Escaped Artist (Untamed #3)

by Green, Victoria

  one

  “Yes!”

  Thump.

  “Oh, god!”

  Thump-thump.

  “Ohhhh godddddd!”

  Thumpthumpthumpthump.

  “Yes, YES, YESSSSSS!”

  I looked down at my toast and winced, my appetite vanishing faster than the groupie would once Synner was through with her. From the sound of it, it was clear she thought she was auditioning for the role of his girlfriend. Did she really think that the louder she screamed the more likely it was he’d keep her? According to Dash, the guy had no interest in relationships that lasted longer than a wham-bam-no-fucking-way, ma’am.

  “You know, Dash, when you warned me that crashing with the band would be ‘fucking noisy,’ I was imagining drum beats and guitar riffs.”

  My brother looked up from his scrambled eggs and smirked. “We’re recording an album called Nailed to the Wall. What the hell did you expect?”

  “Not Synner’s groupie on lead vocals.” I looked toward the drummer’s room—at least the door was closed this time. “That being said, I’m grateful for a place to stay. Even if it often resembles a cross between a modeling agency and a brothel.”

  No Man’s Land was taking a break from their European tour, and in the three weeks I’d spent living with them I’d been privy to way too many tits and way too much ass. Yes—surprisingly, there was such a thing as an excess of T&A.

  Dash laughed and ran a hand through his messy, dark hair. “You know the saying: When in Amsterdam…”

  “…DO all the Romans?”

  “Exactly,” he said with another deep laugh. “Not to mention, you’re rooming with four guys and a girl in their twenties—all of whom have very healthy…appetites. It’s just a fact of life.” As if to illustrate his point, the thumping and humping grew louder, punctuated by a couple of loud spanks. “I don’t understand why you refuse to feast, Dare. You can have any woman you want. And if you ever plan on shedding that Ree chick, you’re gonna have to shed your clothes with someone else.”

  Dash’s bedroom door opened and a tall, gorgeous blonde walked out. She caught sight of Dash, and with her long hair swinging and narrow hips swaying, she catwalked over to the counter. Her lips latched on to his as her nails raked over his back in an overly-dramatic goodbye kiss.

  Groaning, I looked away, my chest constricting with thoughts of Ree. Three weeks. Three fucking weeks since the gallery show. Since that prick Archer showed up with a diamond ring the size of a fucking boulder.

  Jesus. Why did Dash have to bring her up? How did he know about her anyway? I hadn’t said anything. Hell, I was doing everything I could to not think about her at all—the last thing I would do was actually TALK about her.

  Besides, Dash and I didn’t talk. Not really. We shared drinks and laughs, but we never got personal. Getting personal would mean sharing shit about our mothers, and both his and mine were way more messed up than either of us wanted to admit. It would also bring front and center the hell our asshole father had put the two families through…yeah, that was another topic I steered clear of.

  “So,” the blonde said, running a finger along Dash’s jaw. “Will I see you again tonight?”

  Dash sighed, this regretful expression on his face. “Sorry, babe,” he said. “I’ve got to focus on my music.” She pouted, and he gently lifted her chin. “But you, and the memory of last night, will be my muse.”

  She looked embarrassedly pleased as he released her and waved her toward the door. He nodded at her retreating hot ass and raised a wicked eyebrow at me as if to say, Get yourself some of that.

  But I wasn’t the least bit interested.

  “How many of them actually fall for that shit you just spouted?”

  Dash grinned. “Every single one. Hook. Line. And sinker.” Peeling his eyes away from the girl, he turned back to me. “So, you want one of your own?”

  “NO.” Not with Ree on my mind. “And how the hell do you know about Ree?”

  He shrugged. “I talked to Dalia. Or, rather, Dalia talked AT me. A lot. And very loudly.” Taking a deep breath, he put down his fork and aimed his dark blue gaze at me. “Look, if you want to talk—”

  “I have nothing to say.” Ree and I went from being two broken people who soothed each other’s demons to something more. Much more. And the thought of it almost brought me to my knees. I could still see her smile every time I closed my eyes, feel her skin on my fingers, smell the ghost of her scent lingering around me, haunting me. She smelled like no one else—like honey and summer, so fucking sweet.

