Chapter 8
“This will be your final class to work on your self-portrait projects,” my instructor, Ms. Benchwright, told the class as I walked in a few minutes late. She gave me a curt nod as I took my seat and then she continued. “Anything uncompleted during this class will need to be worked on in your own time and handed in Monday morning. For any questions, I’ll be in my office.”
Heranalytical gaze slid in my direction one more time before she turned to head into her ‘office’ which was more of a cubicle closed off with large floral painted canvases done in moody jewel tones. She was the only reason I showed up today at all. I got the email at seven this morning.
Apparently, the scholarship department was unlikely to renew my funding for next term if I didn’t show up for any of the classes. Shit had gotten so crazy over the last week that I hardly registered it was Friday and I’d missed four days of classes in a row. It’d been a whole day since Gilligan’sFinch exploded and still the Sons of O’Sullivan hadn’t retaliated against us. They didn’t take credit for the Kents, either.
Ididn’t let myself imagine the possibility that I’d damaged a gas line when I hit the building. ThatIcaused the explosion.
Myphone chimed, and I rolled my eyes at the message on the screen from Hardin.
Hardin
You good in there? No new faces?
Becca
I’m fine.
Despitemy annoyance that both of my shadows waited for me not five feet outside the classroom door, I did take a glance around the room, but didn’t see anyone I didn’t recognize.
Becca
No new faces. Can I paint, now?
Hardin
Smartass.
Itook my time setting up, mostly to avoid actually looking at the canvas. Where it seemed the majority of my classmates were mostly putting finishing touches on their self-portraits, mine had nothing but the vague shape of my face in a light olive tone, a swath of deep brown for my hair, and the blackest black I could find as the background, brushed through with darkest navy and deepest violet.
God.
Iwas never going to finish in time.
Myphone chimed again, and I earned a dirty look from the girl next to me. I grimaced, giving her an apologetic look as I silenced the phone, but read the message on the screen first.
Kaleb
Paint the shit out of that self-portrait, Vixen. You got this.
IfI could’ve, I would’ve kissed him through the screen. I took a deep breath and convinced myself to just begin.
Iwanted this so badly that it was worth forfeiting all the comforts I grew up with. Now it was time to work for it.
Addsome depth.
Ireadied a brush, trying to clear my mind.
Paintinghad always been easy for me. Like breathing. But this project had felt daunting from the first moment I started it. Paint yourself. That was it. The whole project. The only additional criteria was to make the artwork honest. Ms. Benchwright didn’t elaborate. She said we could take that to mean whatever we thought it meant. Most of the others took it literally, painting themselves in proportions that perfectly matched their true-to-life reflections.
Someoverexaggerated their flaws.
Onepainted a cloud and rainbows over the top of their head. It suited her, really. She was always tripping over things and spacing out. A girl with her head perpetually in the clouds.
Myclouds didn’t have rainbows. Not these days. They hadn’t had rainbows in them since I was a kid being pushed on a swing at a playground by a mother I no longer had.
Iswitched brushes, switched colors. It needed to be darker.
No.
Notdarker.
Itneeded…
Itneeded red.
Ilost track of time as I painted, letting my muse take me wherever it wanted, remembering the familiar feel of the brush between my fingers. Of drying paint in the creases of my knuckles and the turpentine and formaldehyde smell of old acrylic in my nose.
“Twenty minutes left, class,” Ms. Benchwright’s voice reached me, pulling me out of my intense concentration enough that I really realized what I’d done.
Mystomach turned as I leaned back in my stool, feeling the tight ache in my shoulders from being hunched over for so long, but ignoring it.
Ashuddering breath left my lips as I took in the additions and changes. I’d added hollow cheeks. Leached the color from my skin and stole it out of my brown eyes, leaving them a faded, milky, unseeing white. Dead eyes rimmed with red that leaked from each eye, dropping two perfect crimson tears, one for each cheek.
Butwhat drew the eye most wasn’t the corpse of BeccaHart. It was the moth where my mouth should’ve been. Unfinished. Ms. Benchwright had interrupted me as I was finishing the skull on its feathery back.
Iswallowed past a hard lump in my throat and dropped my brush.
“You okay?” the girl next to me asked and my stool screeched as I stood too quickly, turning away from her before she could see my face, the burning, angry tears in my eyes.
“Fine. Just need a new brush.”
Iraced to the supply closet, locking myself inside, letting the warm scents of the wooden shelving and paint soothe me.
Icouldn’t get the image out of my head. Those vacant eyes. The way I imagined that moth would be eating away at my dead lips.
Chokingon a sob, I turned, pressing my back to the door and shutting my eyes. I chose to stay. Despite the danger. Despite everything.
