Olive stiffened, her eyes flashing to mine.
Grey as a winter’s day. Endless as infinity.
Her grief over Gil’s shooting twisted into shock. “You’re...you’re Olin, too?”
It was my turn to stiffen. I didn’t like the way she looked at me. As if she knew me. As if we hadn’t just met and she knew my deepest, darkest secrets.
Jeffrey narrowed his eyes, waiting for me to reply. I hated that he shared in this conversation but at least it bought me time to figure out how to escape. “I am. Do you know another?”
Olive sniffed, wriggling in Jeffrey’s hold to rub her nose with the back of her hand. “Daddy has an owl called Olin.” Her eyes filled with more liquid. “I bought it for him with my pocket money.”
My heart slowed and raced at the same time. “A nice name for an owl.”
She cried quietly, her sorrow consuming her. “He told me he had an owl as a friend when he was younger. It was called Olin. It was my favourite story. He always seemed sad, so I bought him a stuffed one to try to make him happy.”
Something hot stabbed me in the chest. “That was very nice of you.”
My mind raced back to the second night Gil was drunk. When we kissed in his bed and he clutched a fluffy owl beneath his pillow. An owl that represented me, given to him by his daughter.
Tears welled and overflowed. I couldn’t stop them.
The secrets.
The pain.
It hurt too much, firing through my insides, leaving a vast, aching emptiness behind.
“He’s a good liar, my nephew,” Jeffrey said. “Promised there was no connection between you two. Yet I find out that you were the one telling the truth. There was an ‘us’.” He smiled cruelly. “Although...not anymore.”
I swallowed back my hate and tears. “You’re a bastard.”
He chuckled. “No swearing in front of the kid.”
“Age doesn’t stop her from knowing exactly what you are.”
Jeffrey soared upright. The caravan wobbled from his momentum, shuddering like an earthquake. His fist connected with Olive’s colouring books, scattering pencils.
Olive quickly snatched them before they rolled to the floor. Scooping them into a pile, she nursed them as if they were alive and in need of soothing.
Leaning toward me, he growled. “You’re lucky you’re worth more to me alive. Otherwise, you’d be tied to a fucking tree, dying.” Without looking at Olive, his tone switched to syrup. “Sweetheart, can you tell our guest what happens if you speak out of turn?”
Olive gulped. Grabbing a sky blue pencil, she coloured furiously, keeping her gaze on the paper. “You don’t get any food for a full day and have to sleep tied to a tree outside in only your nightie.” She licked her lips, obviously reliving a similar sentence. “It’s scary and cold, and you don’t sleep much. And then, in the morning, you have to wash your mouth out with the dishwashing brush while Uncle Jeffrey helps clean your dirty tongue with vinegar.”
“Thank you, Olive. You remembered your lesson very well.”
She shivered and switched her blue pencil for a red one, digging the pigment into the paper all while tears dripped onto her design.
I held back my own shiver and kept my spine locked. “You think you’re special for torturing a child? You’re nothing more than a mons—”
His hand lashed out, all five fingers squeezing tight around my throat. The smear of paint on my skin felt oily against his touch, all while dried parts flaked away.
My roped wrists swooped up, trying to scratch him for breath. But he merely caught the rope and kept my hands away.
I held his stare, doing my best not to panic or struggle.
He smirked, leaning into me to whisper in my ear. At least he had the decency to keep diabolical plans for adult ears only. “Listen up, Olin Moss. And yes, I know who you are. I know about you and Gil at high-school. I know about your failed dancing. I know everything there is to know about your pathetic little life.”
His fingers relaxed a little, granting a much-needed gush of air. His nose tickled my throat as he dragged his lips along my painted skin. “You want to know what’s going to happen? I’ll tell you. We’re about to hit the road. I’ve had a long day. I wanted to sleep before we began our long journey, but you’re just so eager to get started that I’ll be a good host and do what you want.”
