Chapter Ten
AVA
A fat heavy dollop of acrylic paint lands on my canvas with a wet splat and I move quickly to swirl it in. The hues of blue and gray merge into shades of reds and blacks’, marking the canvas with thick lines and raised ridges. Delicate strokes of gold are interwoven, like veins, making the piece pulse. It was anger. It was desire. Tinged with sadness. Combined with madness.
It was a storm of emotion on canvas.
It was…him.
Creed was invading my thoughts and my art as the weeks went on. I could feel his gaze on me, assessing me, cataloging me every time we were in the same room. It was insane.
We’d barely spoken, and yet…I wanted to know more. I was becoming obsessed.
Who was he? What was it about him that had my father and brother spooked? Why did the other officers say he had a reputation? He’d been nothing but a model inmate as far as I could see. I was still struggling to find any relevant news stories, online or in the papers, about him. It was like he was a shadow. A bogeyman that everyone but me knew.
“Morning love,” Chad mumbles, stumbling into my studio in a T-shirt and his pajama pants. He places a soft kiss on my shoulder. “Are you coming to the coffee shop?”
My social battery was critically low today, and I was absorbed into this piece. It wasn’t finished. There was something still missing. I shake my head. “Nah, I’m going to keep working on this for a bit longer.”
Chad sighs, as he wraps himself around me, hugging me from behind. “You really should make more effort to be social.”
Rolling my eyes, I mumble, “We had dinner with everyone last night.”
My life has been busy lately, so much so I was feeling tired constantly.
Between juggling my job, my family, my father’s constant criticism, Chad and my friends, I was just…exhausted. The weight of everyone’s expectations and demands were weighing me down, and I couldn’t keep my head above water. All I wanted to do with my morning was paint out my feelings and then go to work later this afternoon.
“And Tiff is your best friend,” Chad reminds me, with something sharp in his tone. It rubs me the wrong way, and I can feel my hackles rise. I never had an issue with them going out together for coffee or to clubs. We were independent people, so why must I go to everything he wants me to? Why couldn’t I just stay home on the days where I had no energy for people?
Through gritted teeth, I reply, “So I’m sure she’ll understand that I’m working on something.”
Trying to free myself from his grasp, I keep working on my print, but he doesn’t let go, just adjusts so that his arms are still around my waist while I try to paint. His body is stuck to mine, like he’s trying to meld us into one being. Until we share one skin and one brain, and everything in me rebels at that thought.
He makes a few thoughtful noises before he admits, “I don’t really know what I’m looking at here. Flowers maybe? A sea?”
Clicking his tongue, he finally detaches from me. Of course, he doesn’t understand, not because he’s stupid, but because he doesn’t care to understand. Because he doesn’t look at it for more than a moment before writing it off as ‘flowers’.
I turn and glare at him until he holds his hands up in surrender. “Fine, but I need to head back to mine afterwards, so I’ll call you later. Yeah?”
“Yeah, I'll speak to you later.”
He plants a kiss on the top of my head and finally leaves. It isn’t until I hear the front door click shut that I let my shoulders drop and my body relax. It isn’t supposed to be this hard.
Last night, when we’d come back from dinner a little tipsy, we’d fallen into bed with one another like we usually do. But the whole time his hands were on me, Anoushka Volkov’s words were ringing in my head.
Do you love him? Do you love him? Do you love him?
Did I?
I could still smell the sweet scent of her cigarette smoke and see her ruby red lips moving. End it. Bite the bullet. End it.
Chad’s soft touches and gentle mouth hadn’t been enough to bind me in the moment. To keep me grounded with him. I may have physically been in bed, but my mind was elsewhere, wondering if this was the life I wanted.
If Tiff was still mad at me.
If Chad was going to propose again.
If he was going to keep pushing the issue.
If I would be forced to turn him down.
If my father would ever be proud of me.
If Andrew was a drug addict.
If it was Creed with me, would I be drifting like this inside my brain? Or would he tether me, forcing me to exist in the moment.
