Sins & Needles (The Artists Trilogy #1) (21 page)

He glared at me over his glasses.

“Cody, then,” I suggested.

“Sounds like I should have a mullet. How about Cameron?”

“Oh, I think that’s pushing it a bit too close.”

“Caithness.”

I was starting to worry.

“What?” he said, raising his arm defensively, his drink sloshing over the rim. “It’s from MacBeth. Hey, there’s a last name too. Caithness Macbeth!”

The drink was obviously going to his head and I was starting to feel a bit nervous about the whole situation.

Still, I couldn’t help but tell him, “That is the worst name ever.”

“Caithness Macbeth,” he mulled over it.

“People will know it’s a fake name,” I pointed out.

“People are illiterate. No one will know.” He pulled out his iPhone and started tapping on the screen.

“What are you doing?”

“Googling names.”

An hour later, Camden was drunk, attempting to make a fire, and we had finally settled on a name. He had wanted to do a nod to some of his Irish ancestry on his late mother’s side, so his new persona was called Connor Malloy. It wasn’t too similar to Camden McQueen, but because of the pacing, the words rolled off the tongue the same way. To tell the truth, he kind of looked like a Connor.

Though he’d always be Camden to me.

“Come sit with me,” he said. He had gotten the fire going and was sitting cross-legged on a Mexican blanket in front of it. The very same place we’d shared some wine and, uh, certain parts of each other. It felt like ages ago. It was amazing how fast everything had changed, even our names.

I hesitated. He was drunk, which was fine. I mean, I’d seen him drunk before. But things were so different and so unpredictable, I wasn’t sure who I was going to get. Camden? Connor? Caithness? Today had been the first time we’d been together in a few days, and while things were going smoothly at the moment, I didn’t want to push my luck.

“Please,” he said, patting the ground beside him.

Feeling he probably wouldn’t ask nicely next time, I got up and sat down beside him. The fire wasn’t too hot since it was a Duraflame log, but it was pleasantly warm and toasty. I brought my knees up to my chest and watched the flames dance.

“So when do I start becoming Connor Malloy?” he asked in a dull voice.

I turned my head to look at him. The flames reflected in his glasses, making it hard for me to see his eyes.

“When we run,” I said.

“Do you ever get tired of running?”

I managed a weak smile. “Why do you think I came here?”

“I thought you came here to screw me over,” he said. It was so emotionless and he watched the fire as if hypnotized.

“I didn’t come here to screw you over, Camden.”

“Please, call me Connor.”

“Seriously, Camden, listen to me. I know you don’t believe me or trust me but…you have to know, you weren’t why I came here.”

“No? Then I’m a bit disappointed,” he said sadly.

“I didn’t think I’d know anyone here. That’s why I came back. I figured everyone was either too old to remember me or had moved on. No one stays in the town they were raised in unless they have a reason. I thought I could just start over. I thought my uncle could help me. Or at least try. But he didn’t want me.”

“You could have gotten a job like everyone else. A real job.”

“I tried—
“

“You didn’t try.” His eyes snapped to mine, taking me by surprise. “You wanted the easy way out.  Don’t you know by now that there is no easy way out?”

His tone put me on edge. I tried to placate him with kind eyes. “I’m getting out now, aren’t I? We both are.”

A savage smile slowly spread across his lips. “But you think this is easy. Don’t you? You’re relieved that all you have to do is help me with something you’re good at. Somehow, in the end, you’ll walk away. Maybe not any richer, but you’ll walk away. And you’ll feel great about how much you helped Camden McQueen or Connor Malloy or whatever my name will be. You’ll walk away feeling like a winner. That’s not fair, Ellie. You don’t deserve to feel that way.”

I couldn’t figure out what to say because what he was saying was the truth. He removed his glasses and put them on the ground beside him. His eyes, heavy lidded with drink, drifted to my mouth. I gulped nervously, not liking the tension that was jagging between us.

“How do you think I should feel?” I asked thickly. My nerves were on fire. Everything was on fire.

“Like this,” he said. Slowly, he leaned over and kissed me. His lips were soft and tasted like bourbon. I couldn’t kiss him back if I wanted to; I couldn’t do anything but freeze. He pulled back a little, his eyes inches away. I could see my frightened reflection in the black hole of his pupil. “See? You’re afraid.”

“You want to scare me?” I whispered.

He kept his lips an inch from mine. His fingers smoothed the hair off my face, tucking it behind my ear.

“Yes,” he murmured. His lips brushed mine as he spoke. My breath hitched as his other hand slid the strap of my tank top and bra off my shoulder. I shivered from his touch, from his eyes, from whatever was buried in his heart and eating him alive.

“Camden,” I warned, my voice shaking.

He placed his lips on my shoulder and started kissing down my arm. He was right. I was scared. I was so, so afraid. Yet a terrible part of me wanted him to continue. I was turned on and frightened, ready to run, ready to fight, ready to grab him and kiss him, devour every part of him. I didn’t know what was going on, but I was stuck in a cage with something that might or might not harm me, that might give me everything and leave me with nothing.

His lips came back up my arm and across my collarbone. Slowly. Very slowly. The slowest, softest kisses I’d ever felt. Then his mouth edged down my chest. I was sure he could feel my heart underneath, pounding wildly.  With his hand, he pulled down my top and bra and exposed my right breast. My nipple was already hard and now puckered in anticipation. His lips circled it, then his warm tongue lashed it gently, teasing, tempting. He let out a small sigh then tugged at my nipple ring with his teeth. The pleasure traveled along my nerves like lightning strikes.

I couldn’t swallow. I felt like I was drowning under his touch. “Camden, please…”

Please stop
, I was thinking.
This isn’t right. It feels right and it feels wrong but it isn’t right. There’s a motive and it isn’t lust. It isn’t lust. It’s revenge.

