The Butcher of the Bay Part II - J. Bree Page 0,70
down and beg for her to sit on my face until I’ve eaten my fill of her.
“Baby girl, I don’t know what happened but whatever it is, I’m fucking glad you’re happy.” My voice is rough, just a little too much emotion there for me to be completely comfortable, but that smile of hers just gets bigger at the sound.
“Something did happen, mon Monstre.” She looks nervous and flighty as she speaks, her hands moving a little too much as the sultry confidence melts away.
Fuck.
That’s not what I wanted my words to do to her and already I miss the mood she was in, the absence of it so fucking obvious now I’ve caught a glimpse.
When she bites her lip I growl at her, a deep rumble in my chest as I tug it out from between her teeth.
“Just get it out, baby girl. Tell me whatever’s upsetting you so we can go back to being happy. Lemme fix it.”
She grins and rolls her eyes. “I don’t need you fixing anything for me, mon Monstre. I just… I finished the painting.”
My eyes narrow at her and she nods in return. “I know. I know you told me to leave it alone but I had to get it out. I didn’t just paint Alcatron and his men either. I painted Maya too, to help you track her down. I know you were unhappy to miss her with the rest of the cartel. I have them all there for you. Hopefully it will make it easier for you to find them.”
She sounds so fucking proud of herself that I don’t have the heart to tell her I already have photos of them all. This way I’ll be able to double-check them, make sure we have the right targets and don’t miss anyone when I go hunting for her.
“Show me, baby. Show me who I’m bleeding out for you.”
She takes my hand and leads me over to the side of the couch. Her easel is set up so the painting is facing her favorite window, away from the rest of the room. I’m glad, I didn’t want their faces to ruin my moment with her earlier. Fuck, the joy that was there still has my chest aching so bad I wanna rub at my chest to shift the feeling.
I drop the bag of food on the dining table as we pass it and pull her more securely into my side as we walk. She’s still too nervous for my liking but at my touch some of the tension melts away from her.
I guess I have been too pissed off about this process for her. She must have known how pissed I’ve been, known that I’ve been teetering on the edge of burning the canvas before she had time to finish it.
I want her to have the healing that the process is giving her but fuck, knowing that’s what this is hasn’t made it any fucking easier. I’d take every last drop of her pain for her, bear it all and leave her whole and happy.
That’s my fucking mission from here out.
Keep her safe. Keep her happy.
Keep her in my fucking bed.
I lean back against the expansive glass window, her back pressed against my chest as she tucks her head under my chin. I breathe her in for one last second before I look at it, enjoying the moment of her in my arms, safe and whole and only moments away from being that shining girl again.
Then I open my eyes and look at the fucking painting.
She’s talented. Fucking incredible really, it looks almost like a photo but more… real. Three dimensional, the paint layered up until it’s coming off of the canvas at us both. If I just look at the colors and the images without thinking of the people behind them then fuck, it’s definitely a work of art.
I can’t separate them like that.
When I look at the entire thing and not the pieces of it, the rage starts all over again like a fist smashing its way into my chest and clenching around my heart, squeezing at it until I’m about to scream the fury out.
I keep my mouth shut.
I don’t need to scare her off, I just need to bear witness to this fucking thing with her right now. I just need to hold her and acknowledge that this shit happened to her. That these men took something away from her and now she’s taking it back from them.