Mismatch - By Nana Malone Page 0,59

no doubt. But he's made a fatal error. Like you said, every forger you’ve ever known can’t help but to sign his work.”

Samson's eyes flared. “Spit it out, Eli. What’s going on?”

“All I want to know is why you would do this again. After everything we risked to bring you back. To get you healthy. Why would you throw it all away again? Why would you do this to me? You know I'd have to be the one to catch you.”

“Are you fucking kidding me, right now?” Sam crossed his arms and planted his feet apart.

Eli recognized the challenge and stood to meet it. “I wish I was kidding you, Sam.” He shook his head. “Just fucking tell me one thing. When did you start using again? Why would you do this?”

The roaring anger vibrated through his body. He saw Samson's fist clench, but was too late to gauge the swing until the force of his brother's fist connected with his jaw.

Chapter 18

Eli's muscles moved like sludge through a meat grinder as he drove to the Z Con Studio. Since his little confrontation with Samson, he hadn’t been able to think or see straight. It didn't make matters any better that Samson was in complete silence mode. He'd texted to say the pieces were ready for the exhibition and where Eli should pick them up, but there was no salutation, no nothing. Like Eli could blame him. His jaw still smarted and had turned a nice shade of purple.

Sam had said he wasn’t using. He’d said the forgeries weren't his. But how the hell was Eli supposed to believe that given Sam’s history? Given everything they'd been through? Eli wanted to take him at his word, but once an addict always an addict. It was too hard to trust him. It would be dangerous for both of them if he did. Eli had already risked his career to help his brother. He was risking everything by not telling Vince of his suspicions. If Vince dug any further, he'd find Sam’s sealed records, and he'd figure it all out.

Eli trailed the delivery truck to the side entrance of Z Con's studio and parked at the same time as the moving guys parked. Climbing out of his car, he gave them brief instructions before heading for the front door.

Even before he had his hand on the knob, Jessica was sprinting out to the side of the house. “Let me see them, let me see them! I can’t believe you kept these away from me for this long.” Her eyes narrowed as she got a good look at him. “What the hell happened to you?”

“Nothing. Took a stray punch doing something for Vince.”

He chuckled as he followed her. She still wore neon, but it was in a somewhat muted outfit than he was used to seeing on her. A simple dress that flared over her hips accentuating her slim waist. She looked very vintage pin-up.

As the men set up, she stepped around every piece, assessing, exploring, sometimes seemingly getting lost in a piece before moving on to the next one. She did that for every single painting. He drank in her obvious joy. She looked at every one as if she was examining them merely for the enjoyment of the work. Not in a professional capacity or a critical way, but because she seemed to like it.

When she stepped in front of the last piece, her hand flew to her chest. “Eli, is this your mother?”

Because she blocked his view, he didn’t see the painting until after he walked right up behind her. His breath stopped. Yes, it was his mother. This was new. Probably what Samson was painting the other night when Eli had wrecked their family bonds for good. The photo was haunting in its elegance, but the eyes were strong and fierce like she was ready to do battle. And she had. Right up until she died of a heart attack, she'd fought to keep Samson clean. It was only fitting that he painted what looked like his final memory of her.

Eli cleared his throat. “Yes, that’s my mother.”

“She's beautiful. What fierce love in her face. It’s visceral and palpable. It's outstanding.”

He wanted to beam with pride in Samson’s work. But the compliment felt hollow. Only because he wasn’t the one who should be receiving it. What the hell could he say to her? He only nodded.

She looked around him. “What’s that?”

The movers rolled in one more piece mounted to