by Christi Snow
He couldn’t dwell on Stig right now. It hurt too much. He just had to stay busy and keep his mind engaged.
He awoke his computer and inserted the memory card from his camera into the reader. Hundreds of photos began to load onto the screen.
What was the saying? It’s better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all.
Snippets from the incredible weekend flashed across the screen. He agreed with the idea. Even as his eyes filled with tears, he smiled. It had been the best weekend. Yes, the end had been abrupt and unexpected, but that was his fault. He should have expected it. Stig wasn’t a guy to play games, and he’d always told Ryder that he wasn’t the right guy for him. Ryder just hadn’t really believed him. Well, he was completely convinced now.
Ryder vowed not to make this harder on the two of them than it had to be. They could still be friends. In fact, he desperately wanted that. Having Stig in his life as a friend was better than not having him in his life at all. It just may have to be a little bit before he could reach out to reconnect with that friendship. The hurt and pain were both still too fresh and raw right now. He couldn’t be around Stig.
But that didn’t stop him from worrying. What had happened at Stig’s house? Were the police still there? Where was Stig sleeping tonight?
***
Stig
Stig let himself into the locked door at the back of the gallery. Lola met him there, her long hair tossed up in a ponytail. She’d dressed much more casually than he was used to seeing in yoga pants and a tank top under a matching fleece jacket. She looked ready to go to the gym not like his normal put together, sleek gallery manager.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“Yeah.” He ran a tired hand through his hair as he dropped his duffle bag inside the doorway. He’d called and told her what was happening at the house. “Did you hear back from the security company yet?”
“Yes, they just left. The back door has been sandblasted and should be repainted Monday by the painting contractors. The security system’s been repaired. It was all they could do with the short notice today. They’re going to try to be back Monday to install better measures.” Two days away. Would his security system hold against an insane person until then?
After he’d seen the destruction at his house, he had no doubt the damage done to the alarm and the back entrance at the gallery the night before had been perpetuated by the same person...Peter. His calling card of whore had made it pretty obvious. Stig shuddered. Thank fuck the security system at the gallery was a much higher level than he’d had at his house. To see that kind of destruction and hatred wrought here on the art that his artists slaved over...no, it wasn’t even worth considering.
“How bad is your house?” Lola looked tired and pale.
He grimaced. “Bad. I’ll hire a cleaning service to come in and haul everything away.”
His furniture was a total loss. It almost looked like Peter taken a chainsaw to the pieces. Holes had been knocked into walls, his granite counter tops had been smashed, tile backsplashes destroyed. The entire house was wrecked. Thank fuck he had a separate garage with an extra tough security or else who knew what Peter would have done to his Aston.
“Do they have any idea who did it?”
“Yeah. In fact, come up to my office. I’ll show you a photo on the computer. His name is Peter Davis.” He led her up the stairs. “You need to consider this guy very dangerous. He’s gone completely off the deep end, and he doesn’t care who knows it. He didn’t even try to hide who he was when he trashed my house. There were fingerprints and incriminating evidence all over the place.
“You need to be very careful of him, Lola. In fact, it might be a good idea for you and Anton to take a couple of weeks off. This guy is incredibly unpredictable, and I would never forgive myself if either of you got caught in his crosshairs.”
“What about the gallery?” She glanced around worriedly as if the boogeyman might jump out of the corner with a can of spray-paint.
They entered his office. “I’ll be here. I can take care of everything.”
“And how will you stay safe? He obviously has a beef with you. Do you know him?”
Stig woke up his computer as he nodded. “Yes, he’s an ex of sorts. We had an arrangement that ended a year ago. He wanted to start it back up. I didn’t.” Normally, he didn’t share details about his personal life with Lola, but she needed to know this was deeply personal to Peter, and the situation needed to be taken seriously.
He pulled up a social site where he knew he could find Peter’s photo and clicked on it.
Lola gasped.
He swung his head to look at her. She’d paled significantly. “What is it? You recognize him?”
She nodded, her eyes widening. “He was in my gym last week. I thought he was just flirting.”
“You talked to him?”
“Ye—yes. I agreed to go out on a date with him. He told me his name was Malcolm McConnell. He seemed like a nice, normal guy.” Her complexion paled. “We discussed my schedule so we could set up a time to meet for drinks. Why would he do that? Oh my god, he wanted to know when the gallery would be empty, didn’t he?”
A hard lump settled low in Stig’s stomach. “Very possibly. Did you happen to mention to him that I was out of town?”
“No, I told him that we were on shortened hours because of the holiday. You weren’t mentioned at all. Wow, he’s good, isn’t he?”
“Yeah.” Stig cupped a hand over his mouth as he considered it. In fact, he was too good. As a Dom, Peter knew how to twist people to his will, how to read them, manipulate them. The risks weren’t worth it.
“I don’t like this. We’re going to shut the gallery down for the interim. I’ll call the artists and explain that we value their creations more than any holiday sales we might gain. I’ll handle it all and make sure that we more than compensate them for what they might lose in sales.”
