Ahhhh...the long awaited "conclusion" to last chapter's cliff-hanger. In which I give you...you guessed it...a little more cliff from which to hang with me!
This time, we'll be left anxious for Leed, too. He's burning out of control by the end of this chapter...Thus the song, "Firestone," by Kygo ft. Conrad Sewell
Leed
I came home and went straight back to bed.
Not because I'm tired or because I'm lazy.
Because the sheets smell like love.
Like Ashlynn.
"Goddamn, I'm so fucked," I moan into the pillow on her side of the bed.
Shit, she's slept here one night and I'm already thinking of the left side of the bed as hers.
See? Totally fucked.
I roll over and grin at my ceiling.
It's kind of nice, being fucked over Ash.
Metaphorically.
I wonder how even more fucked I'm going to be when I'm actually fucked by this girl.
Speaking of who's fucking who...maybe I shouldâlet her fuck me first.
Usually, that's not my style. I've done a lot of fucking but I've rarely been fucked. Well, except with Tam back in the early experiences, but even with her, somewhere along the way, the balance changed and I found myself firmly in charge of the fun. And the games. Where I like to be.
It's not that I'm a Dom or anything...I'm not really all that much into a bunch of contrived props and bondage and pain shit...but I do like to be in control, and I do like for a woman to follow my lead and let me get creative. Let me tease. Let me tempt. Let me test her will and her willingness.
I have never wanted a woman's surrender like I want Ash's. I can give her so much more pleasure if she will trust me and let go of her inhibitions.
But last night taught me...Ash has more to give than her surrender. Which is ironic since she thinks she's bad as sex.
She's not bad at all. She's got all the moves. All the small indescribable ways to tempt a man, get all his focus, get him lost in the sensual details. Right now, after one hand job, the girl's got me thinking she might be the best lover I have ever had.
I see it nowâwhat Trace used to say about her being Type A. Never seen it in her anywhere else, but that girl runs a sex scene like it's her fucking job. When it comes to giving a man pleasure, Ash is a pro.
And I should know. I've had a few of those, too. The very expensive kind. I mean, I didn't pay for it. But fangirls comes from all walks of life. Sex industry workers really dig me, for some reason. I guess I'm a notch on their professional bedpost or something. It's why I ALWAYS use condoms...sometimes I don't even realize I've got a sexpert on my hands until we are deep into the deal and they start adjusting their tits and putting their bleached asses on display like somebody is fucking filming or they are working for tips or something.
Nope. None of them have a damn thing on my girl. From what I saw of Ashlynn's moves last night, bad at sex is the very last thing she is. She's just bad at letting herself enjoy it.
I would never tell her that, though. It would only recall her to all the experiences that gave her that expertise and taught her that sex wasn't fun.
I feel my face and my throat tighten as harsh images of Ashlynn's missing year fire rapidly in my brain. I push them away. There's no point in me dwelling on dark imaginings, getting obsessed with the pain of her past. I want to help her move on from it, not relive it.
I honestly don't give a shit about the men or the sex or the drugs. The only thing I care about is the experiences left her scarred, and I'm not talking about whatever her skin looks like. I'm talking about the fact that she's traumatized. Maybe not like Mac...maybe she doesn't have PTSD episodes, I don't know. But she's got a past that binds up her present choices in fear. And to me, that makes her a victim.
And victims have to find their power to recover. I know that from Mac, from the family therapy I did with her after her assault. Mac had a lot of ways to reclaim her power. Her talent, her career and her position in the band, coming out as a solo artist, her recently acquired New-Agey-Neo-Christian faith, and most of all, reaching for love with Adam and becoming a mother. All that brings her the confidence she needs to heal. But Ash is still finding her way, when it comes to all that career stuff, and her family ties are still shaking, too.
That's why I'm thinking, maybe I should let Ash take the lead in bed, at least early on. To find her confidence, her power with me. Maybe I should just lay back and let her go all free reign like with the massage.
Mmmmm. I don't want to imagine her past, but I'm all about imagining how she's gonna love me.
Maybe she will cowgirl or joystick joyride. Naw. I bet she'll go all champagne room on meâsit me down in a chair and turn shyly away from me, giving me a reverse lap ride. Actually, that's probably a perfect power balance for us. She'd get to set the pace and the passion, I'd get a fucktastic opportunity to palm her very lovely ass. Not to mention that golden cascade of curls that would be there for me to twist and tug a little.
