Painter’s Obsession

5. Chapter Five

Chapter Five

Ren

Life has a funny way of delivering what I want—when I need it most. Inspiration. A muse to harvest. And today, the seedling of opportunity finally broke ground. It was all thanks to a coffee spill on a Marc Jacobs suit.

A smile tugs at my lips as I watch her type her number into my phone. Gabriela. Her name is as delicate as the petals of a rose, and just as alluring. I can feel him watching—the Thorn. Every rose has one, doesn’t it? But to sever the Thorn, I must first pluck the rose. Perhaps I could skip the game and go straight for him, but where’s the fun in that? Watching him squirm as I take what he cherishes will be far more entertaining.

“Here. Again, sorry for the stain,” Gabriela says with a shy smile, handing me my phone. Her fingers linger for a moment, brushing mine.

“Stop,” I say, feigning warmth I don’t feel. “It’s really okay. It’ll be a nice memory.” My words are practiced, measured—just enough to let her believe this moment means something. But my attention is split. The Thorn’s gaze bores into me from across the diner, though I doubt he’ll act. Not yet. Soon, though, he’ll fall into the trap I’ve carefully set.

“Well, I’ll be texting you,” I add with a smile, slipping my phone into my pocket.

She laughs softly, a small dimple appearing in her cheek. “I guess I’ll be waiting then. Go free your clients.”

I nod and dip my head, as though her words carry weight. “Will do.”

As I turn to leave, I glance back at her, offering a small wave and a practiced smile—the kind that lingers. She waves back, her face still lit with that disarming smile, before she turns to sit beside her Thorn. My exit is like a scene from a movie, perfectly timed and deliberate.

Once outside, I pull out my phone and open the app connected to my studio’s cameras. My gaze flickers to the screen, where my current muse sits in shadow. The flower I once admired has withered, its petals dull and lifeless. She no longer inspires me. But I still need her—for now. She curves the craving, dulls the ache until I find my next spark. Turning off the app, I shove the phone back into my pocket as I approach my car.

The beep of the alarm echoes through the parking lot. Sliding into the leather seat, I glance at my phone again. It buzzes with a call from Flores, my assistant. I already know what this is about.

“Mr. Sato, a client at the downtown office needs to schedule a consultation,” she says, her voice punctuated by the snap of gum.

I hate when she does that. I can picture her now perched at her desk, red wine lipstick smudged on the rim of her coffee cup, her nails clicking on the counter. Waiting for an opening. She’s predictable. Desperate.

“You know my schedule, Flores,” I say flatly. “Figure it out. Schedule something that works for both of us.”

The gum snaps again, sharp and deliberate. “Ren…” she begins, but I cut her off before she can finish.

“Not in the mood,” I reply curtly, ending the call before she can say anything else.

Her desperation bores me. Like the others, she’s a pawn—useful only until she’s not. And when her time is up, she’ll be discarded. Just like the withered flower in my studio.

The day at the courthouse is full of assholes and people handing out posters of the missing woman. Mary Jane Taylor. Blonde hair, green eyes, a smile that could warm the coldest heart. Too bad it had no effect on me. Not her tears, not her pleas.

But watching her bleed for me? Now that affects me in more ways than one.

I lean back in my seat, half-listening to the prosecutor, Jamie Curtis—a recent divorcée who loves sucking me off after hours. She’s droning on about my client’s case, her words bleeding together with the rhythmic hum of a ceiling fan overhead. I’m a great lawyer. The best. But days like this? When I have to work harder to keep the worst of humanity out of a cage they’ll end up back in soon enough—it feels like a goddamn chore.

“You’re client should take the deal. Fifty-five months is more than fair,” she drawls, tossing the file across the table.

I smile, licking my teeth. She’s right. Fifty-five months and three years of probation would be a gift for the kind of shit this guy pulled. But appearances matter, and I’ve got a role to sell. The caring, relentless defender. “How about thirty months and four years probation?”

She bites her bottom lip, her smile curling into something between amusement and interest. “Maybe we should talk about this over dinner.”

The deal’s already mine—I know it, and so does she. “Tell you what, Curtis,” I say smoothly, leaning in just enough to let her hand brush over my chest as she pretends to fix my tie. “Type up the deal. I’ll make sure to pencil you in.”

“Always a pleasure, Sato,” she purrs, flashing that overly eager grin.

Before I can leave, two officers approach. Jamie shifts her attention to them as one speaks. “We’ve got nothing on the disappearance of Ms. Taylor. Another dead end. He’s not our guy.”

“Jamie, I’ll keep in touch,” I say, cutting my exit short. I’ve heard enough to make the monster inside me hum with excitement.

The courthouse is miles behind me when I pull into Tampa’s Trailer Park, a place barely clinging to the edge of civilization. The gravel crackles under my tires as I slow down, the night not quite enough to hide how out of place I am here.

This isn’t about home or comfort. It’s about him . Gabriela’s Thorn. And his Rose. One sibling will deliver the other—it’s only a matter of time.

I roll by slow, headlights off, my gaze scanning the rows of crumbling trailers until I find them. The Thorn stands under a flickering porch light, his posture rigid as an older woman cups his face. Her motions are familiar, too intimate. Naughty, naughty. She tips her head, whispering something before they disappear behind her trailer.

Pulling out my phone, I snap a photo. I don’t know who she is yet, but I will. Everyone has a weakness, and I’ll enjoy finding his.

Movement catches my eye. Gabriela. She steps out onto her rickety front deck, her gaze sweeping the yard, probably looking for her brother. Her face twists into a frown, and I can’t resist.

I pull out my phone again, this time scrolling to her number. I dial, watching her reaction. The phone in her back pocket buzzes, and her expression changes instantly—her face lighting up like an excited child on Christmas morning.

“Hi,” she answers breathlessly.

“Hi, stranger,” I say, my voice smooth, calm.

She giggles, twirling a strand of her hair. “Calling? I thought people just text now.”

“I’m old-fashioned,” I lie. “I prefer calls.”

“I like that you called,” she says softly, leaning against the warped wooden railing. Her back faces me now, her silhouette framed by the sickly glow of a porch light.

“How was your day?” I ask.

“Boring,” she replies, her voice light. “Spent most of it with my brother. He just got out of prison and is already looking for trouble.”

“Oh?” I feign curiosity, though I already know every detail. “How so?”

Gabriela sighs, chewing on her thumbnail. “Fucking with a married woman should do it, right?” She glances over toward the trailer again, her glare sharp.

I chuckle, low and measured. “I don’t know if that’ll send him back, but it’ll definitely bring him trouble.”

“Yeah,” she mutters, her voice quiet.

I glance at the dashboard clock and do something I don’t usually do— improvise. “Hey, what are you doing right now?

“Nothing, just at home.”

“Want to grab some tacos? I’m still in the Bay and I’m starving. I’m around Cortez Drive.”

She brightens instantly, her smile so wide I can see it even from here. “You’re on Cortez? I actually live…right down the street.” She hesitates, embarrassment flickering across her face.

“Oh really? Where?” I push, forcing her to admit it.

“Tampa’s Trailer Park,” she rushes out, as if saying it faster will make it less humiliating.

“Gotcha. I know the area. I’ll be there in five.”

“Okay! See you soon,” she says, bouncing on her heels before ending the call. She practically skips inside the trailer, her excitement almost pathetic.

This is all too easy.