His sour breath sent goosebumps all over me. He angled my head toward Olive, his thumb pressing hard on my pulse. “And that little girl is going to come for the ride. We’re heading to Italy. There’s a market there in a few weeks. A market for men who want exclusive, pretty things. That gives me plenty of time to train you up for whoever is stupid enough to buy you. And it gives you time to stare at that cute kid and know what her fate will be. Every time she plays, you’ll know that in a few short days she’ll belong to some man who will pay a fortune to fuck a child. You’ll know that her time of innocence and freedom is ticking away, hour by hour, and there is nothing, nothing you can do about it.”
Bringing his lips to mine, he forced words into my mouth even as I struggled to get away. “You’ll do your best not to get attached to her. You’ll try to save her. To be her friend. To promise her you’ll both get free. But you can’t stop what’s going to happen. You’ll hope that each day will bring rescue, and each day it won’t happen. That’s what will kill you. Not the fact that this rope will never leave your wrists. Not the fact that you’ll be chained to this caravan until your new master takes control. Not the fact that I will fuck you daily until some other bastard pays for the privilege.”
He kissed me harshly, pulling away with a feral gleam in his eyes. “The thing that will kill you, Olin Moss, is hope. Idiotic hope that this is all a crazy mistake and will be over soon.”
Letting me go, he stepped out from the bench seat and towered over me. “Do you know what I loved about letting dehydration and exposure kill those painted girls?” He sighed with contentment. “I never got my hands dirty—apart from the last one—but the thrill was just the same as if I’d been the one to snuff out their lives.”
I couldn’t unlock my jaw to be human and speak words. If I opened my mouth now, I’d snarl and spit and howl like a trapped animal that held nothing but loathing for its captor.
“It was the anticipation. The journey of watching them fight; their eyes bright with hope and expectation of being found in time. Then slowly, minute by minute, that hope vanished all while their bodies gave out.”
Olive bit her bottom lip, acting as if she couldn’t hear her uncle talk about murder.
He clapped his hands. “Olive. What time is it?”
Olive leaped to her feet, scurried around him, and bolted to the bunk beds at the other end of the caravan. In a flash, she dove beneath covers with pink ponies on them and stared back at us with big, grey eyes. The obedience and quickness in which she moved broke something inside me. She didn’t smile or seek reward for her good behaviour. She didn’t obey him out of respect.
Just fear.
“Bedtime, Uncle Jeffrey.”
He beamed like a proud gorilla. “Good girl. You stay there until I come get you.”
Snatching me, Jeffrey unlocked the caravan door and hauled me from the couch. His fingers wrapped around the rope on my wrists.
Light-headedness made me sway while I blinked back residual drugs.
“We’re going for some private time.”
Stark fear clogged my veins. “No.”
He didn’t reply, just dragged me down the caravan steps and into the chilly awning. His yellow teeth glistened in the hanging lantern by the boxes of belongings. Wrapping his arm around my waist, he pressed himself against me, rolling his hips into mine, revealing the horrid hardness in his dirty jeans. “Time to learn what my nephew saw in you.”
“Take your fucking hands off me.” I squirmed and tried to knee him in the balls, but his hold was too tight. My wrists burned as I fought to get free. My heart raced faster than it ever had
before.
Jeffrey let me wriggle, unfazed and gloating, knowing he’d won. “Let’s see why he never got over you, shall we?” Throwing me onto the threadbare couch, he cupped my jaw and held me down. His knee landed on my belly, pinning me onto my back. “I’m telling you now, I’m more experienced than my nephew. I also have different needs.” His rancid lips landed on mine. “You’ll find that out soon enough.”
I bit his bottom lip, spitting onto the floor as metallic copper hinted I’d broken his skin.
I braced for a fist or retaliation. However, he just chuckled as if my rage was mere melodramatics. His hand landed on my naked, painted breast and squeezed so hard white light exploded behind my eyes.
I gasped and bucked, trying to run from the painful whip of hot agony.
He stopped.
He shoved my arms up and looped my roped wrists around a hook holding the metal framework of the awning.