Plus, that would be the way she could best avoid attention to whatever scars run down her side, under her left arm.
Yeah, I know where they are. It wasn't hard to figure out, the way she kept clutching the throw to her side last night, even in the middle of her ecstasy. Whatever happened, whatever burden she bears, she's holding onto it so tight, its automatic for her to protect that place. Like it's still an open wound.
I'm trying not to do a whole lot of speculation about what happened or what kind of scarring she was left with. I figure, the more I think about it, the bigger the situation is going to get in my own head. The best way to deal with this is just to take it as it comes. When she's ready to get naked with me, I'll see the scars, they won't make a difference to me in terms of her beauty, and she'll tell me whatever she wants to tell me about them, and I'll do my damnedest to spend the next several hours bringing all her attention to the energy between us, making her forget all about her past for a while.
And then I'll do it again. Every day. Over and over, until there's nothing but me and her in the incredible present.
No painful past.
No uncertain future.
Just presence in each other.
I close my eyes and smile. I'm thinking about getting a little more present in this fantasy I'm having about Ashlynn on my lap when my phone starts playing Little Sister.
I've changed my ring tone for Ashlynn three times times already. When she was in rehab, it was Ain't No Sunshine When You're Gone. Then it was Ice Cream. Just this morning I changed it Yours, the song that made me feel her love and confess mine.
I do that a lotâchange my signature ring tones for Inner Circle. But Kat is gonna be Little Sister forever and ever. She can't be anything else. She's the girl and the song that started this crazy train for us all.
"Hey, Baby Ballard, what's--"
"Open your damn gate! Now!" Kat's voice is hysterical. I immediately sit up.
"What's wrong!?!?!"
"Open the goddamn gate!!!" she screams.
Two thumb presses on my phone and the security gate on the side street to my property is opening and I'm running out my bedroom slider and around the side of the house, meeting Kat in the driveway, my heart racing. What the fuck is going on?
When I turn the corner and see Kat roaring up the drive in her electric blue Audi A4âthat her parents bought her for graduation and Mike Ballard insisted on driving out here when Kat and Ashlynn moved in together as an excuse to make sure they were in fact getting a place and not just living with Traceâand looking at her face through the windshield, suddenly I feel like I can't swallow. Like I have no where to swallow toâlike my stomach just dropped away. I stride forward and jerk open her door, taking in her tears and her shaking hands.
"Tell me."
Kat shoots a glance behind her, toward the street. "Is there room?" She gestures impatiently at the lower level of this wing of the house, which is an eight car garage. The last three are empty.
"Why?"
"Because I don't want them to know I'm here!" she hisses.
"Who?"
"Who do you think?" she snaps.
"I don't fucking know, Kat! Is it a pap? You look...shook, baby girl." It's the only think I can think, that she went to Trace's alone to retrieve something and there was someone inside the perimeter somehow.
"I am shook," she says and then sobs. "Open the goddamn garage, Leed!"
I press another button and she rolls in, leaps out of the car and barrels through the entrance and up the stairs into my house, me on her heels.
"Did you call the cops?" I ask.
She ignores me. She's in rummaging my kitchen drawers. No matter what I say to her, she won't answer. Now I'm starting to get worried. She's...off. Something's really wrong.
I cross to her and grip her shoulders turning her around to me. "What the actual fuck, Kat?" I say very calmly.
She closes her eyes, swallows heavily and says, "Do you have a rubber band?"
Ah. Yeah. I heard about this one. Ballard A is not the only one a little high strung. For all her HellKatNess, Ballard B is prone to anxiety. Trace told me growing up she would snap a rubber band on her wrist to cope with various adolescent worriesâa big test coming up, a state volleyball meet, stuff like that. Apparently, it was a habit she amped up after Trace and Ash disappeared on her.
I take her by the hand over to the office, open a desk drawer and toss her a whole ball of rubber bands. She takes one off, pulls it onto her wrist, and snaps ten times. Then she snaps ten more, screams "Fuck!" and pulls at the rubber band until it breaks.
"Stupid fucking rubber band therapy. It doesn't fucking work!"
