Chapter 14

14

Colver

I owe her nothing.

Let's be honest about that.

I know she gave herself to me, which is what I wanted out of our arrangement but when you count the amount of orgasms and how sweet and soaked the blankets are in my cabin, I'd say it's a fair trade.

Her delicious cunt has stained my cock for a long time, if not forever.

And I'll never have her again.

I can't allow it. Ever.

I lock the cabin door behind me, leaving the place as is.

Call me whatever you want, but I have someone who will take care of the mess for me. She lives nearby and owns a small cleaning business. She's thorough as hell and will even do some grocery shopping for me if I know in advance that I'm coming up to the cabin.

Plus, I pay her five times what she wants to charge.

That's not important to anything in this story as I walk to my truck.

I see Abrielle sitting in the passenger seat. Such a beautiful look in her eyes. That post-sex glow shining enough that I need sunglasses if I'm going to keep looking at her.

I can feel that slight cling happening.

Hence the reason why the great fuck was part of a deal and will never happen again.

Now, down to some sense of business.

Abrielle's paintings.

I know nothing of her life, her business, her gallery, or her artwork.

I can only go by what she tells me.

As soon as I start my truck, I turn and look at her.

"Do you have a copy of all your contracts? Leases and all that?"

"I actually do," she says. "For as messy as I am, I have that stuff in order."

"Can I see?"

"You want to see…"

"No. Better yet, forward it all to me. Email."

"You want me to email you some of my most personal information?"

"Yup. I'm going to steal your identity and then buy a house in Italy with it."

"Fuck you."

"Already did that," I say. "On the couch. Remember that? When you couldn't even take my huge cock?"

I curl my lip.

Abrielle is disgusted with me.

Good. Be disgusted, kitten.

Do not… look at me the way you are…

"This is what I'm thinking, Abrielle," I say. "I can beat the piss out of this clown for you. No issues there. But legally and contractually, nothing changes. But if you forward me your information I will text my lawyer and have him do something. Maybe some nasty letter or suggest someone who can help. You know? Scare the pants off this guy."

"The word lawyer makes me cringe," she says. "Expensive…"

"Just see what my guy has to say first," I say. "If something can be done."

She nods. "Fine."

As she starts to mess with her phone, I start to drive.

Before I hit the main road I slow down, then stop.

My hands tighten on the steering wheel.

"You haven't told me what happened with your arm."

"Oh," she says. "Yeah. Right now?"

"Right fucking now."

I turn off the truck, then fold my arms.

"I told you we were arguing," she says. "He's said stuff to me before about getting… physical. Threatening me. He kind of would do this fake lunge at me. The first few times it scared me, which was good enough for him. I got used to it. I stopped flinching. Well, this time when he did it, I laughed at him. He lunged again, but this time there was a bad look in his eyes. He wanted to hurt me, Colver. I moved out of the way, grabbed a piece of a frame and swung it at him. The corner almost cut his neck. It scared me how close I had come to doing something really bad. I stepped back and tripped over a piece of frame that had fallen onto the floor. I fell back, reached out and cut myself on a really big and sharp knife. It sliced my arm, then I freaked out and ran."

"All that and you decided to come looking for me," I say.

"That's the story."

"And what has this clown done since then?"

"You want to see the texts?"

"He texts. Right. Seems like the type that would text. Okay."

I picture the scene in my head.

Now I am not going to sit and play judge and jury over Abrielle and her life.

But…

Now I am also not the nicest guy in the world myself. I am miserable and mean and I don't give a fuck what anyone thinks about that. I will spout off at the mouth and say stuff that hurts, but whatever I say is the damn truth. Or at least my version of it.

But to threaten a woman? To say you're going to… hurt… with your bare hands or something else…

That kind of shit does make my blood boil.

Now whether I like it or not, there's a simple fact in all of this and it's that Abrielle Mallory matters to me.

Now before everyone goes and gets all mushy and their panties get all wet, I'm not saying she matters to me in a romantic way.

It's just that our paths crossed at one point in time.

It's just that her mother is a total fucking flake…

I open my mouth ready to ask her about her mother.

What the fuck, Colver? You're not here to get to know her.

"It's been tough," Abrielle whispers. "I know I did this to myself. I'm not blaming anyone. I just…" She blinks fast. "How long does someone have to pay when it comes to a mistake?"

"Depends on the mistake, kitten," I say.

I start the truck back up and begin to drive again.

I already have a plan in mind to help her.

I stand outside the gallery and really can't believe my eyes.

It's not that I doubt Abrielle… but then again… why not doubt her?

From what I see here though she really chased after her dream.

There are large paintings in the windows.

They don't mean a thing to me but from what I remember of seeing Abrielle painting, it's definitely her style.

I take a deep breath and can't believe what I'm about to do.

Defend Abrielle again.

Save Abrielle again.

