Painter’s Obsession

15. Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Fifteen

Byron

A s I finish paying for my meal, I see John and Penny are deep in conversation with the regulars, so I make my way out, thankful that Sandra hadn’t been around much. Her anger and pain were always written on her face, and I hated seeing it. But the universe had other plans.

As I open the door and step into the night air, the sharp smell of cigarette smoke invades my nostrils. I instinctively reach into my pocket for my own pack when a familiar voice stops me in my tracks.

“You believe Theresa just left with some guy?”

The words startle me, and I turn slowly toward her. She’s leaning against the wall under the dull yellow light, her black puffer jacket half-zipped over her mustard-colored uniform.

“No. She’s not like that,” I say flatly, pulling a cigarette from the box and lighting it. I exhale the first drag and start walking toward my car.

“You know the cops won’t look for her,” she calls after me, her voice clipped.

I pause mid-step and glance over my shoulder. She’s watching me, her expression a strange mix of worry and frustration as she takes a long drag from her cigarette.

The question slips out before I can stop myself. “Since when do you smoke?”

Sandra shrugs, blowing the smoke out in a slow stream. “Since life happened.”

She straightens, her sharp eyes locking onto mine. “But back to what matters—“ Her voice tightens, like she’s holding something back. “You really think Theresa’s in trouble, don’t you?”

I nod once, taking another drag as I fully face her. “Yeah, I do. She’s a good girl. She wouldn’t just disappear—skip work, not show up at home. It’s not like her.”

Sandra exhales sharply through her nose, her shoulders tensing. “I think the same thing. Something’s wrong. The women—“ She stops, cutting herself off.

I take a step closer, lowering my voice. “Listen, I don’t know what’s going on, but it’s not safe for you to be out here.”

She scoffs and gestures toward the security camera above the door. “That camera hasn’t worked in ages,” I say to which she replies with a shrug, then flicks her cigarette to the ground and crushes it under her Vans.

“I know that,” she replies. “But someone from out of town doesn’t.” Sandra crosses her arms, tilting her head as she studies me. “So what’s your plan then?”

I glance around the empty parking lot, making sure we’re still alone. “I don’t have one yet. Let me ask you something—what do you think of that guy who comes in here? The suit?”

Her brow furrows, and she bites her lip in thought. “I don’t know. He didn’t talk much. Always ordered the same thing… black coffee, three sugars, and two sunny-side-up eggs with toast. Seemed polite, too polite if you ask me.”

She shrugs again, her arms tightening around herself. “Like he was trying too hard, you know? It felt...off.”

I narrow my eyes at her. “Too nice?”

Sandra’s eyes widen briefly before she chuckles, her hands gesturing as she speaks. “You know... too nice to be real. Like it’s all an act. But he’s a lawyer, so I guess it comes with the profession.”

I take a long drag from my cigarette. “He’s with Gab.”

“Your sister?”

I nod.

She pauses, her brows knitting in thought before placing a hand on my shoulder. “I don’t think he’s the guy. He’s done a lot of good for kids in trouble with the law. Maybe Gabriela got lucky. Don’t ruin this for her.”

Sandra steps past me, walking back into the diner. I watch her disappear through the door before turning and heading toward my truck.

The drive back to the trailer is quiet. Too quiet. When I get home, it’s quieter still. Gabriela isn’t here, or maybe she’s asleep—but that’s unlike her. It’s only 9 p.m. I pull out my phone to call her, but before I can dial, headlights flood the road, and I watch as an all-black Mercedes pulls into the spot beside me.

Gabriela steps out first. I follow her lead, storming toward her as Prince Charming steps out behind her.

“Why is he here?” I snap.

Gabriela steps between us, her hand pressing against my chest. “He’s with me. Get over yourself,” she snaps back, her tone sharp.

“Theresa is missing. You know that,” I say, watching her expression shift. She looks upset but not surprised, which tells me she’s already heard the rumors floating around town.