  Shit. I shook my head, trying to force her out of my thoughts. Again.

  She couldn’t be mine as long as she was owned by her family. And they were never going to release her—that was clear. I was out. For real, this time.

  My brother’s jaw tightened as he regarded me for a moment. “You know, you’re not the only person in the world who’s had to let someone important go,” he said quietly. “Doing the right thing is hard as hell. But doing the right thing is right.”

  “Doing the right thing is right? How enlightening. Do I smell a new hit single?”

  “Fuck off, Dare. I’m just trying to help.”

  I rubbed at the crease that had formed between my eyebrows. “I know,” I said. “I’m sorry.” Dash was trying. I had to give him that. He’d been trying for four years now. Money when we were desperate for it. His house in Los Angeles when we’d had to flee New York. “I just don’t think getting laid is going to solve my problems this time around.” I shook my head. “I’ve already tried to fuck this girl out of my head. Trust me. And it didn’t work.”

  “She’s under your skin,” he said with a nod. “You haven’t painted since you got here, and Dalia said it’s rare for you to go a single day without touching a brush.”

  Clearly, Dalia and Dash had been talking way too much.

  “I’m taking a sabbatical from work right now,” I said with a shrug.

  “Work? Painting naked chicks is hardly work.”

  I tipped my head, unable to stop the small smile at his jab. “And fucking groupies is?”

  “Touché.” He shot me his trademark crooked smirk. The one that—according to Dalia—had made him one of rock music’s most eligible bachelors. “Look at us. Living the good life.” His grin soured as sarcasm laced his words. “Dad would be so proud.”

  I refused to talk about that bastard. Even with blood. “Look, I’m busy with the tattoo shop for the time being. No time to paint.” When he’d heard I needed to get out of Paris, Rex had sent me to his former lover, Jasmine, who owned a parlor in the red-light district. As soon as she’d seen the designs I’d worked on in L.A., she’d hired me on the spot. “Right now I need the quick cash that comes with ink—painting doesn’t pay. At least not yet.”

  Dash and I were splitting the cost of Dax and Dalia’s trip to Europe. Usually they spent summers working and saving for school, but this opportunity to travel and visit me in Paris and Dash in Amsterdam had been too great. I wanted them to experience the world while they could. So I was paying for it. Happily, but I needed to be actually making money to be able to afford it.

  “Can I come by the shop this week and have you start on the one here?” Dash pointed to a spot on his chest, right at his upper-left pec.

  My eyebrows shot up. “You still haven’t gotten it done? I sent you that sketch months ago. There are tattoo parlors all over Europe.” I nodded at his arm. “And you’ve clearly stepped in one recently since that partial sleeve is new.”

  He pressed his lips together and looked down at his plate. “I was waiting for you to ink this one.”

  “Me? Why?”

 
“You’re a brilliant artist, Dare,” he said.” I knew it ever since you did my first tat at that shop on Sunset.”

  I studied him. His jaw was tight, the expression in his eyes hard and unreadable. There was more to this than my supposed brilliance. I’d bet money on it. “This one’s important to you.” The design he’d asked for had been a little wren with a music note in its beak. Really different from the rest of the ink on his body. Almost…sorrowful. “You gonna tell me what it’s for?”

  “Just as soon as you tell me about Ree.”

  “Touché.” I shook my head and picked up my plate. “I don’t start work until two today. Why don’t we head over to the shop now?”

  “No way!” Indie burst into the kitchen, glaring at me. “He’s not going anywhere. We have to be at the studio in fifteen minutes.” She strutted over to Synner’s door and pounded on it, her small frame belying her strength. “You have five seconds to get the fuck out here. Knowing you, that’s more than enough time to leave a lady unsatisfied!” Then she hit the bathroom next. “Hawke!” she called out as she banged on the dark wood. “No respectable man should take such long showers unless there is a woman in there with him.”

  “There is,” Dash said with a laugh. “Two, actually.”

