Chapter 32
CHAPTER 32
SPENCER
T he rest of the day, and over the next several days, I work tirelessly on my pieces for the exhibit. Zane and Rio fall right back into the routine we had set before. They both go to work and then meet me for lunch. Asher glues himself to my side, but this time it’s way more pleasant.
Kind of.
Whenever I need a break at the Mudhouse, Asher tags along. The giant and I practically become Siamese twins! But he’s still holding back. At night, Zane and Rio squeeze themselves in my bed with me. Asher insists it’d be weird for him to sleep in the room with us. I offered solutions, but he’s slept on my couch every night instead.
All three of them have tried sneaking peeks at my sculptures, but I shoo them away every time by flinging wet clay at them and then cover the piece with a towel. I know they’ll see them when they’re on display soon, but if they don’t like my art, I don’t want to know. I’m not going to be able to watch them watch the reveal. I think I’ll hang out in the corner with a paper bag instead.
Eight days of being covered in clay is exactly what I needed to feel normal again—I feel right at home. The ideas in my brain flow right from my mind through my fingertips and into the clay. Each design is an expression of my soul. Vulnerability and doubt constantly make appearances in my consciousness, but I battle them away by trudging through.
It’s Thursday night, and I’m standing in the middle of ten completed sculptures. Alma and Paul left this afternoon, and I sent Hayes home a few hours ago. The three of them are the only ones I’ve allowed to see my sculptures. They’ve all given me usable criticism that I think has made this exhibit my best one yet.
My relief is tangible.
I take another moment to revel amidst my accomplishments. “I finished.”
Asher looks up from his laptop and eyes all of the covered pieces of art. He leans back in his too-small-for-him stool against the worktable and loosely crosses his arms. “Umm. Are the towels part of the exhibit?”
A chuckle involuntarily escapes me. “No.”
Asher smiles and shrugs his shoulders. “Then show them to me.”
I fake giving his demand actual thought. “Mmm. No thanks. You can see them for the first time tomorrow like everyone else.”
Asher’s glare holds little heat. “You’re being a brat.”
“And I’m not ashamed.”
He sets his laptop aside and stands to his full height. He swaggers up to me, his body almost touching mine but not quite. His heat seeps into my bones, but I hold myself back.
“Hey guys! I forgot my sketchbook.” Hayes’s interruption triggers Asher to spring back from me. Hayes ignores the fact that he found us in a slightly precarious position and snags his sketchbook. He exits, leaving Asher and me in an awkward silence.
He’s still holding back, and I don’t know why. I have my suspicions, but I have a feeling that with a man like Asher, I won’t be able to dig the truth out of him.
Asher rubs the back of his neck. “You ready for tomorrow?”
“Um, as ready as I’ll ever be, I guess. Iris has been hard at work getting the word out about the exhibit. And I think opening it up to Paul, Alma, and Hayes has helped generate more interest.”
“Cool. We should go upstairs. You’ll need your rest for tomorrow.” Asher shuts the studio down for me then guides me out the door. He doesn’t let me clean up or anything.
The hurt on my face is impossible to hide, but Asher doesn’t give any indication that he notices.
He said he’s in it for as long as I’m here, and I plan on being here for the long haul.
But he doesn’t believe me . . .
It’s ten minutes until the doors open, and just like I predicted, I’m standing in the corner. The only thing I don’t have is the paper bag, which I asked Rio to get me, but he told me he has a better option than a paper bag. His eyes turned lustful, and I had to walk away.
Sleep last night was unattainable. Now lightheadedness and dizziness are two consorts that I can’t shake. If I bite at my lips anymore, I’m sure they’ll bleed.
“Breathe, Angel. It’s going to be fine. Everything looks amazing.” Zane strokes my hair as his other hand wanders down to my ass.
“Not helping,” I snap as I jump out of his reach, even though heat begins to build low in my belly.
“I can’t help it when you look this delicious.” His eyes wander up and down my frame.
