Chapter 40
CHAPTER FORTY
DONOVAN
“Who the fuck are you?” I sputter as a man steps into the basement.
It’s not Kyle.
This man is tall and graying at the temples, his expensive suit drooping off his shoulders as he takes a step toward me. His skin is aged and gives me the impression of leather, like he’s been out in the sun for far too long without proper protection.
Or at least without sunscreen.
“It doesn’t matter who I am,” he replies, offering a smile that shows off a set of pearly white teeth. “You don’t need to worry about those details.”
“Why am I here?” I ask, because I have a right to know that. “What do you want with me?”
He wanders away from me, heading for the collection of newspaper clippings and pictures tacked to the wall behind my view. “It’s not you I want, Myers. Don’t flatter yourself. Bottom of the barrel goalies are a dime a dozen in this world. You’re nothing special.”
I prickle at his unfair assessment of my skills, but know that protesting that little bit is useless when there’s more to discover from him before he does whatever he intends to do with me. “Who do you want, then?”
“He’ll be here soon,” the man replies with a smile. He turns to me, his face twisting into a scowl as he stalks over and grabs the collar of my T-shirt. “I told you to leave him be. You’re a distraction he can’t afford, Myers, and I warned you what would happen if you continued to interfere.”
Shock ripples through me. “That was you?”
His eyes scan mine for a second, then his lips curl into a wicked grin. “You thought it was someone else. Making enemies everywhere you go, are you? Tell me, who else have you fucked over?”
He pushes me back with his fist, letting go of my shirt collar as confusion clouds my entire mind. “How have I fucked you over? I don’t even know you.”
“It’s hard to build a collection when the creator stops letting what he creates be collected.
There’s really only one solution.” He pauses like he wants me to guess, but I don’t speak.
I don’t dare say a word even though I have so many more questions.
When I don’t respond, he keeps going, which is perfect because it gives me time to figure out what the fuck he’s talking about.
“You collect the creator, Myers. You remove the obstacles and take the creator himself. It’s the only way to do it.
I should have done it before he left, honestly. ”
I’m still a bit woozy, but the pieces of what he’s telling me click together and I inhale a sharp breath. “Shiloh.”
“I told him he shouldn’t have moved so far away,” the man laments, ending on an impatient sigh. “I would have covered up the little mess he made if he’d asked, but it’s okay. I can make it right, and he can come back to California where he belongs.”
“You can’t take him,” I protest, but he laughs in my face.
“Do you think you’re in a position to stop me? You’re a means to an end. When he gets here, he’ll see it my way, I think.”
“Oh?” a voice from the top of the stairs calls down. “That was the big master plan? Kidnap my boyfriend and make me run away with you?”
My heart leaps into my throat as Shiloh carefully makes his way into the basement dressed in one of my Snakes hoodies, his hands stuffed into the pockets. He shouldn’t be here, and as he looks past this stranger toward me, I mouth the word “run” to him.
Instead, he turns away from me and faces the person who’s taken me captive. “What are you doing, Sidney?”
“I came to collect you,” the man offers, taking a step closer to Shiloh. “To take you back to California so you can make art for me like you used to before you became… distracted.”
“I never made art for you. I made it, and you bought it. That’s all.”
“No, it’s always been for me. You put the blood in there knowing that I would be drawn to it.”
“You knew?” Shiloh’s shock seems to amuse the man more than anything.
“I know all your tricks, Shiloh. The paintings were for me, but you moved here and then… they weren’t anymore.”
“I’m sorry,” Shiloh says, though he doesn’t exactly sound apologetic. “My art has always been for me, Sidney. Not my clients.”
“Your favorite medium stayed the same,” Sidney insists, taking another step closer to Shiloh. “Your bloody paint. That stayed the same for me, but you didn’t let me buy the art you made with it.”
“I don’t make art that way anymore, Sidney. Things are different now.”
“Because of him,” Sidney hisses, pointing at me. “Your new muse, right? The second you found him, you stopped selling to me. I recognized your work on his helmet when he was on television… and then I could see him in every painting you put up on your feed, every canvas you refused to sell.”
Sidney pauses, then steps away from Shiloh and turns to me.
He stalks over to where I am as Shiloh removes his hand from the pocket of the hoodie, his fingers clutching the knife that he was once tempted to take my life with.
He doesn’t look my way once as he takes off toward Sidney at a fast clip, but the bigger man turns and throws out his arm, catching Shiloh’s face with the back of his hand.
I cry out as Shiloh tumbles to the ground, still clutching his knife, but I don’t need to worry.
The smack to the face doesn’t seem to hurt him as much as it pisses him off.
Shiloh pops up to his feet, a vicious sneer on his face as he lunges at Sidney again, slashing with the knife and connecting with Sidney’s forearm.
Sidney lets loose a frustrated noise, reaching out to grab Shiloh’s hand, to stop him from being able to stab at him again with the weapon.
They wrestle for a bit over the knife, Shiloh wrenching his hand free at one point and swinging the weapon down at Sidney’s hand
“Don’t you fucking hurt him, you hear me?” I bellow, fury rising inside me. I yank at the rope holding me, but have no luck again. Sidney doesn’t turn my way as I’d hoped he would. Instead, he hovers over Shiloh, bending to take the knife out of his hand.
“Shiloh,” he sighs. “I’m disappointed in who you’ve become here. Soft. Weak. Not the killer who painted all the beautiful artwork in my villa. I can see now that there’s only one way to get you to understand. You need your favorite medium. I have the paint, all we need is blood.”
