Escaped Artist (Untamed #3)

by Green, Victoria

  Synner just calmly lit up, leaned back against the counter, and smiled at Indie. Then he raked his eyes over the girl’s curves.

  “She can’t understand you. She doesn’t speak English.” He took a drag of his cigarette and licked his bottom lip. “But she screams just fine in Dutch.”

  Indie glowered. “All entertainment should’ve been long gone. We have a recording session in an hour.”

  “As if you didn’t have some bloke in your room last night.” Synner tucked the pack back into his jeans.

  “Yeah,” she said. “And he left. Last night.”

  I tuned out their bickering, focusing on the piece of toast in front of me. It tasted like cardboard. Everything I’d eaten in the past two weeks had tasted like fucking cardboard. It didn’t help that my stomach was knotted up to hell.

  I was waiting for the call—the one that my mother had made so many times. I can’t do this, Daren. I’m not strong enough.

  I shook my head.

  Ree wasn’t my mom.

  She was strong. She could do this. I just wished I could be by her side every step of the way. She felt too far away, too inaccessible.

  A high-pitched giggle drew my attention toward Dash and the dark-haired girl he was kissing goodbye at the front door.

  Once she’d cleared out, my brother pulled up a stool at the breakfast bar. “That was Anouk,” he said with a wicked grin. “Or maybe Aya?”

  “Trying to fuck someone out of your head, too?” I threw the remainder of my toast down on the plate and wiped my hands on my jeans. “You know that doesn’t work, right?”

  He shrugged one shoulder and scratched at his chest—right at the spot of his newly inked wren tattoo. “Sure. But at least it’s hell of a lot of fun to try.”

  But when he said it, he looked like he was trying to convince himself more than anyone else.

  It had to be a girl. For the four years I’d known him, I’d never seen him like this.

  “What did she do to you, anyway? The wren, I mean.”

  His jaw tightened as he broke eye contact. “Nothing,” he said. “She’s off limits.”

  Christ. We shared DNA, but sometimes it seemed like not much else.

  “How’s Ree?” Dash said, changing the subject.

  I shrugged. “I have no fucking clue.” I ran a hand over my face and sighed. “They insisted on no contact and no visitors for the first two weeks.” Detox from everything, they’d said.

  Detox. I knew all too well the havoc that could wreak. The girl I loved was going through hell right now. And there was nothing I could do to help.

  “I get to visit tomorrow,” I said. Finally.

  The problem was, a single day felt like an eternity right now. Twenty-four of the longest fucking hours of my life. Every second was dragging so slowly I was pretty damn sure I was never going to make it through this day.

  “Fuck it.” I pushed away from the table with a growl. “I’m going to work.”

  Dash cocked his head to the side and arched a dark eyebrow at me. “Aren’t you off tonight?”

  “Not anymore,” I said. “I need the distraction.”

  “Just like Vogel.” Jasmine shook her bright red dreads when I showed up at the shop unannounced. “Living life one heartbeat at a time.” For a lady in her sixties, she could still rock the hippie look.

  “I need to work tonight,” I said. “Give me whoever you’ve got.” I didn’t care how many girly butterflies she threw my way. I just needed something to do.

  If I’d had a place to paint, I would have gone there instead. For the past two weeks, my hands had itched for a brush, my senses had craved the feel and smell of paint and turpentine.

  If I could paint, I could lose track of time. I wouldn’t spend every minute wondering whether the phone was going to ring for me. And the remaining two weeks of rehab could fly the fuck by. But I’d left all my stuff at my apartment in Paris. I’d been so intent on being a total jackass and getting away from the woman I loved, that I hadn’t brought any of it with me.

  Served me right.

  Tattooing was as close to my art as I could get right now. I didn’t have a brush, but a gun. And human bodies were my canvases. Paint and ink became one and the same.

  Somewhat.

