked us on all sides. They never once looked my way. We had the whole bar to ourselves. Travis had gotten the owner to order everyone out. Not that there were that many people drinking in a jazz joint like that during the day, but still. He basically snapped his fingers and it happened. People did it as if their lives depended on – I guess they did. The amount of power he had was sickening, to the point where people must have thought he’d have them executed on the spot if they didn’t do what they were asked. And there would be nothing that anyone could do about it. No police, no government, no army, no justice. Travis Raines and his new cartel owned them all.

  At the moment, while I sat there in the booth across from him, he owned me. It went against every sniveling thread of pride I’d ever felt to admit that, but that was the truth and the truth was what it was. He helped make me what I was, the con artist who never believed anyone was coming to save her, the girl who struggled to find the good deep inside. He had his hand in it. And now he had my life in his hands. Because if Travis Raines found out that Ellie Watt was sitting across from him, the damaged daughter of Amelie Watt, I would be dead in a second. Even if he didn’t figure it out, there was still a chance he could kill me for no reason. Just because he could.

  “Would you like another drink?” he asked me. “Perhaps some water, you’re looking a bit flushed.”

  I grimaced and put a hand to my forehead. Obviously the strain of the situation was showing up on my face more than I thought. I needed to play it off. “Water would be great, thank you. I think I got too much sun today. I’m a bit dizzy.”

  He frowned subtly, just a darkening of the eyes. “That’s a shame. I was hoping to take you out for dinner tonight. I own one of the best restaurants in town.”

  “You sure own a lot of things here.”

  He clacked his teeth together a few times and I resisted the urge to grip the edge of the table. “I own all of Veracruz. You will soon find this out. You speak the name Travis Raines and you’ll see it in people’s faces. The respect. The awe. For me.”

  Oh god, I wanted nothing more than to take my glass and figure out a million ways to break it on his head.

  “Must be nice.”

  “You don’t seem easily impressed.”

  I shrugged because that’s what Eleanor Willis would have done.

  “Maybe you’ll get a chance to impress me tomorrow then.”

  I thought maybe I was pressing my luck, playing that hard-to-get kind of girl. Maybe he offed girls like that. But his eyes glinted hard with the challenge. The sick fuck liked it.

  “Well, I shall rise to the occasion. Would you like a ride back to your hotel? Where are you staying?”

  Now was the time to figure shit out. If I refused, would he follow me anyway? Would it better to be upfront so he can follow me and I can still see him do it?

  “Yes, that would be great. I was going to take a cab, but if it would be no bother …”

  “No bother at all,” he smiled, face like an eel.

  We left the bar and walked to the street where a massive SUV pulled up, seemingly out of nowhere, and he ushered me inside the backseat. It was pretty similar to the one Javier had back in Ocean Springs, except the glass was exceptionally thick – bulletproof.

  I was a mound of springy nerves the entire drive back to the hotel. I kept thinking how easy it would be for him to keep driving, take me away somewhere and shoot me. Rape me. Torture me.

  To make matters worse, he picked up on this, shooting inquisitive glances over his shoulder as he sat in the passenger seat. “Are you alright?”

  “Just the heatstroke. I should have mentioned I get car sick too,” I said, hoping that would explain my sweaty palms that I unintentionally kept wiping on my skirt.

  He shook his head as if I was just a giant mess. And I was. I was the biggest fucking mess and I didn’t realize how big until after he dropped me off at the hotel and told me that he’d come by for me tomorrow at 6PM and to wear something stunning.

  It was then, and only then, had I realized the gravity of the situation I was in. When I walked into the hotel and saw Enrico watching my every move, it made me realize how trapped I was, how alone. I had no one to hold my hand and tell me I was doing the right thing, that everything was going to be alright.

  Camden.

  I know I’d seen Camden, it hadn’t been a dream. It couldn’t have been. I saw him there in the market. He looked right at me. But the face I saw staring back at me wasn’t the one I imagined ever seeing again. It was the face of a broken man and guilt was starting to poke at me, telling me I was the one who broke him. This Camden who somehow found me in another country, only to turn and walk away.