It’s okay to be scared, I told myself. It’d be fucking insane if you weren’t.
Theback shelf rattled, and I gasped, squinting to see through the shitty light in the supply room. There was only one window. A tiny octagonal thing high near the ceiling, covered in five years’ worth of dust and cobwebs.
“Hello?”
Ashadow separated itself from the darkened corner, coming around the shelf. I spun, blood rushing in my ears, my hand closing over the door handle with a scream in my throat.
Stronghands gripped me. One over my mouth, muffling my cry, the other tearing my hand away from the handle, dragging me back into the dark.
Isquirmed, struggling against his hold, kicking out, but my feet connected only with open air.
“Rebecca,” he whispered violently into my ear. “It’s me. It’s me.”
Aodhán.
Myeyes flew wide and I stomped my feet down, getting him in his instep. A sharp curse caressed the shell of my ear.
“Fuck, stop fighting. I’m not going to hurt you. Stop. Juststop.”
Theauthority in his tone burst whatever panic bubble had been forming in my brain and I struggled to breathe through the grip he had on my face. I stopped fighting, standing very, very still.
“Please. Don’t scream.”
Hereleased my face, and I hauled air into my lungs until they burned.
Heheld his hand up.
Ilooked down at his other one around my waist.
Hisjaw flexed, but he released me.
Iwaited one beat. Two.
Andbolted for the door.
Heeasily spun me back, and I landed hard on my ass as he positioned himself in front of it, blocking my exit. “Damnit, Rebecca,” he hissed. “I’m not here to harm you.”
Iopened my mouth to shout, but…stopped, something he said registering through the logic-shredding thoughts racing around in my head.
Hesaid he wasn’t going to hurt me. I’d be an idiot to believe him. Especially after I figured it out the other night. Figured out who he was.
Butif Aodhán wanted to hurt me, I think he would’ve done it already. He had plenty of opportunity.
Whatwould AvaJade do?
Usethis.
Usehim.
Whetherhe had bad intentions or not didn’t matter. This was someone who worked with the Sons. He could have intel. He could have something we could use. AndI could be the one to get it from him.
Irose cautiously to my feet. Aodhán reached out to help me, but I pulled away from him. “You fucking played me,” I spat at him. “All this time.”
Iwanted to rip out my hair for how stupid I’d been. Was this all I was good for? FirstJericho in ThornValley and now him.
Iwas a pawn. A little piece on a chessboard to be wielded and used and discarded when no longer needed.
Jerichoused me to get to AvaJade and the Crows.
Aodhánwas using me to get to the Kings of Kilborn. The sons of another Saint. Myguys.
Aodhándropped his head, but I knew better than to believe the false shame painting his features. Wouldn’t let myself be taken in by how his golden hair looked in the dappled sunlight or the way the shadows played over his jawline and seemed to settle in the hollow of his throat where a silver clover pendant gleamed.
“You didn’t tell them,” he said, and I wanted to punch him in his stupid face. Make him stuff his accented words back in his hateful mouth.
“Why not?” he pressed when I didn’t respond.
“MaybeI did tell them.”
Itotally fucking didn’t. I should’ve. The moment I realized I’d been cavorting with the enemy. The same instant I realized that I might have an in with a Son of O’Sullivan.
ButI’d hoped I was wrong.
Iwasn’t a hundred percent sure. At least not until three minutes ago.
“You didn’t,” he argued. “Because you know that I’m not your enemy.”
“Oh really? Prove it then.”
Comeon. Give me something.
Don’tmake me feed you to Hardin.
Heshook his head. “I’m not here for that. I came to warn you. My—” he clicked his teeth shut. “Séamas has something planned. He’s going to make a move.”
Myheart twisted in my chest. “Where? When?”
Hefrowned. “I don’t know, but you need to leave town. Today. Right now if you can. I can help you get out. I can make it so he can’t find you. I know all the places he would look. I can throw off?—”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
Hecocked his head at me, incredulous horror in his green eyes. “What?”
“I’m not leaving.”
“It isn’t safe for you here.”
“It isn’t safe for you here, either. Hardin and Kaleb are right outside.”
Islipped my phone from my pocket and Aodhán raised his hands in surrender. He made no move to try to take it from me, though, and somehow that infuriated me even more. I felt my face heat. It felt like he was daring me to do it.
Iwould. I fucking would if he made me.
“I need you to hear this,” Aodhán said in a low voice, crossing the short span of dusty floor to me with slow, practiced movements meant to calm me, but every inch of space he erased between us was having the opposite effect. My stomach flipped and my chest went cold, palms slick with sweat. “Séamas knows who you are, Rebecca.”
Hiswords took a second to register. “He what?”