  Indie groaned and shook her head of wild, insanely blue hair. “Hurry the fuck up. All of you! We gotta go!” As the lead singer and only woman in No Man’s Land, Indigo Zane had quite a set of lungs on her. When she yelled, the rest of the band jumped. “Where the hell is Leo?”

  “I’m almost afraid to say,” Dash mumbled through a mouthful of food.

  She descended on him, smacking him in the shoulder. “Spill.”

  “Christ, Indie. Save it for the studio.” He groaned and rubbed his shoulder. “Leo went jogging.”

  Indie’s bright blue eyes widened. “Jogging? NOW?”

  The front door opened and Leo strode in, stopping short when he noticed Indie coming at him. “Where’s the fire?” His dark skin glistened with sweat as he looked down at her fisted hands.

  She got right in his face and glared up at him. “You were seriously JOGGING right now? What the hell, Leo?”

  “It’s Lynx. How many times do I have to tell you that? Fucking call me Lynx.” He took a swig of his water and ran a hand over his buzzed, dark hair. “What’s the problem?”

  “The PROBLEM is that we’ll be late to the studio. AGAIN. I swear it’s like I’m babysitting four fucking toddlers. EVERYONE,” she yelled, hands on her hips, blue hair swinging. The thumping stopped suddenly and the shower turned off. “Get your asses out here! NOW! This album isn’t going to record itself!”

  I downed the rest of my coffee and backed out of the room with raised hands, heading for the door. “That’s my cue. I’ve seen both Synner’s and Hawke’s bare asses way too many times already. I’m out.”

  I shut the door behind me, escaping the chaos, shaking my head at the insanity that was Dash’s life. I had no idea how he did it.

  But, truth be told, his chaos was kind of welcomed.

  It kept thoughts of Ree out of my head.

  two

  People swarmed the cobblestone streets around me as I walked all alone in a city of strangers. At least Dare was here. Somewhere. I hadn’t seen him yet, but I knew his brother’s band was in town. Thankfully, Dalia had taken pity on me and given me their address.

  “I’m sorry, Ree,” she’d said when she answered his door back in Paris. “He left.” She’d stepped out into the hall and closed the door behind her.

  “Left?” I’d said, my knees feeling weak. “How could he already be gone?”

  She bit down on her lip, her beautiful features tinged with sadness. “I’m sorry…”

  “No,” I said. “You have nothing to apologize for. It’s my fault. I’m the one who’s sorry. And I shouldn’t be putting you in this position but…” I searched her face. “Would you…can you tell me where he is? Please?”

  “He asked me not to.” Her teeth sank farther into her lip as her eyebrows tilted toward each other. “More like ordered me not to.”

  My eyes started to water and I furiously blinked back tears as I fought to keep my breathing under control. “I understand,” I choked out. There were other ways to find him, of course. It wasn’t like I hadn’t picked up any tricks from my parents, but I had so hoped she’d tell me. “Okay. Thanks, Dal.” I took a step back, but Dalia reached out to stop me, her hand light on my arm. My gaze lifted to meet hers.

  “Ree…do you love him?” She peered intensely into my eyes.

  My head was nodding before she finished, my words coming out in a tight whisper. “With all that I am and everything that I have.”

  “Well…” Her eyes narrowed as she studied me. “It’s not like I ever do what he says anyway. He’s in Amsterdam with Dash. And he’s being a complete idiot, if you ask me.”

  A laugh sputtered up and out of my mouth even as the tears overflowed. I half-laughed, half-sobbed as Dalia hugged me.

  “He needs you,” she said into my hair, which only made me cry harder. “And he loves you, too. I don’t think my brother has ever loved someone. Not like this. Not like you.”

  She released me and I reached up to wipe off my face. “Thank you,” I said quietly. “Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU.”

  She nodded with a grin. “Just…don’t hurt him. He’s a stubborn son-of-a-bitch, but he’s my favorite brother.”

  The apartment door flew open and Dax stood there glaring at Dalia. “WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY?!”