My shoulders screamed for release.
My soul bellowed for salvation.
Jeffrey climbed off me and pulled the gun he’d shot Gil with from his waistband. He stroked it as if it were alive and a very good friend of his. “I didn’t like guns before tonight, did you know that?” He placed the heavy weapon onto the chipped coffee table reverently. “I’m more of a fist and blade kinda guy.” He smiled. “That’s changed. I’d rather enjoy another excuse to use it, so by all means, fight. I’m sure whoever bids on you won’t mind an extra hole somewhere on your body.”
“You’re deranged.”
“Maybe.” He unbuckled his trousers, his belt buckle dangling as he winked. “Deranged or not...you’re mine now. And I’m ready to play.”
Chapter Seven
______________________________
Gil
I’D WITNESSED MANY things children shouldn’t see.
Things any person—young or old—shouldn’t see.
I’d watched men beat whores. I’d heard whores scream behind walls. I’d lived in hell where the devil constantly drank and slurred and punched his only son.
I’d dealt with all of it.
I’d blocked out what I couldn’t process and focused on a future that he could never touch.
Before Tallup put her claws in me, before I lost O, before Olive was stolen, I still believed in hope.
But now, I didn’t have much left.
My boots crunched and tripped as I followed the flashing dot on my cell phone. My vision faded around the edges, my breath shallow, my blood decorating the forest floor like a cookie crumb trail back to freedom.
The pain had become unbearable.
The urge to drop to the ground and die a sinister whisper in my veins.
Keep fighting.
I texted Justin, willing my fingers to move over the tiny screen.
Call police. I fucked up.
I could barely see to send it, falling to my knees as another lick of agony lashed down my back.
With a groan, I climbed to my feet.
And kept going.
* * * * *
I was too late.
O would never forgive me.
Not for any of my sins.
Especially this one.
I couldn’t see my daughter, but I knew she was here.
The camouflaged painted caravan and its long-stay awning was where that bastard had kept her from me.
I would’ve killed him for that alone.
But watching him tear off his shirt and unbuckle his jeans added a whole new homicidal rage to my already flaming hate.
O lay trapped on her back on the couch, glowering at him, her lips pulled back in a snarl. She didn’t beg or reason; she just waited for his attack as if ready to fight until death rather than let him touch her.
My vision flickered again as my hand slipped into my jeans pocket where my weapon of choice still waited. The violence that I’d always pushed aside roared through me. It heated my blood and deleted my agony.
I stepped silently into the awning.
The darkness kept me hidden. The lantern too weak to throw illumination my way. O fought my uncle as he grabbed her thighs and tried to spread them.
Both of them preoccupied.
Both of them unaware as I sneaked on shaky legs.
My fingers ached to steal his gun, discarded and lonely on the coffee table. To point it at his head and pull the trigger like he’d done to me. He deserved to feel the fire it left behind. The punch. The shove. The heat.
But he also deserved to feel how his victims had felt.
The helplessness.
The awful, terrible sensation of dying from passing time.
Pulling the syringe from my pocket, I carefully uncapped the needle while O screamed a curse and Jeffrey threw himself on top of her.
The deadly sharpness of the needle made my heart pound.
I couldn’t fuck this up.
If I did...
O’s gaze wrenched to mine as I took the final step toward my uncle.
Her mouth fell open, her fight vanished, disbelief pinning her to the couch.
Jeffrey froze, twisting on top of her to look behind him.
I couldn’t let him grab his gun.
I couldn’t second-guess.
Without a word, I lunged forward and jabbed the needle into his naked ass.
The entire length vanished into him, earning a howl and violent fist swinging in my direction.
But it was too late.
My thumb pressed on the plunger, and I shot the entire contents into him. I didn’t know if it would work, not going directly into a vein, but I had to hope.
He roared upright just as I stumbled backward and snatched his gun from the coffee table. My back roared from his previous bullet. My vision grey and black. I levelled the muzzle at his chest. “Don’t move.”