"What's it for?"
She rubs her hands over her face, takes a deep breath and begins to pace my small office. "I keep seeing them in my head. Over and over. I need to make it stop before I really lose my shit."
"Seeing who?"
"Trace and Ashlynn. Fucking."
I stand abruptly from where I was leaning on the desk. "What? What are you talking about?"
"Did you know?"
"Did I know what?"
"That they were fucking!!!"
Part of me immediately rejects what Kat is saying as nonsense, but the Lion growls anyway. "I guarantee Ashlynn is not fucking Trace. She's barely begun fucking me. She's skittish, but she's dying for me. No way she could perpetrate that kind of shady double play."
Kat throws the rubber band ball at my head. "When they were married!!!" she screams in exasperation. "Are you slow? Are you not listening to me?"
"I am not slow. You are not making any sense." I drag her back into the kitchen by the hand and, despite the jangly feeling that comes with the mental image of Trace and Ashlynn that Kat has now infected me with, I put the kettle on for tea. Kat paces around the kitchen ranting about being a fool and Trace and Ash being liars. I just let her wind down while I tell myself that Kat has cracked under the stress of her very full schedule and she's having some kind of paranoid delusion. Trace and Ashlynn weren't sleeping together when they were married. Trace told me so, and Ash told me so, and neither one of them had any reason to lie to me about it. They were married, for chrissakes. Who would have cared? It's so much weirder that they weren't messing around.
When the tea is made, and Kat's fury is falling down into sobbing again, I grab her by the arms, put her in a chair at the kitchen table. When she tries to get up, I put a hand on her shoulder.
"Get up, and I'll sit you down again," I tell her. "You came to me with this and if you came to me, you came for more than screaming and ranting, because you know I don't play like that. So chill the fuck out, drink the damn tea and tell me what the fuck is going on that now, after nine months of being down with Trace's explanation and basically looking like the cat with love eyes emoji every time Trace smiles at youâand three months after forgiving your sister and moving in with herâ you are suddenly flipping your shit and back to thinking they are liars."
Kat puts her head in her hands. "Because I heard them say soâjust now. They were on the patio, hugging each other."
I run a hand over my lips. Shit. They were about to have a serious discussion, when I left them on the patio a half hour ago. Still...I'm just not feeling it. In my third eye, or in my heart.
"What exactly did they say, Kat?"
Kat keeps her head in her hands and speaks in a monotone. "When I came to the kitchen door, I heard Trace saying that he wouldn't tell you, but that they couldn't keep it from me any more. That I deserved the truth. Ash was begging him not to tell me. She said I was happy and we were sisters again and it would ruin everything. Then I just...got upset and ran out the door."
"It would ruin everything. She said it? You never actually heard either of them say they slept together?"
Kat gives me a look of disbelief. "What else could it be, Leed? What secret could they be keeping that would ruin everything?"
I rake my hand through my nearly nonexistent hair. "I think you are jumping to conclusions. Look, I was around the whole time Trace and Ash were married. They didn't give off the we've-seen-each-other-naked vibe. Ever. My intuition is pretty good. Plus, I even asked Ash point blank less than a week ago and I didn't hear any lie in her voice when she told me it wasn't like that."
"You asked her?"
"Yep. She said in some ways they were easyâlike an old married coupleâbut there was never any romantic stuff."
"So it would bother you if they had slept together?"
I sigh. "No, baby girl, it wouldn't. But I get why it would bother you."
"It does," she begins to cry again. "Not just the lie. The betrayal."
"You don't know there is a lie. Or a betrayal." I pull her hands from her face. "Listen to me. Think about Ashlynn's life, the last year she and Trace were married, when she left home and roamed the country, living off other people's drugs. It was...a rough time for her. Real rough. You know that, right?"
Kat's face pales. "You think they were talking about that? Something...something she did?"
"Maybe. Or maybe something that was done to her. She's...she's got trust issues, Kat. I'm pretty sure bad things happened to her. She doesn't want to talk about them with me..."
"She doesn't want to talk about them with me, either," Kat says softly. "But she'll talk to Trace?"
I'm raking my hair again. "I guess. They were married, Kat. And he's seen her at her worst, when neither of us has. Maybe...maybe she can tell him things she can't tell us."