Each of my men dressed up tonight. Asher is wearing what looks to be a work suit. Zane is in black slacks and a white button-up. Rio is in all black with the top few buttons of his shirt undone, giving me an enticing peek at his tattoos. Both Zane and Rio rolled up their sleeves.
I never thought I’d be an arm girl, but here we are.
Maybe you’re more of an Asher, Rio, and Zane girl.
When I was shopping online for tonight, I chose a simple dress that I hope screams sexy but not in a distracting way. It’s a strapless, knee-length, satin, black dress with an A-line skirt and sweetheart neckline. I found deep green heels and curled my hair into waves to complete the look.
Okay, Alma curled my hair. Iris was unable to help with my makeup, so I was left to my own devices and had a little help from YouTube.
Iris is now running around the gallery, spouting off instructions to the waitstaff and making sure everything is in its place. She seems a bit more stressed than normal, possibly because this is the first exhibit she’s in charge of. But she’s done a wonderful job. I keep reassuring her of her amazing work, but each time she walks away more distraught than before. Even Hayes’s attempts and comfort have been for naught.
Alma and Paul are cool as fucking cucumbers. Alma said her kids are coming with her husband, and Paul said his neighbors were excited to see his work.
“T-minus two minutes!” Iris calls out, then scurries off to the breakroom where the caterers have set up shop.
Zane grabs me by the shoulders and turns me to face him. “Spencer, you got this. You’re talented and badass. Everyone is going to love your work.” His eyes bore into mine, making me soak up the truth in his words.
Deep breaths bring my heart rate back to a normal pace. “Thank you,” I say with a smile.
He kisses my forehead and adds, “I’m so proud of you, Angel.”
His assertion hits me straight in the chest, causing spontaneous tears to form in my eyes. I hold them back because I did not spend an hour on this makeup to fuck it up now. That and I don’t think I can answer the “have you been crying” question all night long with the “it’s just allergies” practiced response.
The doors open, and I pat lightly under my eyes. Rio makes his way to my side and grasps my hand in his. His excitement is indisputable. Asher stands by the door, subtly inspecting every patron who walks through the door.
I recognize Alma’s family, a few of the baristas from the Mudhouse, and some of the customers who come by Abstract Dreams regularly. But there are even more people I don’t recognize—people who look at each sculpture, vase, teapot, and jar with wonder and fascination.
Then, in walks Joey, and the waterworks pick up all over again. He’s wearing a tweed brown suit with a white shirt and deep maroon tie. We make eye contact, and I move to him as fast as one can in heels. I wrap my arms around him, shocking him. He takes a moment to adjust but then returns my embrace.
“Did you get where you needed to go, kid?”
I lean back, our arms still around each other. I glance over my shoulder to Rio and Zane then Asher by the door. “Yeah, Joey. I did.”
He gives me an endearing smile and then goes right back to business. “Good, because you look like shit.”
“And you look like a shriveled-up dick,” I reply through my tears.
“Now, let’s talk about you skipping out on your workouts.”
Laughing aloud, my nerves ease and I feel like I can finally breathe.
The next hour is spent mingling as consumers ask me every question under the sun.
Where did I get the idea for the sculpture of a bouquet of hyacinths and knives? What technique did I use for the high relief of women in shackles at an auction? Did Greek Cycladic figurines inspire the form of a dead woman with a hole in the chest and forehead?
I’m not sure how I answered each question. Those sixty minutes were a blur. My social meter is full and ready to burst. Asher is busy wandering the room, and not wanting to bother him, I sneak off to Clay Creations next door for a small reprieve.
When I shut the connecting door behind me, silence fills my ears, and I sag against it. Cleansing breaths fill my lungs as I breathe in the scent of dirt and clay, a smell that has always brought me peace, especially in the last few years.
The studio was closed all day today in preparation for the art show opening, so the floor is clean, the lights are dim, and all the stools are up on tables and pottery wheels. I take a stool off one of the canvas worktables and sink down onto it.
The door bursts open, and I almost fall out of the chair.
Asher shuts the door behind him and stomps over to me. “Goddammit, Spencer! You can’t just walk off like that right now.” He grabs my arm and pulls me out of the chair.