My entire body jolts as he turns to me, the knife in his hand. Shiloh struggles his way off the concrete, pressing his hand to his jaw, and I struggle against the bonds that hold me here.
“Untie me,” I say, glaring at Sidney. “If you’re gonna kill me, don’t do it like a bitch baby.”
He snorts a laugh. “Why on earth would I care about how you die?”
“Let him go,” Shiloh purrs, though I can hear the insincerity in the sound. It’s the same fake emotion he gave that first night we met. He reaches to place his hand on Sidney’s forearm, offering an empty smile. “Untie him and I’ll paint whatever you want.”
“You can’t,” Sidney comments, shaking off his hand. “Not without your favorite medium.”
He thrusts the knife out at me, aiming down toward my throat, and I brace myself for impact, wondering for a split second if my mom will be waiting for me on the other side of this in whatever afterlife may exist.
That’s a nice thought.
That she’ll be there.
But that thought slips out of my mind as Shiloh leaps in front of the knife, taking the blow intended for my neck in his side.
Everything goes silent as Shiloh crumples to the cold concrete in front of me, but I can’t stop what comes tumbling out of me next.
A wounded cry of despair creeps out of me, echoing off the basement walls and reverberating back at me until all I can hear is my own sorrow.
“No!” Sidney shrieks, abandoning the knife on the ground at my feet. He stoops to place his hand on Shiloh, and despair flits through me as I realize I will never get to touch him again.
I’ll be killed here, tied to this post, without knowing what his skin feels like on mine one last time.
I stifle a sob while Sidney bends over Shiloh’s prone form, screaming his own grief as he grabs at his still fingers.
He howls into the basement as he holds them in his own like they’re the only precious piece of Shiloh, and I’m disgusted that this horrible man sees him that way.
Tears slip down my face as I can do nothing but watch blood trickle out from beneath Shiloh’s body, knowing that if I could get close, I’d be crying over every single piece of him, because he’s more than just his talented hands.
I sniffle, turning my head to dash tears away on the shoulders of my T-shirt, but movement from the ground catches my attention, and I stop moving so I can watch carefully.
Shiloh slowly opens his eyes and gives me a meaningful look, reaching out with his boot to carefully nudge the knife my way while Sidney’s distracted.
I scoop it up with the toe of my shoe, then while Shiloh watches through hazy eyes, I kick it toward my hands.
I fumble with it, trying to get a grip so I can cut myself free, but when I do it feels like a chorus of success ringing in my ears.
I saw and hack at the ropes that bind me tight as best I can until they fray away strand by strand, leaving me free to do as I wish with the knife and Sidney.
“Get off him,” I murmur, as I rise to my feet, my body tingling as blood rushes back to places it was hindered from traveling. My fingers itch and prickle, but I don’t dare loosen my grip on the knife.
Sidney looks up at me and then flies to his feet, taking a step backward away from Shiloh. He meets me with a sneer on his face that says the danger isn’t over.
“You did this,” he hisses, taking a step toward me.
He takes another and I let go, swinging the knife at him and catching him in the shoulder.
Sidney cries out as the blade slips free from his skin, still clutched tight in my hand.
Rage boils inside me as I stare at him, blood slicking the shirt of the fancy suit he wears.
“Don’t move again,” I demand, holding the knife out in front of me as I take careful steps toward Shiloh. “I’m taking Shiloh and we’re leaving. You are not going to follow us.”
“You wrecked everything!” he shouts, leaping at me with gnashing teeth and clawed hands. I lash out with the knife again and stick it right into his stomach, forcing a gasp from his lungs. I shove him off me, letting him tumble to the ground, but I can’t stop myself now.
I should, but I can’t.
I kneel over him and thrust the knife into his chest, pressing hard between ribs as he screams and moans, blood seeping out of his mouth as he chokes on it.
His hands fly up to grip my forearms and he tries to push me away, but I hold firm, watching him gasp and sputter.
As his hands drop away from my arms, I pull the knife out of his chest and stab it into his neck, a watery gasp from his throat sounding like pure perfection to my ears.
I stay to watch the blood spurt from his neck, coating the concrete beneath us in a sheen of blood.
I need to be sure he won’t get up again.
That I’m safe. That my Shiloh is safe. His eyes grow dim as he dies, and only then do I scramble off him.
Only then do I realize what I’ve done.
Dread twists inside me as I stare at the dead body on the floor of this dusty basement. The dead body I created. My stomach pitches and rolls knowing I did this.
I killed him.
“Donovan,” Shiloh mumbles, breaking through my spiraling thoughts, and I rise from the floor to his side.
“Baby,” I whisper, kneeling beside his body. “I killed him.”
“You saved me.”
“I love you, okay? I love you so much. Please don’t die. I’ll go call an ambulance right now, but please don’t die on me. I just found you, baby. Stay.”
“I’m not dying, Donovan,” he says, wincing in pain. “I’m not, I promise. Slice. Not stab. It’s fine. I’m fine.”
He rolls over with extreme effort, revealing a bloodied gash in the hoodie. With careful fingers, I peel it back to find that while he is injured and will probably need stitches, he’s right… it’s not that deep.
“Oh, thank fuck,” I breathe, letting go of the sliced edges of fabric before kneeling down and pressing my forehead against Shiloh’s. I feel each puff of his warm breath against my cheeks, tears of relief pooling in my eyes as I press my lips to his.