Sins & Needles (The Artists Trilogy #1) (18 page)

“Or, it should have been a soccer game. There seemed to be one little problem and a yelling match between the teacher and a student took place.”

Oh shit
, the girl thought and her eyes started darting around the room to see if anyone had picked up on it. No one had—not yet. Camden had an audience.

“This girl,” he said slowly, finally breaking his gaze and looking around the room, “the student, was the subject of this project. And as she took to the sidelines and watched the soccer game take place, I started snapping her picture.”

The girl started to shrink in her seat, wondering if she could get under the desk without anyone noticing. Maybe, if she willed it enough, she could just disappear.

Camden walked up to the board and started pinning black and white 8x10s up on it. The girl was too afraid to look.

“Behold,” Camden announced like Marilyn Manson’s magician, “justification in the form of Ellie Watt.”

And there it was, in front of the entire class, black and white photos of the girl. They weren’t bad pictures, per se. In fact, Camden had possessed quite a talent for photography. Despite the paparazzi, telephoto elements to the shots, they were well developed and exposed. The girl looked beautiful with her blonde hair cascading down her back, her full lips and sensual eyes. But in that exotic face held more than just beauty. It held anger and it held pain. It held justification.

The teacher cleared his throat, unsure of how to deal with this, while the classroom erupted into excited whispers. Everyone was looking at the girl for her reaction. Everyone.

The girl could only sit there like a deer in the headlights, the red flames on her face the only sign that she was embarrassed beyond words.

Finally the teacher said, “Camden, I don’t think taking pictures of your classmates is appropriate.”

Camden shrugged. He obviously didn’t care if it was appropriate or not, if he failed or not. He was out to prove a point and he was good at proving them. “You never said it wasn’t. Besides, no one in this whole school has the right to act the way that Ellie Watt does. Except for Ellie Watt.”

More eyes on her. She wished her school was built over Hellmouth and it would swallow her in one gulp.

Camden continued. “When I see these pictures, when I see this face, this expression, I see someone plotting out their future. I see the bad things this girl will do. And I understand why. That is what I call justification. Thank you.”

Before he could take his seat, before anyone could even think about clapping, the justification took hold of its subject. The girl got up, the stool clanging to the floor behind her. She leaned forward, her eyes, her fury, on the kohl-rimmed boy.

“You stalker!” she yelled, her voice surprising her, him, and everyone else in the room. It wasn’t just that he took photos of her without her knowing, it wasn’t just that he was trying to get graded on them, it was what was happening in those photos. It was what they represented; her leg was hidden in those photos but the scars were all over her face.

“You sick fucking freak!” She screamed the last words, rendering the whole room into silence. “All you do is follow me, pester me, bug me, and now take photos like a fucking creeper! You need a life, a hobby, and a girlfriend. And for the last time, no it will not be me!”

And with that she slammed her sketchbook down on the table, scooped up her backpack from the floor, and left the room. She didn’t care if she was leaving in the middle of class, she had a feeling her teacher would understand. She just wanted to get away from him and that situation as quickly as she could.

The girl ran out into the halls and went straight for the girl’s bathroom, the safest place for any teenage girl to hole up and cry. But as she sat huddled above the toilet, the tears wouldn’t come. She was so angry, so livid. Justification? Oh, she was more justified than ever now.

She waited until the bell rang signaling the last class of the day. She had ten minutes to get to her social studies class. Ten minutes to get through the halls and put on a brave face.

Only she couldn’t go straight to class because she had to get her textbook from the locker. She gathered some strength, pushed her long blonde hair behind her ears, and marched out into the hall as smoothly as her leg would allow. She looked straight ahead, avoiding any stares that were coming her way, those predictable glances of pity, and went to her locker. The guy next to her was putting something away and gave her a quick smile as she approached. So far so good.

Then she felt it. That presence. She always felt it, wherever she was. She wished she had noticed it that day during gym class. This whole thing could have been avoided.

With her heart in her throat, she turned around and looked Camden McQueen right into his bespectacled eyes, their brilliant blue color magnified by the glasses. She expected him to be angry or sad or even apologetic after she’d yelled at him in front of everyone. But his eyes were blank, as if every feeling inside him had been sucked away and he was just an empty bag. He was as cold as the metal locker her back was now pressed against.

“You’re a bad person, Ellie,” he said without a trace of irony.

She watched him carefully, like a trap ready to spring.

“I’m not bad. The world is bad and I’m just trying to survive in it.”

He smiled, both sad and self-righteous.

“And that’s why I chose you,” he whispered, leaning in so close she had to flatten against the locker.

Then, after he searched her eyes for a few torturous moments, he whipped around and took off down the hall. He walked as if he’d just won something, but in the girl’s opinion, they both had lost.

                                                        Now

I never thought I’d be able to fall asleep with my hands cuffed behind my back, but I guess when the body is tired, the body is tired. And I was fucking exhausted.

When I woke up, the sun was already up and birds were chirping outside the window like they were welcoming the day with open wings. I was welcoming the day by feeling scared, stupid, and ashamed. I was lying in Camden’s bed for the second time in a row, only there was no hunky, naked man in bed with me. No, the hunky naked man was dressed and sitting in the corner of the room, poised regally in an armchair.

My eyes squinted from the light. From the way he was positioned by the window, he almost looked angelic. But angels don’t have tattoos and they certainly don’t have guns in their hands.

I sat up slowly with burning abs, the flannel sheets falling away from me. I supposed he had covered me up in the middle of the night. How nice of him.

“Good morning,” he said, as if we were old friends. Old friends that
didn’t
want to kill each other.