Kat is freaking out about the idea that they slept together, but this thoughtâthat after the night Ash and I had, that she turned to Trace to be her confidante over the very damn things she won't tell me...fuck. Now I could use a goddamn rubber band.
My phone lights up and the psychedelic chords of Enter Sandman float over hard driving bass. Trace's ringtone.
"Don't answer him," Kat says automatically.
Of course, I answer. Kat crosses her arms and pouts.
"On a ledge here, man. And I ain't alone," I say, hoping he'll catch my vibe.
"Kat's there?"
"Yep. I got yours, I'm hoping you got mine...and that she's less triggered..."
Kat jumps up and down silently and mouths, "Fuck you, Leed!"
"Ashlynn's with me. How is Kat?"
"Let's just say the rubber band isn't doing it for her. What happened? Is Ashlynn upset?"
"I'm here. I'm...yes, upset, but it's all just a misunderstanding. We need to talk to Kat." Ashlynn's voice is tearful and it pulls at my heart.
"Put Kat on the phone, man," Trace wheedles.
Shit, deja-vu. I feel like we had this same conversation nine months ago, him in a hospital room with Ashlynn, me and Kat in a New Orleans hotel room. I say the same thing I said then.
"She ain't about you right now."
"This is all just a misunderstanding we need to clear up. Please Leed," Ash voice is soft. "Will you ask her to talk to us?"
I look at Kat. "I really think we should all talk. They are in the car, looking for you. How about they head this way and we all sit down and..."
She stomps down the garage stairs.
"Go ahead on, then. Stomp away. That's real mature, Katheryn..." I call after her down the stairs.
"Leed, do not let her leave upset," Trace growls.
"Relax, man. She can't get her car out of the garage. She doesn't know the code. Look, she's just trippin' because she thinksâ"
"I know what she thinks," he snaps. "She's wrong. She...misunderstood."
"I figured. Maybe if you explain to me what she overheard, then I can talk her down before she kills me," I joke.
There is silence on the other end. Not gonna lie, it hurts.
"It's like that, Ash?" I say softly. "Exes with secrets?"
I can hear Ashlynn's breath coming faster. There's a soft rustle and I can't help it, I have an image of Trace reaching over and taking her hand.
"It's not like that," Trace says firmly. "I was her next of kin, remember? I was with her in the hospital after her accident. There's just stuff I know that she would rather no one know. She isn't ready to share, okay? You and Kat have to respect that."
"No offense, brother, but I think Ash can speak for herself. Ash, what's going on, babe? What's got you so upset? It can't be that bad. Not between the four of us. I love you, and they are your family."
"Leed...I...I can't, okay? Trace and I were talking about my scars and I...I'm not ready to talk about them with anyone else. That's all I want to say. At least right now, like this..."
I feel like hurt is going to tear me in two. Her hurt and mine. Her pain is so raw, and it's fucking killing me. But mine is no small thing either.
She can trust Trace and she can't trust me?
What the fuck am I supposed to do with that? Is it always going to be like this, because of their history that began when they were six years old? I never thought it was a love-hate thing with them, but now it seems like it's a push-pull. They push each other's buttons, but they pull rank for each other, too. Some kind of solidarity.
But I love her, so what the fuck can I do? Just wait, and be patient and hope that her reliance on Trace fades as our love grows.
"Yeah, okay, baby..." I mutter and then I hear an engine roar to life that is most definitely not a modern machine.
"Shit," I hiss as I beat down the garage steps. Kat figured out that although she couldn't get her car out of the garage without the code, she could take one of mine...the keys were all on the hook by the garage door and all the cars have garage door openers inside. She's shooting me a bird as she backs out my vintage Porsche.
Kinda recklessly.
"Christ, HellKat! That car is irreplaceable!!!" I shout as she's putting the top down and I'm stalking down the driveway after her. "You can't open the gate, you know!" I'm bluffing...the same device that opens the garage opens the gate. Kat is not dumb; Trace has virtually the same set-up at his place. She just glares at me and stabs the button. I don't waste anymore time; I make an about-face and head back to the garage, grabbing the keys to my Ferrari.
"Leed," Trace warns.
"I got this," I say with irritation, already following her out of the neighborhood. "I'll tail her. You guys just go back to your place. I'll call you with a plan, as soon as I have one."
