The Finished Masterpiece (Master of Trickery Book 3)

by Pepper Winters

  “If I knew it would save both of you...I’d slit my wrists right here.”

  “Don’t say that. What sort of world would it be if you weren’t in it?” I tried to touch him gently, to shove aside my fear and hug him tight. But self-preservation howled in my blood, desperate to run, screaming to flee.

  “Goddammit, Olin.” He stepped back, pulling me toward the open door and the darkness beyond. “Even now, you’re still so good. You still think I can be redeemed.”

  “You can.”

  “No, I can’t.” He jerked me closer to death. “I love you so much it’s ripping my fucking heart out, but I can’t stop this.”

  Tugging against his pressure, I scratched at his fingers. “If you love me, you’d find a way.”

  “There is no way. Believe me...I’ve tried.”

  “Tried what?”

  “To stop him. To end him.”

  I shivered. “What does that mean? You have to give me more—”

  “It means love isn’t enough.” He sighed painfully, stepping over the threshold and dragging me inside with him. The warehouse seemed to twist and moan with denial at what was about to happen in its walls.

  “Gil. Don’t.” I fought. I pulled, but my struggle was nothing to him. His strength far eclipsed mine.

  I wanted to scream and yell, but instead, I kept my voice low and urgent. “I love you too, Gil. I don’t think I ever stopped, even when you broke my heart. Even now, when you’re scaring me. So whatever you’re doing, stop it. Talk to me. We can figure this out. Whatever is going on can be solved if we work together—like old times, remember?”

  I hoped he’d listen. That he’d hug me. Kiss me. Beg for forgiveness and tell me this was a cruel joke or a massive mistake.

  But he didn’t.

  He kept dragging me toward the stage where his finished masterpieces would stand for photos and critique. A place we’d had sex on. A place we’d bound ourselves together in more than just paint and affection. A place that now held a rope and a gag.

  I struggled harder. “Gil...stop it. Stop it right now.”

  He stayed silent. His shoulders stooped. His body beaten. “I can’t.”

  “Yes, you can. Just let me walk out the door. I’ll...I’ll vanish. I’ll—” Nastiness and spite filled me, mixing with my pleas. “I’ll disappear like you did all those years ago. You’ll never have to see me again.”

  He caught my gaze as he slowed to a stop and held me prisoner by the podium. “The thought of never seeing you again shatters what’s left of me.”

  “Then don’t—”

  “I don’t have a choice, Olin! I never had a choice.”

  “You do! Everyone does.”

  “Not everyone.” He pulled me into him, smothering me in another bone-crushing hug. A hug I’d wanted once upon a time but now squirmed to be free from. He kissed my temple, his entire body trembling in despair. “I love you now and always, O. You were the only one I wanted. The only one who owned me. I’m so sorry for hurting you.”

  Tears leaked down my cheeks. “Gil...please.”

  “I love you. But I can’t save you.” He pulled back, his own tears glittering in his gaze. “I tried, and I failed. That’s how fucking pathetic I am. How useless.”

  “You’re not useless.”

  “I failed everyone.”

  “That’s not true.” My gaze danced over the warehouse, looking for freedom. “Stop saying that.”

  “It is true. And I’m about to let you down all over again.”

  “Please.” I reached for him. To hit him, kiss him, try to knock some sense into him. “Why are you doing this? What the hell is so important that you’d allow that bastard to turn you into a killer?”

  His eyes were endlessly sad, eternally broken. “She is what’s important. The only thing that matters.”

  “Who? Who is important?”

  “Olive.”

  My heart stopped beating.

  Olive.

  So he was dreaming of another O.

  Another love called Olive.

  Olive!

  Pain I’d never felt before slithered through me. My voice was barely audible. “Who’s Olive, Gil?”

  He grimaced and shrugged as if he’d already hammered the nails into his own coffin. “It doesn’t—”

  “It. Fucking. Matters!” My voice resonated with more rage than I’d ever shown. “You owe me that at least. You owe me the fucking truth, Gilbert Clark.”

  He inhaled, shuddering. “Olive is...” He couldn’t look at me. “Olive is my daughter.”

  White noise stole me.

  The ground was no longer stable.

  Daughter.

  He has...a daughter?

  A moan of pure tragedy escaped me.

  “I’m so sorry, O.” Dragging me into him, he kissed my forehead. A slash of liquid appeared on his cheek, entrapment wrapping him in an unwinnable nightmare. “That bastard has my daughter.” His voice cracked again, his head bent. “He has my own flesh and blood. My utmost responsibility. But he’ll trade...your life for hers.”

  Every extremity turned to stone. How did he have a daughter? When did this happen? How and who with? Questions crowded my tongue but fear made me weak. “Why didn’t you tell me—”

  “I couldn’t.”

  “You could! She’s your child! The police—”

  “Aren’t capable of helping. I’m past their help now.”

