The Living Canvas (Master of Trickery, #2) Read online

  I cuddled her close. So damn close.

  Already in love with her and I hadn’t even seen her face.

  How was it possible to fall so fast? How could my heart abandon Olin and replace it with a newborn so quickly?

  I didn’t know how, only that it’d happened, and there was no going back.

  Tallup didn’t notice the change that’d happened in me. She nodded stiffly, glowering at my daughter. “It’s a girl. A useless, loud, horrible little—”

  “A perfect, brilliant little girl and you’re throwing her away.” I shook my head in disgust. I thought I hated this woman for what she’d done to me. I’d had daydreams of murdering her with my bare hands. I’d envisioned going to the police and having them on my side. Of explaining to O. Of winning her back and making my life right again.

  But that hate was nothing, nothing, compared to my level of contempt now. I couldn’t look at her without wanting to strike her. I couldn’t stand her face, her smell, her soul. My voice vibrated with arctic snow as I looked down at the woman who didn’t deserve to live. “Who the fuck are you?”

  She sniffed and braced her shoulders. “I just want my life back.”

  I laughed darkly. “So do I.”

  “Oh, come on. You’re still sore over losing Olin? She’s a nobody.”

  “Don’t call her that.”

  “I can call her whatever I want. I’ve accepted a job in Japan teaching English, now that this little...inconvenience is out of the way.” She grinned. “My life will be my own again. But I’ll still know if you’ve been naughty. You better not have been talking to her while I’ve been gone, Gilbert. Otherwise—”

  “Stop.”

  This.

  All of this.

  It was stupid, pointless, juvenile.

  Who cared about power trips and forced assaults and teenage hearts that were broken?

  Who cared about right and wrong and justice?

  The world didn’t care.

  Justice didn’t care.

  And I didn’t care.

  Not anymore.

  The only thing I cared about was ensuring my daughter never had to suffer such things. She might’ve been born to a ruthless mother and a gullible father, but she wouldn’t pay for my sins.

  She deserved an empire.

  She deserved stability and family.

  Family.

  O was once my family.

  She always would be.

  I would always love and care for her.

  But I had someone else who needed me more.

  And if her mother refused to give her the world; if her mother would rather throw her to the hounds of hell, then I would do it.

  I would be there for her over my own messes.

  I would fight her battles at the cost of my own.

  I would never stop putting her first.

  Above everyone.

  “I’m done.” I sighed, bored and no longer afraid of this sad, bitter woman. “Go away.” Tucking my tiny daughter into my chest, I rocked her.

  This was my legacy.

  She was my reason for existing.

  Tallup swallowed, watching me closely with a tilt of her head. “So...you’ll keep her?”

  I nodded with a stern stare.

  “Will you tell anyone where she came from?” Her eyes might stay narrowed and full of threats, but her lips worried with consequence. She was afraid I’d tell everyone our story. That I’d drag my daughter through court cases, prison sentences, and foster care.

  No way.

  No fucking way.

  I dropped my head and inhaled the sweet hair of my child. “I’m leaving. Tonight.”

  She froze. “Leaving? Where?”

  “Don’t know. Don’t care.” I looked away from her, brushing back the fleece to stare at my daughter’s tiny, adorable face. She slept in my arms. Trusting me to hold her and not drop her. Believing she’d wake to warm food and unconditional love. Knowing I’d be there to keep her safe, just as I’d tried to keep Olin safe.

  And I would.

  Nothing would stop me from loving her.

  She had me for eternity.

  I’d failed O, but she had Justin now.

  I wouldn’t fail this new love of my life.

  Tallup pointed a finger in my face. “If you say anything—”

  “Enough.” I just smiled. Totally unaffected and free from her wrath. “You’ll never see me or my daughter again.” Stepping back into the house I’d shared with drunkards and whores, I grabbed the door. “Goodbye, Jane Tallup.”

  I slammed the old wood in her face.

  The rattle woke up my daughter.