It would personally cost him a fortune, but that was a small price to pay to keep his employees and the patrons of the gallery safe. Besides, the main artist showing right now was Galleon and once Stig explained the reason, he’d would be more than okay with them closing.
Lola bit her lip, appearing unsure and scared about all of this. And who could blame her? She’d already had a brush with the lunatic.
“I really don’t like that he’s already connected with you. How would you like to take an extended vacation, my treat?”
“I couldn’t do that.” She shook her head, her brave words belying her skin that had lost all its color.
But the more he considered, the more he knew that she had to do this...for her safety.
“You can and you will, or else I’ll fire you. I’m not going to be dissuaded. I want you out of here. So pick where you want to go for a few weeks...Bahamas, the Alps, Australia? Wherever, this is your chance to go anywhere in the world on my dime.”
If anything her skin turned paler. “The police know who he is, right? So they should catch him soon.”
Stig shook his head. “We’re not going to count on that. So where would you like to go for an extended visit?”
Her eyes lit up. “Seriously? I can go anywhere?”
“Absolutely.”
“I’ve always dreamed of doing the tourist thing in San Francisco.”
“Done.” He opened his contacts in his cell phone and dialed. “Tiffany, hi, this is Stig Minton. I need to book deluxe accommodations—air travel, car rental, and etcetera—for my assistant, leaving out for San Francisco tonight. Okay, I’ll put her on the line so she can give you her information. Book everything onto my account. You should have all the numbers in your files.” He handed the phone to Lola who appeared a bit shell-shocked.
While Lola recited her details to his travel agent, he paced. Was there anyone else in his life that Peter could target? Peter knew about Mac, but Mac was out of the country safe for the time being. The only other person was Ryder, and Stig had already ensured that
Ryder was out of the picture. He didn’t think their connection had been deep enough before the Vegas trip to put Ryder on Peter’s radar. At least that’s what he hoped, although he’d already called and hired a bodyguard from the car on the way over to keep an eye on Ryder’s place just in case.
Pain stabbed low in Stig’s belly at the thought about his pushing Ryder away, but he’d done what he had to do. Ryder couldn’t get caught up in this mess.
***
Ryder
Several days after returning from their trip, Ryder sat in his wheelchair in front of the latest batch of paintings, tears running down his face.
When he’d awoken this morning, the paint on his fingertips had told him he’d find new art, but he hadn’t been prepared for the pain at seeing it. There were three paintings this time. That in itself was frightening. In the past, there had only ever been one. How bad had his brain been last night to do this many? The style of them was different, too.
They were a series of three, a scene caught in succession. The first was a night skyline full of glittering lights, representing life in the far off distance. The second was a man standing in front of that original scene—someone that Ryder knew he should know, but he couldn’t remember. His mind hadn’t come into focus enough yet to access that information.
But his heart hurt as he looked at the man with the dark, soul-filled eyes and bleach-blond hair. It ached like he was having a heart attack, so he had to be someone important.
The expression on the man’s face took Ryder’s breath away. There was such joy there.
His art never showed joy—ever. Loneliness, heartache, yearning—all those things were normal. Anything positive...was not.
But every time he peered at the final painting, it felt like someone had punched him in the gut. Reluctantly, his gaze drew to that final one again, and a sob broke free of his throat.
His assistant rushed into the room. Had he known she was here?
“What’s wrong?” She rushed to him, looking for injury.
“I can’t—” He swallowed and tried to curb the swell of panic threatening to overtake him. He couldn’t remember a time when he’d ever felt this adrift before. “I can’t remember his name. What’s his name?”
Cari’s—dammit, why could he suddenly remember her name but not this important man’s—eyes widened as she skirted around his chair to look at the painting he gestured toward.
She drew in a shocked gasp and reached toward the painting with a shaky hand. “Ryder...” she whispered in awe. “It’s beautiful.”
“I know. He is.” The tears flowed freely down his face. “But I can’t remember him...and it hurts. It all hurts so much. God, why can’t I remember his name?” The sobs broke free, racking his body, but he couldn’t pull his gaze away from the man in the final painting. The man with his arms around Ryder. They both looked so happy, so joyous. Why did that hurt so much now?
“It’s Stig. Stig Minton.” Cari hugged him from behind wrapping her arms around his neck and curled down his chest. “Calm down. It’s okay. You’ve just really had a bad couple of days.”
“Stig?” Yes, that was right. The name settled into his heart like a balm, a tiny bandage covering a mortal wound, but anything helped at this point.
“You both look so happy, so at peace.” She had focused on the third painting, the one that shredded his soul to look at, because they did look that way.
That’s why it hurt so much for him to look at it. He couldn’t remember much right now, but he knew that whatever had happened between them to make them look that way was gone now. Over. He hurt everywhere because of that loss...even though he couldn’t remember it.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Stig
Stig swiped at his tired eyes and tried to get them to focus on his computer screen. It was only mid-afternoon, and he’d been staring at the medical document in front of him for seemingly hours. He was so tired. In the six days since they’d come home from Vegas, he’d barely slept, and the mix of stress and exhaustion pulled at his mental ability to concentrate.
