Page 86 of Dare To Take

No.

This is going to end in a confrontation I’ve been desperate to avoid. This is so fucked up, but I have no choice but to comply with the instructions.

My gaze darts around the room, and I search for a way to complete my order.

In the far corner, clay sculptures are drying on a shelf above a couple of pottery wheels. There are drawing tables and workbenches. The studio has it all. My eyes settle on the paint that’s been left out on a table.

With a shaky breath and fear slithering through my veins like poison, I cross the room. Tension burns through my limbs, and I’m sure that everybody is watching me. I fill the free spaces in the palette I’m holding with bright colors—red, orange, blue, and purple.

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Linda watching me, so I linger at the table until she looks away. Then, palette clutched between my fingers, I walk back across the room. Just as I reach Eli, I make a show of stumbling. Throwing my hands forward, I slam right into him. The palette full of paint hits the back of his hoodie with a wet splat.

He recoils, head snapping up. “What the fuck?”

“I’m sorry. I tripped.”

I reach for the palette, peel it off and grimace at the bright paint streaks staining the dark material.

“Bullshit. You did that on purpose.” Eli twists to scowl at the mess over his shoulder. “This is my favorite fucking hoodie, and you know it. I didn’t think you were such a fucking spiteful little bitch.”

If looks could kill, I’d be dead right now from the way Eli’s eyes are boring into me. The expression on his face sends chills down my spine. His fingers curl into the front of my top and he hauls me toward him.

Mr. Mclntyre appears between us.

“Mr. Travers, that’s enough.” He taps Eli’s wrist with his fingers. “Let her go.”

“I-I’m so-sorry.” I back away.

The teacher frowns. “Return to your easel, Miss Gray, and stay there, please.”

“Yes, sir.” I lower my head and scuttle back to my place. My heart bangs against my ribs like a trapped bird. Guilt and dread for what Eli will do in response makes me nauseous.

My phone vibrates. I have to wait until the teacher isn’t watching before I can read the message.

Unknown number: You failed. Strike one against you, Arabella. You know what that means, don’t you? Bad girls get punished.

Chapter 55

Eli

I peel the hoodie over my head and toss it onto the bench behind me. Arabella is back behind her easel, brush strokes moving over whatever she’s painting. Her eyes are on me, though, and every time I move, she flinches.

She’s expecting me to retaliate. And I will. But not in any way she’s expecting.

When the class is over, I take my painting off the easel and walk over to where Arabella is cleaning her brushes. Leaning past her, I prop it on the shelf above the sink in front of her.

“Really should have aimed for the painting instead of my hoodie,” I whisper and walk away, grabbing my hoodie as I pass it.

The outraged gasp reaches me as I step through the door, and I smile to myself.

The painting I’ve spent the class working on is of Arabella bent over the pew in the old chapel, jeans around her ankles and red handprints covering her ass. I’ve written the title in bold red paint across the top.

The Whore’s Prayer.

I’m down by the lockers before she catches up to me. Her fingers curl around my arm and I let her pull me around to face her.

“Eli, I—”

I twist free of her grip, grab her shoulders, and slam her back against the lockers. She hits them with a thud.

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