Page 57 of Broken Skulls

“She might have your talent, but she will never be like you.”

“You’re so sure.”

“She paints sunsets and dragonflies, and –” I say, holding up my hand, “she uses paint.”

The smirk on his face makes my stomach drop.

“Did you talk to her?” I ask again, more desperate than before. My gut churns at the thought of him anywhere near her.

“Kneel, and I will answer you.”

As much as I hate it, I do it for her.

Anything for her.

He leans forward as much as his binds allow. His nose brushes over the top of my head as he inhales my scent. “You and our daughter are the only living things I’ve ever loved.”

I close my eyes and bite the inside of my cheek so hard I taste blood. To a bystander his sentiment might sound sweet, but what he means is that he loves dead things, and we are the only two living things he’s ever loved.

He must smell the blood pooling in my mouth and his nose slides down, hovering by the corner of my lips. “Such a good girl. So loyal,” he whispers. “I know you’ll be loyal to our little girl, too. You’ve always protected me and her from the world.”

That’s not what I did …

Her. I protectedher. I wasn’t protecting him. Was I? No. It was always for her. He’s fucking with my head.

He enjoys my internal struggle.

“I didn’t talk to her,” he whispers. “But that doesn’t mean she isn’t like me.”

There is no way. She’s sweet. I saw her with my own eyes. I talked to her. She’s not evil. She’s beautiful …

I open my eyes, leaning away from him.

He’s still gorgeous, his dark hair now peppered white. My gaze bounces over his face. He’s just a man. A sick, sick man. I always wondered why he left me alone and never pursued me. Now I know. He’s delusional. He thinks I’ve been protecting him.

“I did it for her … not you,” I choke out, standing.

Jesse and Jacob return. She walks around Mr. Baxter, letting her blood red nails trail through his hair as she assesses him. “Why is it always the pretty ones?” she tsks.

He leans away from her. Mr. Baxter doesn’t like being touched.

Jacob wraps his arms around me, resting his chin on my shoulder.

“Mr. Baxter is an artist, too,” I tell her.

She continues to stare at him. “So, he’s responsible for the painting outside?”

“It’s his most prized piece.”

“Clever, a painting inside a painting.” She squats in front of him, tapping her finger over her mouth. “Would you like me to recreate it?”

Mr. Baxter and I continue to stare at each other.

He turns his focus on her, giving her an evil smile that would make most people recoil, but not Jesse. “I would love for you to use my blood to paint her. What a wonderful way to die,” he says.

Jacob remains calm, but I can feel him tense against me.

She tips her head back and laughs loudly. “You’re delusional if you think I’d torture that poor woman any more than you already have. Besides, I’m not going to paint her.Youare going to be the center of attention in this piece. I’m going to call it “Death of an Asshole.” She looks over her shoulder. “Bring the painting in.”

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