I glared at him. “Is the gun really necessary?”

“No,” he admitted. “It’s just fun to have one.”

“Like an extra penis,” I mused.

He smiled unkindly. “Something like that.”

I leaned over, rounding my back and letting out a moan of pain. I’d never felt so sore and stiff before. I was sure the cuffs had carved deep lines into my wrists.

“How did you sleep?”

“How do you think I slept?” I snapped without looking up at him. “You have my hands cuffed behind my back. I’m being held hostage here against my will and I have no idea what the hell you have planned for me.”

He chuckled. “You’re not being held hostage. You’re free to go. In fact...” I heard him get up and walk over to me. “You’re right. You shouldn’t be cuffed.”

I cocked my head to the side and looked up at him. He had put the gun down on the armchair, brought a pair of keys out of his pocket, and began fiddling with the handcuffs. With a joyous click, they opened up and my wrists felt sharp air and cool relief.

He removed them and tossed them onto his oak dresser where they landed with a clatter.

“There. Better?”

I examined my wrists. They were raw and stung a little but were mainly undamaged. “Not really. I suppose there’s a price for letting me go?”

He went into a wide-legged stance with crossed arms and tilted his chin down at me. “There’s a price for everything. We still have a deal, remember? You’ll help me because I need your help, and because the other two choices are…the greater of the evils. You won’t run away because I’ve got all the proof to put you behind bars ready to go at the click of a button. If you run, you’ll never escape, and all the lives you’ve tried to create will be ruined.”

So basically what he was telling me was that I was already in a prison. Sure, you couldn’t see it, but I was stuck with him, stuck within these white walls until he decided to let me go. If he ever decided to let me go.

“All right then,” I said slowly, pulling the flannel sheets up to my collarbone. From where he was standing he had a clear view down my shirt and I didn’t want my hostage-taker to be getting any special privileges. Not anymore.

“So,” I said, “when you’re finished blackmailing me, what do you plan on doing with me?”

“You mean after you help me?”

I nodded brusquely.

“Then we part ways.”

I narrowed my eyes. “And is parting ways a euphemism for something else? Say, killing me?”

He looked disappointed in what I said. “No, Ellie. It means parting ways. It means you go one way and I go another. You head east and I head west.”

“We’re about as west as we can go already,” I noted, eyeing him curiously. He seemed as sharp as ever but a lot more reasonable than last night. He was still scarily unpredictable, and I knew I’d never underestimate him again, but I felt like this was as good a time as any to find out what the hell our deal was based around.

“No. There’s more west to go.”

“So then, tell me. What’s the deal? What’s your plan? What do you need me to help you with? Is it killing people, because I don’t kill people, Camden. You might think I would because I’m a criminal, but not all criminals are the same, and I swear I do have a set of morals somewhere in my body. You might not see it, but it’s there.”

He gave me a half smile, picked up his gun, and walked out of the room, calling over his shoulder, “Let’s discuss this over coffee.”

I watched him leave, my pulse quickening at his avoidance of the subject, then eased myself out of the bed. “Can I go to the bathroom first?” I asked.

“Sure,” he yelled back from the kitchen. “You won’t find any weapons in there anyway, if that’s what you were planning.”

Actually, all I had was a bladder that was about to burst and hadn’t even thought about attacking him with razor blades or tweezers. What would be the use, anyway? Unless I actually killed Camden, which I wasn’t about to do, hence my worry over his ambiguousness, I really had no escape. He’d probably let me walk straight out of the house, but I was sure that no matter where I went, the police wouldn’t be far behind.

And Uncle Jim. I couldn’t, wouldn’t, forget about him.

When I came out of the bathroom, he was sitting around the kitchen table with a lined memo pad and pen in his hands, a French press full of dark coffee and two orange mugs beside him. The gun was nowhere in sight. He had his glasses on, the thin-rimmed ones I’d seen in his office, and he looked up at me with such apathy that he could have been an accountant about to go over some numbers. You know, if most accountants had a piercing at the end of their nose and wore fitted plaid shirts.

“Coffee?” he asked, nodding his head at the press.

“Yes, I know,” I said in reference to the movie
Airplane
and took a seat. I pulled a mug toward me and inspected the bottom for any powder or liquids. I couldn’t be too careful.

“Do you always make jokes when you’re nervous?” he asked. I gave him a sharp look. He smiled and folded his hands over the notepad. “Go ahead, I didn’t drug it. I’m not some Bond villain.”

I placed the other mug in front of him. “No, you’re definitely not. You’re just a sadistic freak with control issues.” He flinched, barely susceptible. “I’ll drink it if you’ll drink it.”

He sighed and poured my mug before he poured his own. “I guess our trust was broken a long time ago, wasn’t it?”

We both took a sip at the same time, our eyes glued to each other. “Actually, I had trusted this new Camden McQueen.”

“And now?”

“And now I’ll never make that mistake again,” I said after a mouthful. I still couldn’t get over how Camden pulled a fast one on me. I was no stranger to cons getting conned. I’d been conned a few times before, though you learned to read the warning signs as you went along. You get better. More aware. Sometimes, there were just people who were better at your job then you were. But I never saw Camden coming. I never saw his true motives. I never could have predicted his switch. Sure, there were probably a few signs here and there but I was so wrapped up in my lust for him, my plans for him, and he was always such a strange bird, that they could have meant anything. I had no idea—
no idea
—that I had hurt this man that badly.

“So we’re even.”

I put down the mug. “Nothing’s even when you’re being blackmailed. So, tell me, what’s the plan?”