Peter had made the threat of his presence known on purpose and the longer the wait for his next move went on, the edgier Stig became. The sensation of being watched prickled at the back of his neck every time he stepped foot outside. So, he’d taken to traveling only between the hotel and gallery, calling in for food deliveries. Being out in the open made him nervous with visions of paneled vans screeching to a stop on the street and rough hands shoving him inside.
Yeah, he might be suffering from a bit of paranoia.
It didn’t help that he missed Ryder like a missing limb. So many times he picked up his phone to text Ryder without a thought before he remembered that he couldn’t do that anymore. When had the man become so integral in Stig’s life, and how was he supposed to get over missing him? It should be getting easier, but it wasn’t. Every morning it became harder and harder to breathe, harder to function with Ryder absent from his life.
The buzzer for the delivery door sounded in his office. He hadn’t been expecting a delivery today. The new security system had a monitor upgrade so he could see all the doors before opening them. He flipped on the back door monitor. “What the hell?”
He shot to his feet and pounded down the stairs, flinging open the door to Ryder’s assistant. “Cari? What are you doing here? Is Ryder okay?” Why would she come here unless something was wrong with him?
“Stig, yes.” She visibly sagged in relief. “I’m so glad you’re here. I didn’t realize the gallery was closed this week, and I really didn’t want to lug these all back to Ryder’s.” She waved a hand at a stack of canvases leaning against the side of the building.
He frowned at them in confusion. “You brought art?”
“Um, yeah.” She looked distinctly uncomfortable, but he wasn’t sure if that was about her delivery or if she were ill. From the green cast to her skin, he’d guess the latter.
“Are you okay?”
“No.” She grimaced and paled to a chalky white. She clutched at the wall as a wave of panic crossed her expression. “Bathroom!”
“Right there.” He pointed toward a darkened doorway in the corner of the storage room.
She took off running.
Stig stood there for a moment, stunned. Then he looked down at the wrapped canvases still outside in the alleyway. She’d said these had come from Ryder’s. Were they some of his art? Had he changed his mind about showing them?
It was starting to snow again, so he couldn’t leave them outside. He brought the canvases inside, taking them over to one of the large worktables.
Stig glanced worriedly at the closed bathroom door, relieved when Cari exited. She still looked extremely pale, but not quite as green as she’d been before.
He rushed to her side. “Are you okay? Do you need me to call someone? Ryder, maybe?”
Even the idea of talking to Ryder for a moment sent a thrill of anticipation through him.
But Cari shook her head. “No, I’m fine. Just pregnant.” She gave a harsh little chuckle. “They call it morning sickness, but that’s a foul lie. It’s actually twenty-three and a half hours a day of pure hell.”
Stig winced in sympathy. “That can’t be good for you or the baby.”
Cari rubbed her very flat stomach with a small smile. “We’re not the first to go through it. I’m sure it will be fine. They tell me it should all pass soon.”
“How far along are you?”
“Thirteen and a half weeks. Thanks for asking, but I know that’s not what you’re really curious about.”
She hadn’t missed his glance at the still-wrapped canvases.
As curious as he was about what she’d brought, he wanted to know about other things. “How’s he doing?”
She shook her head and strode over to the table with the canvases. “Let me show you what I brought first, and then we’ll talk. But we need to make it quick. I don’t like to leave him for very long right now.”
&nbs
p; That didn’t sound good, so he followed her over to the table, trying to wait patiently for whatever she had to tell him.
“First, let me explain these. He did these a few nights ago and hasn’t recovered since. He’s not sleeping.” She tilted her head at Stig. “I don’t know how much you know about his condition...”
“I know he has to be rested or else the wires in his brain start to go wonky. I’m guessing he’s not doing well if he’s not sleeping.”
She bit her thumb. “That’s putting it mildly. He’s not remembering, and it’s worse than just a temporary normal migraine issue.”
Stig’s stomach sank to his feet and his breath caught. He hated that Ryder was hurting, and he couldn’t go to him. Damn, Peter!
“It’s been several days since he painted these, and it’s like they’re haunting him. He doesn’t remember painting them or the events where the photos were taken...your trip to Vegas.
“Obviously, he knows he should remember it, and it’s like that missing knowledge in his head is hurting him more. He’s in this continuous loop of pain and frustration, and it keeps pulling him deeper and deeper.”
She ran a hand along the edge of the top canvas. “He’s getting desperate, and this morning he asked me to get rid of these.” Her eyes filled with tears. “They’re so beautiful. I couldn’t take them to the dump like he wanted, so I brought them here. If he finds out, I’ll probably be out my job even though right now he can’t remember who you are. If he doesn’t want them, you deserve to have them. I just couldn’t throw them away.”
Nerves buzzed low in Stig’s belly. What were in these paintings?
She looked at her phone when it buzzed with an alarm. “I’m sorry. I know you have questions, but I have to go.” She turned toward the back door.
He grabbed her arm, desperate for more information. “Wait, please. You said you’ve never seen him like this. Has he been in to see his doctor?”