His boxer-briefs clung to the top of his thighs. His disgusting erection made me want to vomit.
If I’d been any longer...
O squirmed and kicked on the couch, doing her best to remove her binds. I would’ve given anything to free her, but it wasn’t over yet.
Soon.
Soon it would be and I could rest.
Wedging one arm against my bleeding side, I struggled to keep the gun raised and ready. “Pull your pants up, you fucking bastard. Don’t want to die with them around your ankles, do you?”
His lips pulled into a snarl as he hoisted the material up. “Die? The only person dying here is you, my boy.”
I shook my head. “Not tonight.”
That might be a lie or the truth. I couldn’t tell anymore.
I was mentally and physically exhausted.
The trek through the forest. The worry over what I’d done. The warm blood cascading down my legs.
My body didn’t feel right anymore.
Pieces of it shutting down.
I didn’t have much time.
Jeffrey lunged toward me. I feathered my finger on the trigger. I’d put a bullet in his face if need be. I wouldn’t hesitate. But he was already dead. He just didn’t know it yet.
“Daddy?” Olive appeared at the door of the caravan. She had a blanket around her shoulders and her long hair static from a pillow.
“Hey, little spinach.” I grimaced, doing my best to smile. “Stay in the caravan, okay?”
“You’re alive!” She leaped down the three steps and launched toward me. “I knew you were okay. I knew—”
Jeffrey grabbed her, yanking her by the hair and jerking her into his side. “He’s a ghost, sweetheart. A dead man walking.”
“No!” She struggled, her cheeks wet with tears.
“Let her go!” O kicked the air and cursed.
And I just smiled at my daughter, relief slowly overtaking my panic. I’d kept my promise. I’d found her. “It’s okay. Don’t struggle.”
Tears spilled down her cheeks. “You’re here to take me home, right?”
“Right.” I nodded, the gun growing heavy in my hand. My arm shuddered with the weight as anot
her wash of lacerating agony slashed at my back.
Jeffrey’s hand curled around Olive’s throat. She went deathly still. “Give me the gun and I won’t kill your daughter.”
Just like I’d been over the dramatics and threats with Tallup, I was over this too.
I let my arm fall. The gun clattered to the leaf-strewn carpet.
Olive whimpered, thinking I’d given up.
I hadn’t.
I’d won.
Jeffrey coughed and stumbled.
Olive squeaked as he pulled her with him. I shadowed them, ready to grab Olive the moment he dropped.
It wouldn’t take long.
His eyes widened as things started dying in his body.
“Wha-What did you give me?”
My voice was cold as stone. “Succinylcholine.”
He swallowed hard, his throat blocking breath. “What the fuck is that?”
“It’s as close as I could get to showing you how your victims felt.”
His knees gave out, plummeting him to the floor. Olive cried as he clutched her for support. But I was done letting that monster control my daughter.
My side snarled as I leaped forward and scooped Olive out of his grip. He didn’t fight me. He couldn’t. His muscles and bones no longer obeyed him.
Already his eyes struggled to stay open. His mouth hung lax. He tumbled onto his side, bound in a prison of his own making.
Olive clung to me as Jeffrey drooled. I kissed the top of her head and let her stay plastered to me while I skirted Jeffrey and unhooked O’s rope.
She glared unforgivingly as I grabbed a knife from my back pocket and sliced through the final restraint.
She rubbed the rawness on her skin, embracing freedom. She looked me up and down, no sign of trust or affection, just relief that I wasn’t dead. “You’re alive.”
“I’m alive.” I bowed my head, unable to stomach the blood ringing her wrists from where she’d struggled against the rope.
Fuck, I’d let her down so much.
Backing away, understanding she wouldn’t want me close to her, I twisted Olive around so her face pressed into my stomach. I didn’t worry that her arms would get sticky with my blood. I didn’t have any idea how much this would traumatise her or how I could ever make it up to her.
The Living Canvas (Master of Trickery, #2) Page 8