If Anoushka was right.
End it.
Bite the bullet.
Chad hadn’t noticed, rolling over once he’d come with a grumbled “G’night. Love you.”
I laid awake for hours, marinating in my thoughts and the wine from dinner, until I’d forced myself out of bed and into my workshop, which is where Chad found me.
S itting on a picnic bench in the yard next to the basketball court, I’ve somehow zoned out. I’m lost in my own head, thinking about the piece resting on my easel back home. I hadn’t finished when I left for work, and I couldn’t put my finger on what it was exactly that it still needed.
“Officer Bishop, is that blood under your nails?” A deep, smooth voice asks, pulling me back into the present.
Creed’s dark hair is pulled up into a messy bun today, and it’s a look that works for him. With his hair tied back, all the angles of his face are more prominent.
His sharp jawline, strong nose and carved cheekbones. Lord, he was the typical stereotype of every dark romance mafia novel. The scar through his eyebrow and the tattoos just makes it even more forbidden as the logical part of my brain screams ‘danger!’.
Glancing down, I notice small smudges of red and black caked around my nails. Turning my hands over, I stare down at them for a moment. When I look back up, he’s taken a seat on the opposite bench. “If it was, would you actually listen when I say move along?”
The corner of his mouth lifts into the ghost of a grin. “No, it would make me want to linger even longer.”
“Hmmm. Aren’t you a strange one?” I ask, tilting my head. I don’t have the energy to keep an appropriate distance between us if I allow him to stay, and I’m conscious that his cellmate and shadow, Benny, is watching me with a rapt fascination as he stands off to the side. “Keep moving, inmate.”
Today’s not the day to ask my questions and fall into the trap that is Elijah Creed, Left Hand.
“You look tired, another late night?” Creed asks, ignoring me, instead leaning forward with his elbows on the table. “Perhaps you were dreaming of me?”
I snicker. “If I did, it was a nightmare.”
He wasn’t deterred, I’d give him that. Sitting this close, I could see the tattoos in more detail. A huge ship, with a kraken, mermaids and roses, dominated his right forearm, working its way up, until it disappeared under the hem of his sleeves. On the other arm, I clocked several mythological creatures and gods. They were spectacular works of art, the detail incredible.
Creed lifts a brow as he clocks me, looking at his ink. “I think you’d enjoy having me in your dreams. I can be quite ruthless. You know, some people even call me savage and the things I would do to you…”
The dark promise in his words makes me shiver. What would he do to me?
“Last warning, Creed. Move it.” Officer Foxx growls as he stands behind me, placing a hand on my shoulder. “Ava, are you okay?”
Foxx hadn’t been with us long, starting a few days after Creed’s arrival, and his transfer had been strange. Who would choose to be transferred from the police force in Newtown to a prison out in the sticks? But he was nice enough, a little innocent despite his previous experience. I couldn’t quite understand if I was picking up a vibe from him or if he was just a generally flirty person.
Giving him a friendly smile, I wave away his concern. “Yeah, I’m just a little tired today. That’s all.”
“Hmmmm, Ava. Pretty name. It just…rolls off my tongue.” Dark eyes lock with mine, conjuring images I have no right picturing. The pink tip of his tongue brushes over his lower lip.
“I’m warning you, inmate.” Foxx words break the spell between us as Creed pushes to his feet, and comes around to our side. Foxx grabs Creed’s arm, but he just shrugs him off. Finally tearing his intense gaze from mine, he looks over Foxx with distaste.
“And this is my warning to you, Foxx—keep your hands to yourself and your eyes in your fucking head.” Creed stands shoulder to shoulder with Foxx. Leaning in, he lowers his voice. “Or I’ll only be too happy to help remove them.”
This is what I’ve been waiting for. I finally get a glimpse of the monster they say he is.
Before Foxx can say anything else, Creed motions for Benny to follow him and the pair of them saunter over to where some of our Russian inmates are sitting, watching the basketball game.