“What the fuck does that have to do with Ren?” she retorts.

I glance at him—this smug asshole who looks like he’s trying not to laugh. Instead, he turns his attention to the empty road while I square off with my sister.

“How well do you know him, Gab?” I ask, trying to keep my voice calm.

“Well enough,” she fires back, her voice strained with frustration. “What has gotten into you?”

Her hands drop from my chest as she takes a step back, reaching for his hand.

Ren finally speaks, his voice smooth but calculated. “I can assure you, I have nothing but—“

My fist cuts him off, connecting with his face.

“I don’t trust you, and I don’t like you,” I snarl, raising my fist to strike again.

Before I can, a sharp sting spreads across my face. Gabriela slapped me—hard.

“I don’t know what the fuck has gotten into you, but figure it out!” she yells, her voice shaking with fury. “I was alone while you were in jail, and I managed just fine. I don’t need you babysitting me!”

She storms off toward the trailer. “Ren, you’re welcome to come in,” she calls over her shoulder.

But Ren doesn’t follow her. Instead, he lingers, wiping the corner of his mouth with his thumb. A thin line of blood glistens on his split lip, and he smirks, his eyes meeting mine with a dangerous gleam.

“What happened to you?” I ask, my voice low.

Ren chuckles, a low, rough sound that only pisses me off more. “A client.”

“They usually punch their lawyer?”

He raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. “You’d be surprised.”

His tone grates on my nerves, and I clench my fists, itching to hit him again. “You think this is funny?”

He shrugs casually, his shoulders barely moving. “You’re interesting, that’s all.”

I glare at him as he follows Gabriela toward the trailer, grabbing her hand when he catches up to her. She leads him inside, but not before he glances back at me. His dead eyes gleam with amusement, the kind that gnaws at my gut and fuels my distrust.

I stay outside for a moment, letting the night air cool my rising anger. The last thing I need is to walk in on them flirting, laughing, and pretending everything is perfect. It’s not that I don’t want my sister to be happy—I do. But something about him doesn’t sit right with me.

Tonight, I’ll figure out what it is.

I storm inside and head straight to my room, ignoring the sound of their voices drifting from the kitchen. Once I’m in the relative safety of my space, I kick off my work boots, grab a towel, and pull out a pair of black sweats and a hoodie.

As I open my door to leave, I nearly run straight into fucking Prince Charming.

“Hey,” he says, his voice low and almost disarming. “I know you don’t like me, but I mean it—I only have good intentions.”

My nose flares as I step closer, crowding him until our chests are nearly touching. I force him back against the thin trailer wall.

“Were those good intentions when you left the door open for me to walk in on you fucking my sister?” I growl, my voice a low snarl.

His lips quirk into a small, infuriating smirk. “That was unintentional, and I’ve already explained,” he murmurs, but there’s a spark of excitement in his tone that makes my blood boil.

And then I feel it.

The bulge growing in his pants.

“You’re fucking sick,” I hiss, disgust curling in my chest.

He chuckles, the sound low and rough. “What does that make you, then?”

Before I can process his words, his hand cups the front of my pants, brushing against the hardness I hadn’t even realized was there.

Rage explodes in me, and my head snaps forward, connecting with his.

“Fuck!” he laughs, stumbling back slightly but steadying himself, his hand pressing against his forehead. “So violent,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with amusement.

My stomach twists, bile rising in my throat as I step back, disgusted—not just with him, but with myself.

I need distance. I need proof—something solid to show Gabriela.

Storming to the bathroom, I slam the door behind me and lean my hot forehead against the cool surface. My chest heaves, the anger and shame warring inside me, but my body betrays me. My cock is still rock-hard, his touch lingering like a brand I can’t shake.

“Fuck,” I mutter, pounding my forehead lightly against the door. “Fuck… Fuck…”

The words slip out, a desperate attempt to drown out the mix of anger and unwanted arousal coursing through me. I press my palms against the door, trying to steady myself.

But the damage is already done.