  “I’m on my way out, darling,” Jasmine said, coming around her table and blowing me a kiss as she walked by. “It’s been slow for a Friday and Sia is the only one left at the show. Maybe she needs a hand with something.”

  Ever since I’d been here, Sia had needed a hand with something. As long as I was at work, I had a shadow. I’d kept my distance as best I could—I didn’t want her getting the wrong idea just because we had a history.

  Now, as I wandered back to her station, I saw her bending over some guy, adding color to the sleeve covering the upper half of his arm.

  When she glanced up and saw me, her entire face lit up.

  Once that would have meant something to me. When we’d first met at Rex’s studio in Brooklyn, she’d been this tough chick from the Bronx who’d grown up in foster care and didn’t take shit from anyone. Especially not the screw-up fresh out of juvie.

  Older and more experienced, she’d wanted nothing to do with me, had done her best to convince me that I’d never amount to anything. Once a convict, always a convict, she’d said to me. And I’d listened. My life had been one failure after another, and I knew she was right. What was the point of trying if I was just going to keep failing?

  But then Rex had put a brush in my hand and told her to sit for me.

  She’d done it because she worshipped Rex.

  He and I had painted her, side by side, day after day. Once in a while he’d look at my canvas and point out where the shadows were off or the shape was wrong, but for the most part he’d left me to do my own thing.

  Sia had changed when she’d seen my painting. It wasn’t finished yet when I found her looking at my canvas, the cloth flipped up so she could see the whole thing. She’d stared at me wide-eyed for a moment, her mouth agape.

  All I could think at the time had been, Was it really that bad?

  Then she dropped her robe, wrapped her exotic, naked body around me, and latched on. She didn’t let go until she left for Amsterdam six months later.

  That had been years ago and, in that time, everything had changed. Including me.

  “I’m here,” I said to Sia now as she hunched back over the guy’s beefy arm. “If anyone else comes in, I’ll take them.” She nodded, and I went to my workspace to prepare it just in case.

  Because, goddammit, someone needed to come in and get a tattoo soon. Hell, I was going to go out on the street and drag them in here kicking and screaming if I needed to.

  Twenty minutes later as I was wiping down my chair, I felt Sia’s arms wrap around my waist and her hips slide up against my ass.

  My head whipped up, and I flinched away. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “What does it look like, Dare?” She slinked toward me, slipping the strap of her tank top off her shoulder. “We’re all alone. Why don’t we have a little fun together?” She took another step forward and began playing with the other strap. “Just like we used to.”

  I shook my head. “No, thanks.”

  “Oh, come on, Dare.” She pouted. “It’s you and me. Remember how good we were together? How fucking hot things could get? We could be like that again.”

  “Sia, that was a fling. It was…nothing.”

  She froze, her eyes narrowing. “It wasn’t nothing. Not to me.”

  “You sure about that?” I crossed my arms over my chest. “You left the country pretty easily as I recall. Rex said ‘Amsterdam’ and you jumped at the chance.”

  “That was six years ago. Things are different now.”

  “You’re right,” I said with a nod. “They are. I’m with Ree now.”

  “Ree.” Sia rolled her eyes. “Always Ree. You haven’t stopped talking about her since the day she walked through that door.”r />
  “I love her, Sia.”

  A fire ignited in her eyes. “You don’t do love, Dare.”

  “I do with Ree.” The ease of that statement startled me.

  Loving Ree was simple and complicated, freeing and intense. It was everything I was meant to do. It was my reason for taking this breath and the next.

  And I couldn’t stand another minute without her.

  Ree stirred in her sleep as I slowly shut the door to her room, the squeak of its hinges way too loud in the silence of the rehab center after lights out. I snuck over to her bed and sat down, my gaze immediately drawn to her.

  She lay on her side with arms tucked to her chest, her long, silky hair fanning out around her like a golden halo. Her lips were slightly parted as she let out a small sigh, and the peaceful look on her face caused me to relax a little. I brushed my fingers across her cheek, then traced her mouth with my thumb.