"Fuck no!" Trace hisses. "Give me a goddamn heading, Leed. Which way did she go?"
"Fine. She went east on Leventis."
Silence. "You're lying, aren't you?"
"Of course I'm fucking lying! Just go home and hang tight, Trace. This situation is not ending in a damn high speed chase through LA, putting Kat and Ash at risk. I said, I've got this!"
"Fuck!" Trace beats on the steering wheel.
"Leed," Ash says quietly. "Please...just..." she fades away helplessly. "I don't even know what to ask you. This is so fucking fucked!" she cries in frustration.
Trace makes as sound of agreement. "For once I agree with you, Ash."
"Shut-up Trace." Ash says wearily. "If you hadn't pushed me, like you always do, we wouldn't even have been having that conversation that Kat misunderstood."
"Fuck. Stop sayin' shit I agree with. That's not how we roll, hon. It's getting too creepy," he teases her.
Ashlynn moans, but I know her ways well enough to know it's one of those sounds that's accompanied by a sympathetic smile toward Trace. And now he snortsâhe's probably giving her his fucking smirk and devilishly raised eyebrow.
I fight the urge to turn my Ferrari around, gun it up into Trace's yard and jerk Ashlynn out of the seat of that little tricked out bitch of a Nissan he's got her in. She doesn't belong there. She's supposed to be riding shotty with me.
My ride or die. Not his.
Fuck. Shut it down, Lawson. You are not a jealous kinda cat.
A quiet voice responds inside me. Only because you never had a Queen to keep. Now you do.
"Leed?" Ash's voice is soft again. "You still there?"
"Yeah, babe. I'm here, but, look...I gotta go. I'll call you back when I've reasoned with Kat, okay?" I punch the disconnect before she can respond, because my voice is strained and I don't want to snap at her.
Tailing Kat turns out to be surprisingly easy. She never even leaves Calabasas. When she pulls into the trendy district and parks, getting out to walk a few blocks, I pull up beside her and roll down the window.
"Whatcha doing?" I ask cheerfully. "Not shopping for swords or small firearms, I hope..."
"I'm going to work," she gestures down the street where catering vans are blocking a no-parking zone, and a dozen people are scurrying into a sparse industrial space with Morrigan Studio & Gallery lettered on the glass in elegant script. "The show must go on. I have a lot of last minute details to tie down. I don't have time for rock star drama anymore."
I slip into a spot that the Universe thankfully opened up for me and climb out, catching up with her just before she enters the building. I snatch her elbow and she swings around on the verge of tears.
"Just go, Leed. And tell Trace to leave me the hell alone right now. This launchâit's important, okay? It's very important to me. I can't mess it up."
I nod. "I know it's important. But you do remember why, right?"
"Because this Loving Marcs campaign is meant to help families from hurting each other but at its core, it's Matt and Marianne, showing Trace support and love. And me too, because I love him," her face crumples. I pull her inside the gallery and give her a big hug.
"Baby girl, he's never slept with your sister. And he loves you like he loves the music. You are in his blood and he can't even help himself. He's changed so much," I tell her softly. "You make him happy."
That part is true. Kat makes him happy. But Ash made him a man. I don't tell her that, though. Kat is smart, fierce and very mature, but she's only eighteen. There's only so much reality you can take at eighteen, and Kat's tank it full.
"This love stuff is so much harder than I thought it would be," she says into my chest.
"No shit," I laugh. "I feel exactly the same way. I step back from her. "Look, I'm here. Let me stay and help, okay? With your event...and with this Trace and Ash thing. I'll call Sawyer and ask him to bring my tux and your dress and makeup and shit. I'll tell Trace to give you some cooling off time. You'll run this event like a boss, because how could you notâwith me by your side all day, bleeding my super-performer vibes all over you? Then after the event, if you still feel like it, I'll referee while you go HellKat on Trace and Ash. I'd stake my left nut that they've never slept together, but I'm sort of with you on the fact that I don't like them keeping secrets. The boundaries need to shift."