“He knows.”
Ifelt my shoulders pull in, wrapped my arms around myself. I felt so cold. So cold I was fucking shocked that I couldn’t see my breath in the air.
IfSéamasO’Sullivan knew that DamienSt. Vincent was my father, I was dead already.
Aodháncaressed my shoulder, and I flinched back from his touch, but there was nowhere to go. My shoulder blades connected with the paint shelf behind me and he held me there until my eyes met his.
“Do you understand?” he asked. “You have to go.”
Ishook my head, a horrific realization dawning on me.
Theice in my veins was replaced with fire and I threw my arms up, breaking his hold on me. “And how did he find out, Aodhán? Hmm? Who could’ve possibly told him that?”
Hehad the decency to look sorry. The bastard. “I had to.”
Islapped him, surprising myself more than him.
Mypalm stung, but I didn’t care as I slapped him again, harder. Hard enough that the sting against my skin made my teeth clench as I watched an angry red handprint bloom on his cheek. Saw where the edge of his lip split. He licked the blood away from the wound.
“Finished?”
“I trusted you.”
“I know.”
“They’re coming for me because of you. And after what I did at that fucking pub, they’re going to want to hit the Saints where it’ll hurt the?—”
“No,” he interrupted. “I fixed that. As long as the two you hit are dead there’s no one left alive to tell Séamas anything.”
Igasped. “It was you. You were the one in the Lincoln.”
Igagged, tasting bile at the back of my throat, making it harder to ask the question that I needed to ask. “Did you cut the gas lines?”
Heclosed his lips tight, and his eyes darkened.
“Oh my fucking god.”
“I fixed it,” he repeated. “The only reason you and your precious Kings are still breathing is because Ifucking saved you. But it’s a stop gap, nothing more. I can only put off the inevitable for so long. Now, I need you to pack your shit and get the fuck out of California before it’s too late.”
Ishook my head again.
Hecrowded me against the shelf, rage glittering like embers in his eyes. “I’m trying to fucking save you!” he whisper-screamed, his lips only a breath away from mine as he fought for even breath.
Icouldn’t move. I felt everywhere his body touched mine, pressed into the places where he seemed to fit too perfectly.
“Please,” he begged, his lower lip brushing mine with the plea.
Ipressed myself into the shelf, panting. I swallowed as he bent, letting forehead fall against mine. “Please, just go.”
Isteeled myself, shutting my eyes tight, pulling on that rage inside. The rage I knew I should feel. I trusted him and he betrayed me. I trusted him and he fucking sold me out.
He’sthe enemy.
Ishoved him back, hard. As hard as I could.
Hestumbled back, having the audacity to look wounded.
“I don’t need you to save me,” I seethed at him. “AndI’m not leaving. If you don’t want my blood on your hands then do something about it. And don’t fucking pretend you were ever my friend. You were only using me to get to them.”
Ithrew an arm toward the door.
“If you do anything to hurt them, I’ll kill you.” The words left my lips without forethought, but I felt the truth of them deep in the pit of my soul. I might not do a very good job of it, but he could bet his ass I’d try.
Istormed past him, but he stopped me, jerking my wrist, yanking me back to face him. I used the momentum to bring my other fist up and punched him in the jaw. He released me, bringing his fingertips up to rub the sore spot.
Iwould absolutely not let on how much my fucking knuckles were hurting right now.
“82 FrederickDrive,” he said when I moved to turn away again.
“What?”
“82. FrederickDrive,” he repeated, slower. “I’m renting an apartment at that address. If something happens…If you need a place to go?—”
“I don’t need anything from you.”
Iflicked the lock and pushed out of the suffocation of the supply room, breathing unrestricted air as I all but slammed the door behind me.
Alleyes turned to me, and I felt heat rise into my face.
Therest of the students were gathered in a semi-circle around my self-portrait, Ms. Benchwright among them, the eraser end of her pencil tapping against her chin. Someone said something I didn’t hear and a cold sweat broke out over my back.
Noone said another word. They just stared.
Staredat my self-portrait with mixed expressions of concern, horror, disgust, and derision.
Staredat me with the same.
Lipsbegan to whisper and sneer.
Ms. Benchwright sharply hushed a student next to her before she turned her attention back to me. She opened her mouth to say something, but I didn’t let her finish the thought.
Therewas poison in my blood and my heart beating through a heavy, viscous substance was the only thing I heard as I crossed the classroom and bodies scattered from my path.
Istopped only for a moment. One fever-mad instant where I felt my lips pull back over my teeth and I attacked the canvas with both hands. I dragged clawed hands down the still-damp surface in a great arc, feeling paint gather under my fingernails as I destroyed it.