  Before she even opened her eyes, she said, “Dare?” Her voice was gravelly and slow with sleep, my name on her lips so fucking sexy. The corners of her mouth quirked up, and more tension left me after hearing yet another contented sigh.

  She was okay. She was safe, smiling, and still mine.

  “God, I’ve missed you, Ree.” I wanted to dig my hands into her hair, devour her, breathe her in, and fill myself up with her. Leaning over, I planted a soft kiss on her forehead.

  Her lashes fluttered, and she looked up at me with a sweet, drowsy smile. “Am I dreaming? Are you real?”

  “Not a dream,” I said with another kiss. “Real Dare. And Real Ree.”

  Even in the dimness, she managed to be the light. Her eyes were brighter, clearer, and more focused like she was totally present in the moment. Completely with me. Thank god.

  “How did you get in here?” she asked as I slid onto the bed, her arms winding around my waist, making me feel like myself again.

  “I seduced the sexy nurse,” I whispered into the sweet smell of her hair.

  She let out a groggy laugh and pulled me closer. “What about the burly security guard?”

  “No. I tried, but he was immune to my charms,” I said quietly.

  She slugged me gently. “I’m serious.”

  “Come on, Ree. I spent a year and a half in juvie, remember? A guy doesn’t leave a past like that behind without some skills.” I pulled her close, melding my body to her thin frame, entwining my legs with hers. “I had to sneak in. I couldn’t take another minute without you.”

  “Nor me you,” she said as she nestled her head in the crook of my neck.

  We fell asleep like that, tangled together as one.

  Like we were always meant to be.

  eleven

  Waking up in Dare’s arms this morning was my reward for living through the torture of the past fourteen days.

  The first week, I barely slept, had nightmares when I did, and experienced panic attack upon panic attack in therapy sessions. My palms were constantly sweaty, I was bitchy to everyone, and I couldn’t stop shaking for days.

  The second week, I began to talk. Word by word, sentence by sentence.

  There were countless times I wanted to walk out the door. And even more times I wanted to reach for my pills to just dull the pain. Because everything hurt—mind, body, and soul. There were days when I couldn’t imagine it ever getting better, when I wondered why the fuck I was putting myself through all this.

  But I held on to my phoenix, my little piece of Dare, clutching it in my hand when the darkness came and the pain became too much to bear. And when he crawled in my bed last night and curled up beside me…everything else faded away.

  His arm tightened around me now when he felt me stir, and I snuggled closer against him, inhaling his familiar scent. Even without his paints and canvases, he still smelled like art. I melded myself into the arc of his body, reveling at how perfectly we fit together.

  Two parts, one whole.

  Still. Thank god.

  I slid my hands along the warm, smooth skin of his arms, and laced my fingers with his.

  “You’re staying today, right?” I said.

  He flashed me a sleepy grin. “You couldn’t get rid of me if you tried.”

  My entire body relaxed at his words, and I sank into him, smiling, trusting that he really was here to stay. With me. Forever.

  I needed to believe this. Especially today.

  Rolling onto my back, I turned to look up at him. “Will you come to group therapy with me?”

  His eyebrows shot up and his eyes widened. “You want me to?”

  I nodded. Part of this treatment was not only examining your own demons, but also sharing them with people you trusted. People who didn’t send you into a downward spiral, but who pulled you back up. Dare was my people. My ONLY one.

  “They’ll let me sit in?” he asked.

  Once again, I nodded. “There’s a family and friends session at noon,” I said. “Now that my detox is up, they recommend inviting loved ones to sit in. I’d really like it if you came.”

  Initially, I hadn’t told Dare about it because I wasn’t sure if I’d be strong enough to brave a meeting between him and my monsters. But we had to start somewhere if we were to have a real shot at a future.

  I extracted myself from his arms—reluctantly, but the day was starting and we had to stick to a schedule at the center. It was another component of the treatment, of the new lifestyle I had ahead of me.