  “Oh, don’t get your frilly panties in a twist, Dax,” she said. “I knew you were there the whole time—stop eavesdropping on us already.” She rolled her eyes, turning to me again. “I meant that Dare is my favorite brother outside of Dax.” He folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the doorframe with a satisfied smirk as she said, “And you need to be good to him because I really don’t wanna have to hunt you down if you break his heart.”

  Another laugh bubbled up within my chest. God, I loved her. “I won’t. His heart is safe with me. I swear.”

  Dax lifted an eyebrow at me and winked. “You can come break my heart anytime you want, babe.” Dalia spun around, smacked his arm, and shoved him back into the apartment as his deep laughter echoed out into the hall.

  Even now, as I walked along the canal, the city lit up, amber lights shining like fire on the water as blue hues filled the spaces in between, I couldn’t help but smile at the thought of Dalia and Dax. They’d stayed in Paris for a week before catching a train to Rome. And they’d be coming to Amsterdam later this summer to see No Man’s Land in concert. I only hoped I’d still be here by then. And that things would be good.

  Sabine had understood when I’d called to tell her I was leaving La Période Bleue and didn’t know when I’d be back.

  “Pour l’amour? Bien sûr.” For love? Of course. “You MUST go, chérie. You must say oui á l’amour. This Wilde…he is your great love. I knew that from the first time I met him.”

  She had contacts in Amsterdam and had set me up with a couple of interviews at some local galleries. I had no idea whether I’d be able to find work here, but at least I had a little bit of money to keep me going for a while. The work I’d done in Paris made a huge difference, and Sabine still insisted on sticking to our terms and paying me for Marie Ormonde’s show even though I’d left before it opened.

  I owed her big.

  She was making it possible for me to have the life I wanted.

  To reinvent myself.

  I reached into my bag, my fingers closing around the familiar folded-up piece of paper. My phoenix—what had become my source of strength and inspiration over the years. The one item in my purse I reached for first, instead of pills.

  Well, most of the time.

  I wasn’t perfect. And some old habits were hard to break. Especially at night. In the dark. When I was all alone.

  I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t numbed the shit out of myself t
hose first few days without Dare.

  Again.

  But I was trying. Even if I had slipped just this afternoon before I’d stepped out of my apartment. Needles scared the crap out of me—I needed a little pharmaceutical courage if I was going to go through with this.

  Because before I sought out Dare, I wanted to have his bird—my bird—imprinted on my body in ink. Maybe its strength would infuse itself into my skin, into my mind, into my soul.

  If I had his art on my body when I came to apologize, he’d know. He’d know how much I loved him. It would have to mean something to him. It sure as hell meant EVERYTHING to me. Enough that I was willing to brave needles.

  Nothing would stop me this time. Not my parents. Not the nightmares. Not even Dare.

  I needed this bird, and then I needed to find him. To explain. I needed him to understand.

  Fuck, I needed him.

  Breaking free wasn’t something that could be done in one fell swoop. At least not with my family. My parents weren’t used to losing. In their minds, my freedom was their loss. Their failure. Fail is not in my vocabulary, my father had said. He wasn’t kidding. He didn’t take failure well. AT ALL. And me not going to Harvard and refusing to follow the path they’d meticulously marked out for me reeked of failure to him.

  I knew this, and I knew that getting out from under him would be akin to a twelve-step program. Dare didn’t understand this about my family. But from everything that had happened in Paris, and all that Dalia had told me, at least I knew he loved me.

  That tiny piece of knowledge was enough to keep me going. I wasn’t going to give up that easily.

  The issue now was finding the right tattoo shop. There had to be a hundred of them in Amsterdam, and I’d already visited dozens today, but none of them caught my eye. Somehow, I felt like the work of the parlor had to affect me like a great piece of art—when I came across the one that did, I’d know it was the right place for me and my phoenix.

  So I braved the fear and the pain in my feet, and kept going. Even though it was late. Even though I’d been looking all day long already, was exhausted and ready to crash. The beauty of this majestic place, with its grand architecture and old city feel, should have been enough to entice me to keep moving, exploring, searching, yet there was something stronger that spurred me on.