  Her eyes blinked with fuzzy sleep, her mouth opened like a tiny bird’s, and her frustrated grumble made overwhelming affection and debilitating fear crest over me.

  What did I know about raising a child?

  What did I know about finding a place to live, a job that paid, childcare to source, food, diapers, medicine, kindergarten, and all the other things that came with a lifetime commitment to another?

  I didn’t have a clue.

  I can’t do this.

  But then my daughter opened her eyes again, blinking and bold and huge.

  And I knew that I could.

  One day at a time.

  For her.

  Marching through the house, I grabbed a bag, stuffed some clothes, my art supplies, and the wad of cash my father kept from his johns into the depths.

  It was the first time I’d ever stolen from him.

  He’d promised to kill me if I ever did.

  After tonight, he’d never find me.

  Slinging the bag over my shoulder, I looked down at my daughter again, my heart fisting at her sigh of contentment.

  Her big eyes were closed in slumber, quiet and safe.

  She looked like a baby owl.

  A big-eyed, intelligent baby owl.

  Like the nickname I’d used for Olin.

  Fuck, O.

  My chest imploded as my heart stopped beating.

  In a few short hours, I would’ve gotten on my knees before her and asked for a second chance. We might’ve found our way back to each other. We might’ve been happy.

  But now...I’d never see her again.

  I’d never be able to kiss her or beg for her forgiveness.

  She would always think I’d abandoned her, turning her deeper into Justin’s arms, sealing a marriage between them.

  That was my only regret.

  I’d leave this town, and O would never know where I’d gone.

  She’d never know why I shut her out.

  Never guess why I removed my love.

  Never understand that the girl I held in my arms was the cause of all of it.

  I’m sorry.

  So fucking sorry.

  With my meagre possessions and brand new baby, I slipped from the whore house, stole through the streets, and bought a train ticket to London.

  I never looked back.

  Chapter Two

  ______________________________

  Olin

  -The Present-

  “GIL...DON’T.”

  He gritted his teeth, wrapping the rope tighter around my wrists.

  “Stop it.” I wriggled and squirmed, trying to be free of him.

  “Don’t make this any harder than it is,” he breathed, tying a knot and jerking me forward.

  I fought against him, bracing against his pull.

  His hand slipped on the rope, giving me a fraction of a second.

  I spun and bolted.

  I managed a few terrified strides before his boots thudded behind me.

  He caught me so easily.

  He spun me around, picked me up, and carried me to the podium. Big fat tears rolled down my cheeks, unable to believe what he’d done. In all the times he’d ever touched me, he’d restrained the power and violence he wielded so effortlessly now. He had a strength that controlled me with barely any effort whatsoever.

  That al
one sent my heart galloping uselessly in my chest. My back prickled with nervous sweat. My chest fluttered with anxious breath. And I moaned in disbelief as he plopped me onto the stage and kicked out my legs, forcing me to sit on the edge.

  I sat with a jar, my teeth clacking together as I dared look up at the kidnapper I should’ve been afraid of but never suspected. “Why do you get to decide what my life is worth?” My voice teased with a whisper but throbbed with condemnation.

  He bit his bottom lip, his eyes narrowed and afflicted. “I don’t.”

  “Yet you’re playing God.”

  He reached for more rope. “I’m doing what’s necessary.”

  “No, you’re doing what he wants you to do.” A fresh swell of tears tried to make me weak. “Don’t do his dirty work, Gil. Don’t—”

  “I made a promise.” His head hung, his hands feathering over my ankles as he wrapped the rope around them and tied an intricate knot. “I promised my daughter that I would always protect her. No matter the cost.” His voice caught. “No matter the pain.”

  “What about my pain?”

  His head dropped lower, his messy, tangled hair dancing with his eyelashes. “I’ve always caused you pain...this is no different.”