I pull on the door and get hit with the smell of paint, paper, and some kind of subtle incense.

The gallery smells like Abrielle.

I take a few steps and look around.

There's artwork everywhere in here.

On the walls. Hanging on wires from the ceiling.

Some pieces are halfway done. Those are more toward the back.

I walk halfway across the floor and stop when I see someone.

I instantly know it's Simon.

He's short. In a suit. Perfect hair. Eyes that prey.

"Hey there," he calls out to me. "Can I help you?"

Simon slips his hands into his pockets.

No intention of shaking my hand.

Meaning this little prick is insecure as fuck around someone like me.

Just from my sheer size.

I lumber toward him. "Who painted all these?"

"Name is on the artwork," Simon says.

"Your name?"

"No. I can't take credit for any of these. I was the kid who couldn't even color in the lines. Get what I'm saying?"

"Right. So what do you do here?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Do you work here? Are you a cashier? Accountant?"

"I'm… I don't really understand what you're asking…" Simon lifts an eyebrow. "Are you looking for the owner of the building? If so, that's me. Are you selling something?"

"I'm in the market to buy."

"This building?"

"All these paintings," I say.

Simon laughs.

I don't.

He stops laughing.

"Something wrong?" I ask.

"Who are you?"

"A paying customer. I want everything in here. Right now."

"I'm not sure it… I would have to…"

"Name your price," I say. I step closer to him. "One way or another I'm leaving this gallery with everything in it. Everything. Finished. Half finished. Notebooks. Notes. Ideas. Get what I'm saying, Simon?"

His eyes go wide.

I can't imagine what must be going through his head right now.

"With all due to respect to the artist, I think it's only fair we-"

"Don't preach fairness to me," I say. "Don't make this into something else. I can snap your neck like a fucking pencil."

"Did you just threaten me?"

"If telling you the truth is threatening…"

"Okay, I don't know what this is, but…"

He's scared. Panicking. Scrambling.

I reach for my pocket and he jumps back.

"Oh, don't hurt me!" Simon cries out.

"Just getting a credit card," I say. "Going to use my best one for points. This is a big purchase. What are you thinking, Simon? Six figures? Right on the dot, maybe?"

"You're being serious right now," he whispers.

"I'm a fan of this artwork. And when I see something I want, I don't like to wait for it. And I don't like when someone stands in my way of what I want. It gets me angry. Makes me feel…"

Simon is blinking fast.

He hurries behind a small counter.

"Look at it logically," I say. "If I'm the kind of guy that can walk into a gallery and buy everything in sight, do you really want to fuck with me? Let's say I reach over and snap your neck. Then what? You think you can outpower me legally? Who's to say you didn't trip and fall. Get hurt that way, right?"

"It might take me a while to write all this up," Simon says. "To inventory…"

"Nope," I say. "You swipe my card as a sale and I take everything with me."

"That will take-"

"That's not your worry," I say. "Run the sale and then the gallery is obviously closed for now. You go out back, make some calls, do whatever you want."

"How exactly do you plan on getting all this stuff out of here?" Simon asks.

I place my credit card on the counter.

I curl my lip at him. "Don't worry about my fucking business."

"We've done some weird things, but this…"

"Just help me get it into the truck," I growl at Dax. "And be careful."

"Since when are you an art collector?" Rhett asks.

"Part of helping me with this is keeping your mouths shut," I say.

"Where are you taking all these?" Dax asks.

I stop and take a deep breath.

Faust, Turner, and Ben weren't available to help me in a pinch.

So I'm stuck with Dax and Rhett and their damn million questions.

Granted, I get why they're asking me this stuff.

"You want to know what this is?" I ask. "Some woman I want to fuck is into this art stuff so I'm buying it all so she'll sleep with me."

"Really?" Dax asks with a big smile.

"No," I say.

"Yeah, there's no way you'd do that," Rhett says. "This is something else. This is a favor or something."

"Someone from his past," Dax says to Rhett.

"Definitely," Rhett says. "An old flame. A fling. Maybe like one of those things where she was super-hot and he was ugly and now he wants to show off or something."

"But then it would be for sex," Dax says.

I let out a loud rumble inside my chest as I walk into the gallery for one last look around.

We cleaned the place out in no time.

My gigantic charge on the credit card warranted a call from the credit card company and from my accountant.

This is absolute insanity for me.

As much as I want to snap Simon's neck like a pencil, this is the more realistic way to handle things.

Abrielle gets what she wants.

She gets her paintings and she gets distance from Simon.

I got what I wanted in return.

Do I want more of her? Of course I fucking do.

But I know better.

I'm going to unload all this artwork at her place and then be done with it all.

It's all fair and done.

Her artwork is back in her hands.

I have the taste of sweet cunt lingering on my tongue.

And I didn't have to physically hurt anyone.