  “Let me go. I’ll—”

  “I can’t.” Another glitter of grief on his cheek. “I can’t let you go. I’m so sorry, owl.”

  His despair turned to ruthlessness.

  His love turned to coldness.

  He kissed me one last time...and bent to grab the rope.

  PLAYLIST

  Imagine Dragons – Birds

  Imagine Dragons - Natural

  King & Country – Amen

  Zac Efron & Zendaya – Rewrite the Stars

  Flora Cash – You’re Somebody Else

  One Republic – Rescue Me

  The Chainsmokers – Call You Mine

  Calum Scott & Leona Lewis – You Are The Reason

  Pink – What About Us

  Lewis Capaldi – Someone You Loved

  Lewis Capaldi – Bruises

  Depeche Mode – Enjoy The Silence

  Halsey – Nightmare

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  The Body Painter has been a labour of love.

  I first started this book in June 2017, put it aside until December 2017, wrote 63,000 words, put it on the back burner to write The Boy & His Ribbon, The Girl & Her Ren, and The Son & His Hope, deleted the original 63,000 words, started fresh in March 2019, wrote 137,000 words, sent to betas for feedback, deleted 30,000 words, rewrote 25,000 words and changed some key character personalities.

  In the middle of that convoluted process, I almost deleted the entire thing for the second time, almost printed it off and burned it, almost printed it off to let my horses eat it, and overall lost faith that there was a story worthwhile telling in the mess I had created.

  But...I’m glad I stuck with it.

  Because I really like what is left and hope you enjoyed reading it!

  I get asked all the time what inspired me to write. Normally, I have no reply—just the typical generic answer of ‘a story randomly popped into my head and I can’t explain where or why’. But this time...a few things intrigued me enough to create the tale of THE BODY PAINTER.

  First, I binge-watched the Netflix show of Skin Wars. I loved watching the artists turn people into creations.

  Second, I read a news article of an old man who went to a catholic school when he was young, run by nuns. He never married and spent his life alone, until one day, a young woman knocked on his door claiming to be his daughter. When he was young, a nun sexually abused him. She had a child and never told him. The daughter found out and tracked him down.

  It really touched me that story. To think of a young boy being taken advantage of by someone
who should be in a position of trust, leaving him with a daughter he never knew about.

  Obviously I’ve taken creative license and changed the story to how I needed Gil’s life to unfold but those are the two main areas of inspiration for this tale.

  And now, onto my thank you list.

  Thank you so much to Heather (Po), Chanpreet, Heather (Pe), Nicole, Selena, Nina, Tamicka, Julia, Effie, Melissa, Michell, and Rochelle. You all provided invaluable feedback and I’m ever so grateful for your time and honesty.

  Thank you to Heather (Po) for the quote from Van Gough at the beginning and for reading chapters again and again.

  Thank you to Effie for being the first to read the finalized rewritten draft and talking me off the ledge.

  Thank you to Selena for running my group, Pepper’s Playground, so efficiently.

  Thank you to all my readers for their immense patience with this tale...it truly has been a long time coming.

  And lastly, thank you to my husband for giving me the life I’ve always dreamed about.

  I’m the luckiest girl in the world.

  Love,

  Pepper

  xxx

  The

  LIVING

  Canvas

  by

  New York Times Bestseller

  Pepper Winters

  The Living Canvas

  Copyright © 2019 Pepper Winters

  Published by Pepper Winters

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, including electronic or mechanical, without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it to the seller and purchase your own copy. Libraries are exempt and permitted to share their in-house copies with their members and have full thanks for stocking this book. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

  Published: Pepper Winters 2019: pepperwinters@gmail.com

  Cover Design: Ari @ Cover it! Designs

  Editing by: Editing 4 Indies (Jenny Sims)

  The Living Canvas Blurb:

  “Must be brave, stubborn, and impervious to the tempers of loved ones.”

  The first line hissed with history.

  “Hours are endless, pay is non-existence, quitting absolutely forbidden.”

  The second line ached with truth.

  “Able to function on no sleep, refrain from running when times get hard, and be more than just a living canvas but a lover.”

  The third thrummed with honesty.

  “Other attributes required: forgiving, opinionated, and not afraid to tell me when I’m wrong. Must also enjoy being touched and kissed at any time of my choosing.”

  The fourth glowed with promise.

  “Call or email ‘YOUR HEART, HIS SOUL’ if interested in applying.”

  The final made my future unfold.

  The advert was so similar to one I should never have applied for.

  A twist of fate that brought two destined people back together.

  A job I would take in a heartbeat if the employer could offer such terms.

  But I wasn’t free.

  Neither was Gil.

  Therefore, my interview could never happen.

  Prologue

  ______________________________

  Olin

  WHEN DID KINDNESS become weakness?

  When did compassion become blindness?

  I believed strength, true strength, came from seeing past someone’s actions and trusting the goodness inside them. I believed words were just words and lies were just lies and they didn’t really matter, because, in the end, the truth always came out.