  “This is you taking my life, Gil. This isn’t a breakup. This isn’t some misunderstanding. You’re tying me up to kill me.” I tried to capture his gaze. “Listen to me. Look at me. Are you really prepared to kill someone who loves you? Someone you love?”

  “I’m prepared to do whatever it takes to keep her safe.”

  Every muscle shut down. I swayed as his words fisted around my heart and squeezed its last beat.

  His admission was the correct answer for a father in love with his daughter.

  But his loyalties cost me so much trust. It siphoned out of me, slipped through the ropes, and puddled at my feet.

  My trust in him, in us...was broken.

  He’d just lost me.

  Lost me worse than he ever did when he walked away without a goodbye.

  You’ve lost me forever.

  My heart restarted, drowning in horror.

  Piece by piece.

  Beat by beat.

  I grew cold and empty.

  Silence wrapped around us, stealing our voices, suffocating our thoughts. Quietness was easier to bear than his soul-shattering confessions, and I allowed it to hug me, trying to find comfort where there was none.

  “I know you’ll never forgive me,” he murmured. “I know the only place I can go is hell. And I know I’ve destroyed any hope of a future where we could all be alive and happy. This is entirely my fault. I’m the reason Olive was taken, and I’m the reason those girls had to die. I’m the one who should forfeit his life...and who knows? Maybe that will be his next request, but while Olive is alive...I have no choice.” He stood on cracking knees, towering over me. “As long as she is alive...I have to try.” His misery left me stamped and branded as he turned and walked through his office to the apartment beyond.

  The second he was out of viewing distance, I scrambled to undo myself. I bucked and writhed on the podium, twisting and turning, desperate to escape.

  But each imprisonment stayed steadfast, and the only thing I succeeded in doing was burning through valuable energy. Energy I couldn’t afford to lose.

  Whatever Gil was about to do to me, I had to be smart. Had to be brave. I wouldn’t give up.

  I would’ve fought every dragon and beast by his side. I would’ve given him everything to keep his daughter safe...if only he’d asked. If only he hadn’t taken what wasn’t his to take.

  A single tear rolled down my cheek, icy and alone.

  I wouldn’t cry again.

  He wasn’t worth my tears.

  He isn’t worth my heart.

  When he came back, his eyebrows tugged low, noticing my attempt at freedom. In his hands rested a plate of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with a tall glass of water. The only two pieces of crockery he owned that weren’t chipped or plastic.

  A heavy thread of strawberry followed him as he lowered to his haunches before me.

  Such a simple, innocent scent.

  A berry reserved for hot summers and delightful picnics. It had no place in this chilly warehouse with ropes binding me to a terrible fate.

  “Open,” he murmured, holding the sandwich to my lips.

  I shook my head, earning peanut butter crumbs on my chin. “What are you doing?” I kept my face turned away. “Stop it.”

  “You’re hungry. It’s my turn to feed you.”

  My eyes widened. I resisted the urge to morbidly laugh. “You’re about to kill me, but you want to feed me first?”

  His entire face blanched. He wobbled on his haunches and swallowed hard as if struggling to keep his own stomach contents down. “Don’t. Please don’t.”

  “Don’t what? Make you face what you’re about to do to me?” I swung my knees to nudge against his, my chin high and voice sharp. “You’ve tied me up against my will. You’re going to gift me to him. You’ll allow him to do whatever he wants. The least you can do is accept the gruesome details.” My anger plaited with fragility, wavering a little. “Will he kill me or you? How will it happen? Slit my wrists and bleed me out like the last girl? Paint me and leave me to die like the ones before her?”

  He groaned as if I’d butchered him. With his jaw locked, he shoved the sandwich into my mouth, forcing me to chew or choke. “Just eat, O. I need you to eat.”

  I fought to grab air not tainted with food, but he followed my head, keeping the awful sandwich pressed tight against my mouth.

  We duelled for a while. I shifted my head left and right, up and down. He employed patience and followed. Crumbs and strawberry jam smeared my face. Embarrassingly, my stomach snarled to stop fighting.