Her eyes light and slaps me on the chest in agreement. "Yes! You're exactly right! To be honest, I think that's why I got upset. I guess I don't really think they were sleeping together. But for months I've been trying to be really cool with the way Trace is about herâhe still treats her like she's glass or something. Ash hasn't been as bad, but today, when I saw her hanging onto him like he was a damn life raft in the middle of an ocean, and begging him to keep secrets from me..."
"Jealousy burst out of your chest like a little fucking alien and spewed venom all over the place."
She lowers her eyes. "Yeah. I'm actually surprised it wasn't worse. At least I didn't slap either half of Trashlynn."
"Trashlynn!?!?" I let my head roll to the heavens as I laugh. "That's what you call them?"
"In my head," she mutters.
I sling an arm over her shoulders. "You are something else, Little Sister. Come on, let's set the show, and then we'll figure out how to sink that Trashlynn ship and change the state of nations. You know...establish some new boundaries."
Kat gives me a hug . "You know what, Leed? You aren't nearly as annoying as I used to think you were."
"Thanks," I say dryly.
She punches me in the arm. "Oh come on. You used to leave sweat stains on me after shows and tell the world I was Little Sister."
"Jesus, how many times do I have to say sorry for that? And you are the only girl that's never treasured a Leed imprint on her shirt. I can't help it if you are an anomaly, when it comes to appreciating the awesomeness of all of me."
"Well, my sister apparently isn't immune like me," she simpers sweetly. "I still haven't heard how last night went."
"And you won't, from me," I assure her. "I'm new to the boyfriend thing, but I'm pretty sure that don't-kiss-and-tell is one of the rules I'm supposed to follow. Ash, on the other hand, probably gets a pass on that with her sister," I muse. "Is that how it works?"
She pats me on the back. "You're doing just fine, so far..."
Just then, that Seb guy breezes into his gallery, dramatically pulling off a scarf. "Well hello, beautiful people!" he beams. He tsks at me, and waves the scarf toward the photos and paintings that are already ensconced on the walls for the show. "Leed Lawson. Why don't I have you on my walls in this campaign? It's a crime. You are so fucking photogenic."
"Naw. This is a del Marco performance," I tell him, moving forward to shake hands as he introduces himself. "How did you like my gift?" his eyes twinkle with mirth.
I smile, knowing exactly what he's talking about. "It was fucking great. Ash said you got that shot in about twenty minutes. You're very talented, to coax that side of her. She's...usually pretty shy."
He shrugs. "The camera sees the truth. Always."
The way he says that makes my third eye burn a little, and I don't know why. There's just something...deeper under his light comment, and it feels...dark, as the words swirl up through my brain. Suddenly I want to tell this guy to never photograph Ashlynn again, if I'm not there to watch out for her.
I think I'm like Kat...this love thing has grown a monster in my chest. I've got to let this jealousy trip go. Possessiveness ain't loving care...it's a chokehold. I know that, from the way it killed what my parents had.
Besides. This dude is not pushing up on Ashlynn. I know that. She's not exactly his type, I don't think.
I rake my hand through my hair, ignoring my instinct, and we all get to work, pitching in with the caterers and setting up the Loving Marc's promotional materials, stuff like that. I guess Seb figures his work as the artist is done, because he disappears into his studio behind the gallery, apparently to paint.
"He's got a new concept show later this fall. It's called Dichotomy, and he's already working hard on it," Kat tells me. "It's all about the two sides of love, or something."
Every time we need to ask Seb a question, Kat has to knock on his studio door, because he's keeping it locked, which is kind of annoying, but eventually, there are no more questions about where she can arrange things, because everything is arranged. Seb breezes out, points to a few handprints on the glass out front, which Kat scurries to clean, and then waves his scarf at us, telling us he'll be back in two hours for the show. "Time to get fabulous," he winks at me. "Can't wait to shoot you tonight in your tux with the new short do," he gestures at my hair. "No pics like that of you, ever. They will be so yummy. Will you let me sell a few? Starving artist and all that..."
I roll my eyes. Honestly I think Seb is more about flirting than trying to broker a photo deal. This gallery doesn't look like he's starving. "Yeah, I don't mind. As long as you donate twenty percent of the earnings back to the campaign. I'll let my publicist know you've got the green light. Do we need a contract?" There's an edge to my voice that even surprises me.
"I think a gentlemen's agreement will do, don't you?" Seb holds out his hand.