Revenge never felt so good.

He nipped at me, and my back arched. A low moan escaped my lips. I wanted him. I wanted the person that didn’t exist. I wanted the wrong thing.

I sat up straight and pushed his shoulder back. He slowly raised his head. His eyes were calculating. His mouth twitched up in an unbecoming smile that chilled me despite the fire.

I pulled up my shirt and edged away from him. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“No? And why is that?”

“Because…you’re blackmailing me. You threatened to kill me the other night. I’m helping you steal the mafia’s money and start a new life and…we don’t need to make this any more complicated than it already is.”

He looked down at his hands where he was tracing small patterns on the surface of the rug. “Do you know what else I think you should feel, Ellie? Aside from fear?”

“What?” I eked out in an exhale, my body tensed.

“Humiliation.” His eyes glittered like a cat before the pounce. “Just like you humiliated me.”

Shit. I had to play my cards right here or things were going to get very messy, very fast.

“I already feel humiliated, Camden. You beat me at my own game. You set me up to fail. I got caught because I only saw what I wanted to see. I was following my ego. I don’t have your money. I’m sitting here with you and not because I want to. Because I have to.”

“Because you chose to.”

“And it’s humiliating,” I admitted, pounding the words out like a stone.

He observed me for a few silent seconds. I could see the wheels of his brain turning, see him fighting something behind those eyes, something deep inside. He wanted to make me feel like he felt. He wanted to humiliate me so badly. To make me feel small, to make me feel weak, to make me feel helpless. Just blackmailing me wasn’t enough. He wanted to do something that would really make me understand. I just prayed he wouldn’t try it. That he would fight those demons and win. Because the moment he’d try and force me to do something I didn’t want to do, I’d be more than humiliated. I’d be ruined. And I’d never be able to look at his face feeling there was someone in there worth rooting for. Despite everything, I wanted to like Camden.

He leaned in closer to me, getting to his knees. The wall was behind me, and beside that, the fire. I was cornered, trapped. I was powerless, helpless. I could fight back and maybe win. Maybe save myself from him. But I wouldn’t save myself from my fate, the fate he set for me.

The revenge burned within him. He looked like a man possessed. He put his hand out for my face, his fingers contorted, like he was ready to grab me by my hair and force me to the ground. Like he wanted to cause me pain.

I looked him straight in his eyes, trying to see the good person I believed was still in there. The man who had called me rough and sweet and sad. The one who I’d stare up at the stars with. The one who believed that letting go and moving on was the better alternative to making other people pay.

The good person that I wasn’t.

His hand paused in the air, inches from my face, and shaking now. Was it with rage? Was it with control? I was holding my breath
in this thick atmosphere, waiting for his next telling move.

A flash of clarity sparked in his rigid features. His hand came down to my cheek where he cupped my face. His hand was very cold, but it was gentle. And it meant me no harm.

“Good night, Ellie,” he said, clearing his throat. His eyes were wet, his brow furrowed in wild concern. “I think I’ve had too much for today.”

I watched him, unblinking, unmoving, unable to breathe, until he removed his hand and got unsteadily to his feet. He stumbled across the living room, bumping once into the coffee table and then into the wall, then finally disappearing down the hall. His bedroom door closed with a slam.

A rush of air flowed out of lungs and the feeling came back into my fingers. I’d been clutching my hands so tightly together that my nails had dug into my palms.

I grabbed the throw blanket from the couch and huddled up by the fire until it went out. It was the only warmth left in the house.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Suffice it to say both Camden and I were in edgy, introverted moods the next day. He was hung over and silent. I was walking on eggshells and trying to give him space. I’d gotten an email from Gus saying he was couriering us the Social Security Cards first thing Monday morning before the drop, so at least everything on that end was shaping up.

At some point in the afternoon, Camden had decided to practice his guitar in the living room, just jamming out like a madman. He was singing along too. I love men who can sing well. Unfortunately, he couldn’t. But at least it was on-key. No, Camden’s skill lay in his guitar playing, and being hung over didn’t seem to affect it all. Maybe it was his way of working things out. I hoped so. He had about as many issues to work out as I did.

Of course, I tended to rely on drugs to get me through that. I was running low on Kava pills and was feeling particularly anxious, so I fished out the Ativan and popped a couple under my tongue while I was in the bathroom. Camden had asked me the other day if I liked what I saw when I looked in the mirror. To tell you the truth, I barely looked. Sure, I put on makeup and made myself look pretty. But I was never really looking at myself. I observed the person in the mirror like I was looking through a window at someone else. If I looked really closely, I would have seen glassy eyes, dark circles, and black hair that had a strip of blonde roots coming in.

With Camden strumming in my usual space, I retreated to the spare bedroom instead. I left the door open to avoid that whole jail cell feeling, then lay down on the narrow bed. To take my mind off myself and let the drug do the work, I thought about Camden and Ben. I thought about how awful it would be to make a mistake with your life and never see your child again. To keep a room for him in your house just in case you were ever fortunate enough to have him visit. To have that room sit there, waiting and alone, for someone that might never come.

I must have been pulled under into an Ativan-induced coma, because when I woke up, it was completely dark in the room. The only light was coming from the hallway, the light from the kitchen. To my relief, the door was still open.

And through my extremely groggy head and dry mouth, I discovered the reason I awoke. Why my heart was already pounding harder than usual.

There were voices in the house.

Camden. And someone else. A man.

I quietly eased myself out of bed and crept to the doorway. I slowly popped my head around the corner. I saw shadows dancing on the walls, shadows of two people in the kitchen. I jerked my head back around the door before anyone could see me and I listened.