  I took a quick shower and got dressed in the bathroom, suddenly feeling a little shy around Dare. My hands shook as I toweled off. There were things he would learn about me today that I had no idea how he would handle. I’d been conditioned by my parents to believe I was the cause of all my problems. The blame always lay with me. I was aware now that wasn’t true, but the self-hate was still embedded deep within me. Yanking it out was a long process.

  When I came out of the bathroom, Dare was standing by the window, already dressed.

  “Ready?” I asked.

  “For you? Always.”

  We sat next to each other, but I didn’t touch him. I couldn’t even look at him. My entire body felt wound as tight as a freaking yo-yo, and my emotions were about as stable as one. We listened to people testify about their breakthroughs and setbacks. Only a couple of others had someone else with them, and I was amazed at how openly they spoke in front of these new strangers, Dare included.

  I was going to have to do it, too.

  Oh, god.

  “Reagan?” Gino, the counselor, was pointing at me. “What about you? Do you have anything you wish to share today?”

  My mouth felt dry, and when I tried to speak no sound came out. I cleared my throat and reached deep inside for every little piece of resolve I could muster. “I’m…uh…” I glanced at Dare and was struck silent by the look of pride on his face.

  Pride? He was proud of me?

  No one had ever looked at me like that. And he was doing it here of all places, under these circumstances.

  I was filled to the brink with warmth. And renewed strength.

  “I’m doing better,” I said, turning back to the group. “I actually slept last night, and without nightmares of…” I swallowed hard, before forcing the word out. “…Jackson.”

  “That’s great progress, Reagan. I’m so glad to hear that.” Gino smiled warmly at me, and I exhaled, feeling myself relax a tiny bit more.

  Step one was done and over with. Despite being hard, it hadn’t broken me.

  Maybe I really could do this after all.

  Dare and I sat in the circle of chairs after everyone else had cleared out to get lunch, but I could feel the questions burning in him and I knew I needed to get this over with before I’d be able to even think about food.

  He’d stiffened when I’d said Jackson’s name, then reached for my hand and held it tight as Gino moved his attention to someone else. The gesture had brought tears to my eyes, even as my stomach clenched at the thought of telling him.

  But I had to. He neede
d to know.

  And, maybe more importantly, I needed to tell him.

  “So,” he said when we were finally alone. “Jackson?”

  I nodded, inhaling sharply.

  “If you don’t want to talk about it right now,” he said quickly, “it’s okay, Ree. I’m here whenever you’re ready.”

  Shaking my head, I said, “No. I want to. It’s just…hard.” I pushed the tears back down. I couldn’t allow this to keep making me fall apart. I was tired of the control my history had over me. It was time to assert myself over my past. Finally. Once and for all.

  Or, at least, one step at a time.

  “Jack…” God, my heart beat too fast, my breathing came too quick. I was going to pass out if I didn’t get my body under control. I pressed one hand to my chest in an effort to calm down.

  It was going to be okay. I was going to be okay.

  Jackson wasn’t here.

  “He…attacked me.”

  I chanced a glance at Dare. His jaw was tight, his fists clenched, and his eyes glued to my face. But there was no judgment in his expression. No disgust. No disbelief. Nothing that even remotely resembled the looks on my parents’ faces when I’d told them.

  I took another deep breath and pressed on.

  “It was at a party my parents threw for his father—who was running for governor at the time. I’d gone down into the wine cellar to find a special bottle my father wanted…and Jack followed me.”

  Reagan…beautiful, beautiful Reagan.

  Memories of that night flittered into my mind. The lights going off in the cellar, sending me tumbling into darkness. The smell of the sweat on his skin mixing with the alcohol on his breath. The scent overwhelmed me in the damp, dark basement when Jack had come up behind me and whispered in my ear.

  Shh, shhhh. I’m here. No need to cry. I’m going to give you what you’ve been asking for all night.