SECRETS & LIES 7 (Secrets & Lies #7) - H.M. Ward Page 0,27
is your final painting.”
“What are you talking about?” I inch back toward the door, ready to bolt. Josh needs help before he bleeds out and dies on the floor.
“You had all that drama with your mother stealing your first boyfriend, and then you became a slut. Your behavior was so erratic, so completely unhinged that this last part will stun everyone into silence. Come here, Kerry. I have a blank canvas for you. It’ll be your final work before you die, and one of the most evocative suicide notes ever created. You’ll be famous in a deranged kind of way, but isn’t that what all artists want? To be recognized?”
His voice is level and unafraid. I race toward the door, but Scott blocks it and grabs me by the neck. He drags me across the room, my arms ripping at his grip on my neck. I slip in Josh’s blood and smear it across the floor. He shoves me into an easel and commands, “Grab that blank canvas and put it on the easel.”
I do it, shaking so hard I nearly drop the thing. “Scott, you’re not like this. You don’t want to do this.” I try to talk him out of it, but I’m trembling so hard I can barely speak. It feels like time slowed to a chokingly unhurried speed. As my eyes sweep the room looking for a way out, any means to call for help, I come up empty. Josh is going to die, and when they find my dead body next to his, everyone will think I did it. It’ll kill Beth. And Nate… I never got to apologize. I never got a chance to tell him I love him. Tears sting my eyes and roll down my cheeks even though I wish they wouldn’t. I wanted to be strong, to be fearless but I’m not. At my core, I’m a coward.
Fingers covered in red paint snap in front of my face. “Kerry, move or I’ll make you.”
Reality cracks back into focus making me sick. My stomach churns nervously, threatening to spew its contents. Every hair on my body is on end, and my muscles are screaming to run or fight. Standing here frozen, doing nothing, goes against their wishes and the tiny jerky movements I make aren’t part of the plan. Scott grips my arm and shoves me toward the blank canvases.
“Take one,” he growls.
I place my hand in a vertical slot between the cabinets that holds unused canvases and pull one out. The bumpy texture of the weave of the fabric feels like needles in the pads of my fingers. My heart slams into my ribs rapidly and rings in my ears. I pull out the blank painting and put it where he wants.
Without warning, Scott breaks a glass that was holding dirty paintbrushes. The sound makes me jump, and it’s not until I see the shard of glass and his hand coming at me that I realize what he’s doing. I turn to run and take off for the door. My hand is on the knob, but as soon as I yank the door open, it's slammed shut and I’m shoved against it.
Back to Scott, he pins me in place and hisses in my ear, “I would have been quick about it, after all, you were just in the wrong place at the wrong time, but fuck that.”
He jerks my wrists and whirls me around, then ties them together in front of me. “What are you doing?” My voice is strained, so choked I can barely hear it.
Scott reaches for the broken piece of glass he laid on the counter, but this time he doesn’t release me. When he has it in hand, he comes at me, jabbing the shard at my face. I flinch expecting to feel pain in my eyes, but that’s not what happens. For a moment there’s nothing and then a warm drip on my cheek followed by searing pain. I scream. It’s not weak or barely audible. It’s a high-pitched, dog-deafening, glass-shattering screech. Surprise flashes in Scotts eyes. He mutters as he grabs a rag and shoves it in my mouth, silencing me.
I can’t breathe like this. I go to spit it out, but he warns me, “I swear to God, I’ll tape your mouth shut and make things a lot worse if you make a fucking sound.”
With that, he grabs my hand and slashes the piece of glass across my fingertips. Bright red blood rises up