Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 78295 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78295 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
I made sure she ate, got her to drink, showered her that one time. I put her to bed and woke her up. I reminded her to use the bathroom.
And through it all, she had no clue it was me.
“I’m a little worried about all this.” Ren glances at me, his frown deep. “She painted for five days and you did nothing but watch her.”
“That’s not true. I went into the office.”
“Once. You went in once. What’s it gonna be like if she’s doing this all the time, huh? You’ve got other responsibilities.”
I force myself to relax my jaw. He’s right, and getting pissed won’t help anything. “It won’t be like this again. We’ll go slower.”
He snorts, looking amused. “You really fucking think Frost is gonna ease up? Now that he knows the girl can make something like that—” He nods at the painting, covered by a cloth. “—that’s his golden goose. His damn cash cow. He’s gonna keep on pushing her until she breaks down. That’s his goal from the start.”
“I won’t let him,” I say but a voice whispers that Ren’s right. Frost wants money, and he wants the girl dead. What better way to do it than to torture her with her own art? It’s actually kind of beautiful, but terrible all the same.
“Don’t forget what matters,” Ren warns.
And as we approach the meeting spot, I wonder what he means by that. If the family should be my focus, or if it’s Hellie that means the world.
Frost is waiting with three of his goons near a few empty tables next to the poker room. It’s a comfortable sitting room meant for the high-rollers, but it’s currently empty and semi-private. A squirrelly-looking man with a bald head and a tweed coat shifts from foot to foot, staring around him like a monster might jump from the shadows.
“Erick, how wonderful,” Frost says, shaking my hand. “That’s it?”
“That’s it.” I turn the painting towards them, still covered.
“This is my art guy, Dr. Pedro Scratch.”
“You go to med school, huh, Doc?” Ren asks, giving him a vicious smile.
“Ah, no,” Pedro says, wilting somewhat. “I have a PhD in Art History from Yale.”
“Great, I’ll keep that in mind the next time I get stabbed.”
Frost waves Ren off. “Pedro here is going to tell me whether this scheme’s going to work. Isn’t that correct, Pedro?”
“Ah, I can take a look, but—”
“Good,” I say and pull off the cloth. “Have at it.”
Pedro’s jaw drops. He stares at Hellie’s masterpiece for a solid two minutes, saying nothing, not even moving. Frost is entranced too, along with the goons. Even Ren shifts around to get a better look, and I catch a few random passersby craning their necks to gawk.
Pride swells in me. Pride and fear. I knew the painting was good, but maybe it’s too good, and what Ren said is about to happen. Frost will see dollar signs, and nothing else will matter.
“It’s incredible,” Pedro whispers, looking up at me with panic in his eyes. “Are you sure this is a forgery? This isn’t some kind of test?”
“It’s fake,” I confirm. “I watched her do it.”
“Remarkable.”
“Will it pass?” Frost presses.
“Any expert in the world would be fooled. If I hadn’t been told, I would’ve assumed you had the real thing.” He hesitates, frowning as he squints. “If these paints are all historically accurate, and they certainly look like they are—well, I don’t see how anyone could ever tell. Remarkable. Absolutely remarkable.”
I cover the painting again and Pedro looks visibly shaken as he sits down.
“Looks like we have a deal going,” Frost says, accepting the painting from me. He passes it off to a goon who carries it gingerly away followed by Pedro. I briefly wonder if the poor art doctor knows too much, but it isn’t my problem. “I’ll get in touch with my buyer.”
“Does Gallo know what to do?”
Frost looks guilty as he shrugs. “I didn’t plan on mentioning anything.”
I glare at him for a beat before stepping closer. “Bring Gallo in.”
“He’s useless. And kind of annoying.”
“I don’t care. Bring him in. We’re not stealing from one of our own.”
Frost grunts, not looking happy. “Fine. Now, if this sale goes well, I’ll want another.”
“You’ll get another on our timeline.”
“Not good enough.” Frost stares at me and I feel a prickle on my neck. “I need another.”
“She’ll get at least two months per painting,” I say, not backing down. “I’m not going to work her to death.”
“Two weeks at most. If we can keep her working, imagine how much we stand to make. If they’re even half as good as that—”
“One month. No more negotiating. She’ll have her own choice over what she paints, and she’ll get a month to do it. We split the cost of whatever materials she requests. And once her debt is paid, the girl goes free.”