  A person was a product of their upbringing and society’s doctrine, and so, I chose to see past that creation and see the real soul hurting underneath.

  I chose weakness to be kind.

  I became blind to show compassion.

  It made a total fool out of me...

  Chapter One

  ______________________________

  Gil

  -The Past-

  TALLUP DISAPPEARED.

  Seven months, three weeks, and eight days after that God-awful night in Motel Gardenia, Tallup vanished from school. She’d ensured my life had remained an utter misery. Her attention constantly on me. Her threats chasing me, her rules hunting me.

  She’d steadily let herself go—no longer wearing tight, prim skirt-suits but hiding her small frame in loose-fitting dresses. Her face fattened, along with her waistline, and fellow teachers joked that she’d reached middle-age spread.

  I didn’t care she no longer looked like a soul-sucking succubus. I was glad she resembled the rotting grossness inside.

  Thanks to her, I could no longer look at Olin with Justin.

  I could no longer pretend life was okay.

  Distance hadn’t healed my heart. Love hadn’t triumphed over evil.

  I found it excruciatingly difficult to keep my distance, all the while far too disgusted with myself to ever talk to Olin.

  Every day, it grew harder and harder to stay in town.

  I only had a few months until graduation. I honestly didn’t know what kept me from leaving. I knew what I wanted to be now: I was an artist. It was the cure to my insanity. And artists didn’t need degrees or university accolades. Artists were talented, or not—born with the gift or refused such a skill.

  I had everything I needed to succeed.

  And I needed to run. Run. Run.

  Run far away and never look back.

  But Olin...

  I’d lost her but at least I could still protect her. We walked the same streets. Attended the same school. Lived in the same town. That tiny piece of togetherness sustained me and imprisoned me whenever I thought of leaving.

  But then...Tallup vanished.

  A new teacher replaced her. Education continued on as if nothing odd had occurred. And the principal made a half-hearted attempt at explaining the switch. Tallup got a job teaching English in Japan. She’d accepted. She’d be missed. Yada yada.

  For a week, I didn’t trust it.

  Every day, I expected Tallup to be at the front of class, ready to stare me into submission, her smirk hidden at breaking Olin and me apart.

  But Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday...she didn’t return.

  The next week, hope did its best to make me drunk. Instead of listening to lessons, I plotted ways to talk to Olin. To explain. To fix us.

  But each time I tried to catch Olin’s gaze, Justin was there. Making her smile through her sadness, his touch soothing her sorrows away.

  By the third week of Tallup missing, I grew braver.

  She’d crippled me—taken my virginity, my goodness, my strength and left me lacking in every way. But...with her gone, I was free.

  Free to chase Olin and claim her back.

  But...I’m not free.

  Because why would Olin ever forgive me? Why would she ever love me?

  She’d given her heart to someone else, and as much as that crucified me—worse than any forced sex or drunken beating—I had to honour her choice.

  I left school knowing I’d lost any right to her.

  I went to bed so fucking sick of being weak.

  I made a pact to talk to her on Monday.

  To lay the truth at her feet.

  To let her judge me, hurt me, hate me.

  And then...I’d
kiss her.

  I’d kiss her.

  Beg her.

  Do anything to make her mine.

  And if she forgave me, I would never, ever let go.

  * * * * *

  Sunday night.

  Fate decided it hadn’t finished toying with me, delivering its final blow on my tragic mess of a life.

  I had a script planned. Every word and apology ready for Monday morning and making Olin mine.

  But then, a visitor arrived.

  Not a man looking for a whore, or a drug dealer looking for his cut.

  Just a petite woman with the soul of the devil.

  My teacher.

  Who’d been missing.

  Who’d come to finish me.

  I’d answered the knock thanks to my father being drunk in his bed and his current whores having fifteen minutes rest before new clients arrived.

  The house was quiet, for once, and I had homework to do before I left for an evening of graffiti.

  But as I wrenched open the door, my fist curled around the handle and my heart stopped beating. Tallup stood on my dirty stoop, her hair dull and eyes angry. Her cheeks pinched with age and sleeplessness.

  The fury inside me exploded outward. “What the fuck are you doing here!?”

  We weren’t on school property.

  No one could hear us.

  I refused to be polite to this bitch.

  She hoisted something higher in her arms. A bundle of fleece and blankets. “I came to find you.”

  “Why?” My knuckles whitened around the handle, holding tight. If I didn’t, I’d hit her, strangle her, kill her. “Leave. I have nothing to say—”

  “Here.” Her arms snapped forward, shoving her swaddled package into my chest. Instinct made me take it, clutching it tight as she ripped her touch away. It fell a little before I had full control.

  The bundle was warm and heavier than I expected.

  And it moved.

  Fuck.

  My eyes shot to hers. “What is this?”

  She wiped her forehead with weariness, but her gaze was just as evil, just as cruel. “It’s yours.”