Page 3 of Dare To Live

I shake my head. “I’m not interested in having them displayed. You know that.”

Miles pulls a face. “I find them disturbing. I’m not sure how you can make them at all. It’s morbid and morose.”

Do they bring the demons he lives with closer to the surface? Do the colors of the glass stir the trauma from when we lost a loved one?

We both wear our scars differently.

“I won’t push,” Ivan’s voice holds a note of disappointment. “But the offer is open.” He smiles then, and his tone changes, becomes brighter. “That wasn’t the reason I came over. I want you both to come with me and take a look at the artist’s private collection. He allows it to be displayed, but refuses to sell any of the pieces, no matter how much he is offered for them. They are exquisite and …” Something crosses his expression, gone before I can identify it. “Well, come and see for yourself.”

I let him lead me away from the painting. “They aren’t being sold?”

“No, as I said, the artist refuses to part with them. I think you will find them very interesting. I know I do.”

Miles keeps pace with us. “I didn’t know there was another part of the exhibition.”

Ivan’s smile is indulgent. “I decided to put this display in a separate room. I haven’t opened the doors to our guests yet. I wanted you to see them first.”

A few of the patrons glance our way, calling out greetings to Ivan. He acknowledges them with a few words and a nod of his head but doesn’t stop to chat. The room he takes us to is on the other side of the gallery. He hesitates for a second, one hand resting against the handle, and looks back at me.

“I would be very interested in your thoughts on these,” he says, and opens the door.

When I step inside, my attention goes immediately to the paintings hanging on the walls. I expect to see something visceral and macabre like the rest of the artwork on display. Instead, the past I’ve been living in the shadow of comes rushing back, hitting me full force.

I stare at the image of the boy on the canvas. His messy hair and laughing gray eyes. That ever-present smile that suggested everything around him was there purely to entertain him. A boy who’d been my friend. The drawing is so raw and real, I half expect him to turn his head and wink at me.

Emotions hit me hard. My throat is tight, tears are burning like acid at the backs of my eyes.

Miles inhales sharply beside me. “Oh my god, that’s—”

“Kellan.” I finish for him.

My gaze jerks to the next painting. This one is of an eighteen-year-old girl. She’s sitting on a wooden bench, a book in her lap, her expression amused as she watches something out of view.

Zoey.

I can’t look away.

I sway, clutching at the padlock around my neck. The third piece of art fills my vision.

My face, only it’s ten years younger. I’m reaching up, skin flushed with color, lips parted, and eyes still heavy from post-orgasmic bliss. The bruises and teeth marks on my neck and shoulder are dark against my pale skin.

My monster.

These are Eli’s. How are they here? Why are they here?

Ivan frowns down at me. “Are you okay? You’re as pale as a ghost.”

All the emotion of a minute ago slips away, leaving me numb.

“I need to go.” My voice is shaky.

He turns as I push past him, his expression morphing from concern to confusion.

“Wait. Bella?” He reaches out and catches my arm. “I thought you might know the artist as you’re featured in his work.”

“Who is he?” I know who he is. “What is his name?”

“I was hoping you could tell me. He sells under the name Sin.”

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