Again, my fucking third eye. I ignore it and shake.
Seb smiles an LA smile and breezes out like he breezed in.
Sawyer has brought our stuff over, but we have enough time that I'm about to suggest we just go back to my house and get ready...then disaster strikes. One of the serving people trips on a table cloth and brings a whole table of barware and tapas plates crashing to the floor. Kat nearly has a stroke, but once I get her talked down and we get it all cleaned up and reset, nearly another hour has passed and now we do have to get dressed here. I grab Kat's shit and gesture at the studio door. "Ladies first."
"Damn," Kat says, as she tries the door to the studio. "It's locked and I forgot to ask Seb for the keycode."
"No worries. I saw him punch it in. Good thing I'm observant to details," I tell her. Really it was easy to rememberâ6969. Dude should be less sex-obsessed with his security codes. Nobody would forget that one.
I punch in the four digit code and push open the door for Kat. She walks in and I follow, checking out the back side of the door, looking for a place to hang her gown.
"What the fuck," she hisses and I turn at the alarm in her voice.
There are about a dozen paintings in progress, but Kat is standing in front of a portrait. Immediately, I feel just like she does. What the fuck?
It's a face portrait. Of Ash. Or maybe Kat. I honestly can't tell. They have very similar features and Seb's rendering is not exactly accurate for either of them, but it's very, very beautiful. Like the best of both of them. Ash's shining smile and Kat's mischievous twinkle. Ash's perfect nose and Kat's darker brow.
Like Ash's pure light shining through and Kat's devilish bent, simmering below. Sexy as hell, like the photo Seb shot of Ash, but somehow...naughtier with Kat in the mix.
I walk toward the portrait like it's a siren call.
"I get it. Dichotomy. Angel and devil," I grin at Kat, looking from her to the picture. "The perfect woman. Fucking hell." The painting is freaky but undeniably attractive to me.
These fucking gorgeous sisters. I look at Kat speculatively, for the briefest second wondering how it is with her and Trace.
Then I shut that shit down right away. All that freaky fangirl sharing shit Trace and I did a few times is so over and I would never want it like that with these Ballard girls.
No fucking way would I share. Nor would he.
But goddamn. The rock star inside still sneaks up on me sometimes. I shake my head to loosen his hold on my thoughts.
Kat blinks at me. For the first time ever, I see her color up like Ash. I guess she saw the freak in my eyes. Shit, I didn't mean to embarrass her. I swing away easily, giving her some space so it doesn't get weird.
I walk around behind this portrait to look at a larger one facing the back wall. For a long moment, I stare at it, nearly unable to comprehend what I'm seeing, because it doesn't make sense to me.
Then I understand. Another exercise in dichotomy.
Love and loathing.
And Kat and Ash are the subject again.
It's a painting done in the photorealistic style Seb works in, so just like the portrait, it looks very very real.
A portrait of woman, facing a mirror, with a man who looks enraptured, standing behind her, reaching a gentle, loving hand to touch her back. In his reflection in the mirror the guy looks like a mix of Street and Trace. From the back, the girl is Katâthere's no mistaking her dark hair coiled on the back of her head, or the henna tats that she was decorated with last summer.
But Kat is looking in the mirror and the reflection staring back at her is one hundred percent her sister. Ashlynn's face, her hair, her beautiful bare breasts that I've only seen once but would know anywhere.
He's captured the exactl golden hue of Ash's skin, but her expression...I've never seen her look like that. Bleak. Devastated. Hopeless. Her eyes are directed downward in the mirror. She's looking at her naked self, a word scrawled vertically down her left ribs in red, angry slash marks.
A word cut into her flesh with a sharp object, but from the look in her eyes, seared into her soul like a brand.
WHORE
At first, the feelings inside me don't match the word. I don't feel disgust or even pity for Ash.
I feel...kinship with her and disdain for a word that means fucking nothing anymore.
In this world where everyone wants to be sexy, and use their appeal to get ahead, we are all whores to a degree. The difference is...a lot of us ambitious, reaching whores don't lose our power in the deal, so the world thinks it's okay. They call us a rock star, a porn star, an entrepreneur, an influencer, whatever. When a woman makes bad choices or even when she doesn't--but if she loses her own self-determination in a bad power exchange, people get scared they might find themselves that far down, too. And fear breeds hate, so they call her a whore.