“Calm down, big guy. I just needed a moment to breathe. There are a lot of people over there and, in case you haven’t noticed, I don’t do well in crowds for long periods of time.”
He points to himself. “Then you get me. You get me, and I will take you somewhere. I thought you . . .” He cuts himself off.
My heart sinks. “You thought I had left.”
He turns his head to the side. “Maybe.”
Reaching up, I cup his cheeks in my hands and turn his face back to me. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“I’m fine.”
“I promise I will get you next time. I promise. Don’t push me away.”
He shakes his head. “I’m not.”
My heels give me a few inches, but I’m still not as tall as Asher. I pull his face to mine and give him a brief kiss. “Yes, you are. Please don’t be afraid of me.”
“I’m not,” he repeats himself, emphasizing his earlier argument.
I give him a sad smile. “Repeating the words doesn’t make it true.”
His eyes meet mine. “I’m trying, Princess.”
“That’s all I can ask for.”
We both lean into each other and our lips meet in a kiss where we finally aren’t battling for control. It’s a kiss of comfort, a kiss of reassurance. Reassurance that I’m here.
Laughter fills the room, and Asher and I break our kiss. His brows are scrunched while the hair on the back of my neck stands on end.
I know that laugh. I know it too well.
My head turns to the back of the studio, and Anthony makes his presence known by walking into the light.
But he’s not alone. He’s accompanied by five men, all with guns raised and pointed at Asher and me. My mouth falls open, and a chill sweeps over me. My hands shake uncontrollably.
Anthony’s smile is wide. Too wide. “Special Agent Asher Dawson, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you. Now, please take a step away from my fiancée and keep your hands where I can see them.”
Asher raises his hands in front of his person but steps in front of me, hiding me from Anthony and obeying only half of the demand. The lock on the door connecting Clay Creations and Abstract Dreams locks into place.
“You should know better than to come between a man and his love.” Anthony’s voice holds a warning in it. A warning I know he won’t give twice.
“If you had any claim over her, I might step aside. But I know how much she hates you. I know how much you disgust her. She’ll never want you.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about. My Flower loves me. That bitch fucking worships me! This has all been a test. She just wanted to know how much I love her, and I’ve proven it many times over again.”
Oh my God. He really is insane. I’m not going to walk away this time. He’s going to drag me back, kicking and screaming, and he’ll pay everyone to look the other way.
Another gun clicks. “Last time, Dawson. Step aside.”
I grab Asher’s arm and grip it hard. “Asher, just?—”
A loud bang echoes through the room and causes a ringing in my ears. Asher grunts and falls to his knees. My body freezes as I watch the shoulder on Asher’s shirt turn red with blood. I open my mouth to shout, but no sound comes out.
Muffled screams come from the other side of the door.
Anthony moves to stand in front of Asher and points his gun right at Asher’s forehead. Asher stares down the barrel without fear. The vein in his temple twitches as he looks on at Anthony in pure hatred.
“NO!” I finally cry out and jump in front of Asher.
Anthony’s reaction is immediate. He raises his hand and slaps me hard across the face. I fall to the side.
“Don’t you ever come between me and my kill ever again!” Anthony turns to his men. “Grab her. The other two are going to be in here any second.” He looks at Asher one more time. “Him too. He’s coming along to answer some questions.” Anthony leans down so he’s at eye level with Asher and smiles. “This is going to be so much fun.”
Foreign arms wrap around my torso and lift me off the ground. I kick and scream but to no avail.
Someone pounds on the connecting metal door. “Spencer! Spencer!” Zane’s shouts make their way through the door, but his person doesn’t follow. That door is thick and sturdy. They’re not getting through but are making their best effort.
Asher is hefted up by two men, one on each arm, and dragged through the back door and into a waiting white van with no windows. When I’m finally hauled through the back door, the front of the studio opens and Rio and Zane yell for me. We make eye contact as the door shuts. Tears drip from my chin, and terror enters their gazes as the sliding van door shuts and a black cloth bag is thrown over my head.