  I staggered past Enrico, telling him I’d had too much sun and wanted to nap for a little bit. I hoped that would be enough to keep him away for the time being. I had something I needed to do, something I’d started but never got to finish.

  I went through the courtyard bathed in twilight, walking faster as I went, until I got to the room. I wrestled with the old key for a few moments before the door opened and I went flying into the dark coolness. I locked the door behind me and flung myself on the bed. And I began to cry. Bawl. Sob. I cried because at the base of it all, I was scared, mostly of myself. And if I couldn’t trust myself, I had no one left at all.

  I cried it all out of me and even when I was done, when it felt like I had nothing left inside, I rolled over onto my back and the feeling was still there. Disappointment in myself. For letting things go so far. If things went sour in the next twenty-four hours, I’d only have myself to blame.

  I lay there for a few moments, praying for sleep to come and take me away, so I wouldn’t have to face anything or do anything or be anyone anymore. I was drifting off when I heard it. The sound of metal, delicate; a hanger on a closet rail.

  Someone was in my room.

  To be more specific, someone was in my closet.

  I sat up slowly, looking around for a weapon. I had been left here with nothing, not even my gun. What the hell had Javier been thinking? No, what had I been thinking.

  “Who’s there?” I asked, my voice breaking. “I know you’re in the closet.”

  The hangers moved again. I held my breath and started calculating the distance from my bed to the front door. Could I make it out before the person caught me?

  I had to chance it.

  I scrambled to my feet and started running across the floor, my sandals sliding on the tiles almost bringing me to the ground. The closet door burst open at the same time and a large dark figure flew out of it, coming for me.

  I was almost at the door, my hand reaching for the knob, when the person tackled me from behind with one arm going around my shoulder. Instead of pitching me forward onto the stone cold tiles, the person started to twist as we fell, his body taking the brunt of the impact. He landed on his back, and I landed on top of him.

  The man let out a cry of pain, familiar and sharp, but my body was still on an adrenaline high and I tried to get off of him, to get away, to scream for help.

  He was quick and before I could move, his hand went over my mouth and he held me, the back of my head against his hard chest and grunted in my ear, “Ellie it’s me.”

  Th
e sound of his voice immediately made me relax. I nodded against his hand and he let go. I flipped around and found myself face to face with Camden.

  “You weren’t a dream,” I said, finding my breath again. I trailed my fingers down the side of his face, feeling the stubble, the strength of his features. “You actually came for me.”

  He flinched a little under my touch then his face became all steel. He swallowed. “Of course I came for you. I told you I would.”

  I was lost in his eyes, the sincerity beneath the blue. How honest he was. I never considered that he would have kept his word. I never thought I was worth that.

  Oh god, the guilt. Javier. He couldn’t know about that, could he?

  “How … how did you find me?” I asked.

  He closed his eyes, resting his head back on the floor, wiggling his jaw back and forth. It was only then that I noticed the sling around his shoulder, his t-shirt soaked in one spot.

  “Oh my god, Camden. What happened to you?” I got off of him quickly and tried to help him up. He’d taken the fall for me so I wouldn’t get hurt, though that couldn’t have been good for his arm.

  I hope he doesn’t know. I hope he doesn’t know.

  “I got shot,” he said, letting me get him to his feet. I’d forgotten how big he was.

  I’d forgotten everything.

  “You got shot?” I said when everything finally registered. “When? What?”

  He grimaced and tried to move over to the bed. “I need to sit down. Do you have anything to drink? Something really stiff?”

  “I don’t know,” I told him, running over to the mini bar to check. It was stocked with small bottles of alcohol. I grabbed four of the tequilas and two glasses and placed it on the bedside table then made a move for my purse where I put the bag of limes from earlier.

  “I don’t need lime,” he said trying to unscrew the cap off the bottle with one hand, finishing the job with his teeth.

  I had an unpleasant flashback to the tequila shot I’d taken with Javier the night before.