I'm no different than anyone else really. The longer I stare at the word, the more fear starts to creep into my heart. Fear that Ashlynn believes herself to be the word carved into her flesh. Because someone told her she was. And that makes me hate. Makes me rage.
I close my eyes, twirl from the picture and stalk over to the computer imaging area in the corner of the studio. That idiotic fucking dumbass uses the same password for his screen protector.
"What are you doing?" Kat says in alarm, scurrying over behind me. I ignore her, because the series he shot of Ashlynn in her apartment comes to life on the the large series of monitors. He's blown up one, not of Ashlynn, but of Kat, holding a reflector and sticking out her tongue at him. Dozens of enhanced versions of this one photo line the bottom of the screen and I choose the one that's focused on a reflection in the glass cabinet behind Kat.
Seb's good with photo-editing software. He's expanded that picture up and enhanced it over and over until he clarified Ashlynn's reflection in the glass. She's crouched, her arms reached out, trying to straighten her robe. Her left side is exposed and it looks exactly like Seb's rendition in the painting.
An angry, hateful, horrible word cut into her pure flesh. A darkness, infecting her light.
"Motherfucker," I growl. I turn to look at Kat. "I will kill him." I don't even know who I mean. Seb? Or whoever caused this? Because even if Ash did that to herself...someone caused it. Someone tried to make her believe it.
Kat is holding her hands over mouth. "Is that real? Not some camera trick?" she gasps.
"It's real. I knew there was...something she doesn't want anyone to see. She hides it. From me. From you. From everyone. But Trace knows about it. From the hospital, after her car wreck. That must have been what they were talking about this morning."
Kat is still staring at the picture, but I can't look at it anymore. If I do, I'm going to go fucking crazy and trash this whole goddamn studio.
"Did she...I mean...it looks like..."
"I don't know." I say. "Was she ever a cutter?" I ask bluntly, because I know that's what Kat is asking.
"Not that I know," Kat whispers. "But...surely...I mean...how could someone else...do that? If she did it, it's sad and awful. If someone else did it..."
"Then they are fucking dead, when I find out who," I tell her.
I pull out my phone and dial Riley. "Yeah, boss?" he says casually.
"Just a head's up. Minutes ago, I broke into a secured space in Seb Morrigan's Art Gallery and I'm about to destroy his private property. When I see him in an hour, I'm probably going to kick his ass. You might want to call the lawyers."
"Bloody fucking hell, Leed," Riley spits. "What the fuck is going on?"
"Anybody that fucks with Ashlynn fucks with me, that's what's going on." I hang up, delete all the pictures on the computer, access his online storage drive and make sure they are gone from there too. After that I'm impatient, so I don't bother checking his camera. I just pull the storage card from it and smash the camera on the ground, crushing it into small parts. I stride back over to the life-sized painting. Kat follows, seeing it for the first time.
"That motherfucker!" she screams in horror. "What the fuck?"
"I take it this is your little henna party with Street," I say dryly.
"Oh my fucking god," she whispers. "I...I thought I deleted those pictures. Oh my god." She traces the word on Ashlynn's reflection. "This...is...so...wrong."
"Your friend Seb? He seems to think so highly of you, Katheryn," I say coldly. "Get the back door for me, okay?" I pick up the painting and tuck it under my arm.
"What are you going to do?"
I pull a lighter from my pocket and flick it. "Ash is never seeing this. Trace either, because he does not need a visual of you and his brother."
Kat's face hardens into determination. She goes over to a work table and grabs a bottle of paint thinner. "I'm doing the honors."
"Fuck yeah, you are," I tell her and I toss the painting into the parking lot behind his gallery. Kat doesn't even hesitate as she pours the flammable liquid on it. I hand her my Zippo.
She flips open the cover, strikes the flame and tosses it down on the painting, not even flinching as the conflagration ignites.
Both of us stand there, burning, just like the painting.
Well...we finally see Seb's game. He's ruthless in the pursuit of his art. He'll do anything to achieve his artistic vision...even exploit his "friends." But he's pitted himself against a Lion, now. How do you think the evening is going to go?
Don't fear...I have a feeling Matt del Marco will be in the next chapter, don't you? Should be good show...