  To devour the offered energy because there must be a reason he wanted me to eat. Maybe he wouldn’t be the one to kill me. Maybe he wanted me to have energy to fight.

  I stilled. My body relaxed. I opened my mouth politely and took a dainty bite.

  Gil tensed, his eyes never unlocking from mine as I ate every inch. I swallowed it down, then waited for him to wipe my cheeks and chin free from the mess.

  He did with a shaky hand, his forehead furrowed and eyes so dark they looked like crushed up jade. “I’m sorry.”

  “You keep saying that, but if you were sorry, you’d let me go.”

  “Thank you for eating.” He placed the empty plate aside and picked up the glass. “Please drink.”

  I held my head away, my gaze searching his. “Tell me why.”

  He struggled to reply. The truth stayed shuttered behind his anguish, but finally, he looked at my lap and whispered, “You need to eat so you have something in your system. If you’re left out there for a while...the better hydrated and fed you are...the longer you’ll survive.”

  “That wasn’t what I was asking.” I’d wanted to know why.

  Why he’d chosen the easy way out. Yes, his daughter was captive, and he’d been dealing with this alone, but surely, having me help him rather than just sacrificing me was a better option?

  When he didn’t answer, I sighed heavily. “You think a sandwich will keep me alive? That it will prevent me from becoming yet another dead girl in a newspaper?”

  His eyes squeezed shut; a single tear rolled down his ashen face. Opening them again, he held the glass to my lips. “Please.”

  My heart kicked at his brokenness, even now wishing to heal him.

  I locked any emotion away and opened my mouth, allowing him to pour cool water down my throat.

  I drank every drop.

  I will survive this.

  I will.

  When the glass was empty, he lowered it slowly, studying the fracturing light as a droplet danced inside. That creative spark struck a match in his gaze, turning tortured into artist. He drowned in the colour spectrum, begging the flickering rainbow to fix everything.

  I was envious of him. Envious that he
could still practice his talent. Jealous he had a religion that could help him, even while discussing the murder of his childhood sweetheart.

  His gaze met mine, and in the green depths, he showed me how endless he truly was. How long he’d fought this battle. How I was just collateral damage in a war I could never comprehend.

  And I pitied him.

  Pitied the struggle that had torn away his soul. Pitied the hardships he’d had to face on his own.

  But I couldn’t forgive him.

  I couldn’t absolve him for putting a price on my life and finding it less valuable than another’s. Even if it was his daughter. Even if she was...family.

  “Justin knows I’m here.” I studied him with defiance. “He’ll visit soon, I’m sure.”

  “He won’t.” Gil stood and carried the empty dishes to his side table where an airgun, brushes, vials, and everything else he needed for his work waited, prepped and mixed.

  I sucked in a breath, my heart once again winging. “Why won’t he?”

  “Because I told him not to.”

  “He knows something is going on with you.”

  Gil laughed, but nothing was jovial about it, merely black and miserable. “He should. I’ve been hiding this nightmare for a while.”

  “What’s a while?”

  He kept his back to me, unlocking the wheels on the trolley and rolling the supply table toward me. “Over a year.”

  “A year?” I squirmed on the stage, my wrists and ankles sore from the tightness of his binds. “Why didn’t you go to the police? Tell them—”

  “Tell them that I’m a madman’s puppet? That I’ve tried to keep so many women from death and only succeeded if my bank account was flush?”

  I stiffened. “You could have. They might have believed you.”

  His eyes cast back to the past, to a time I wasn’t there. “They wouldn’t. It’s always my word against someone else’s.”

  That statement rippled with such stark truth, I wished I could dissect it and pull free every fact, but I kept my questioning focused, determined to solve this riddle. “How many women did your money save?” I tested the ropes again, a futile attempt, but instinct demanded I keep checking.

  “Not enough.” He shuddered visibly, his face turning grey as a corpse. “It doesn’t matter.”