Page 74 of Painter's Obsession

I strip slowly, savoring the moment. The black thermal falls first, then the cargo pants and boots. Finally, I shed my boxers, standing exposed under the harsh studio light.

For a fleeting instant, we are equals—two beings stripped bare, bound by chains, one physical and the other mental. But only for an instant.

Byron’s eyes burn with fury and helplessness, his chains rattling as he shifts, tension radiating through his body.

“It’s time to create,” I whisper, the anticipation humming in my veins.

Chapter Thirty Nine

Byron

Iwatch his naked body flex as he moves the woman to her final resting place, the muscles in his back shifting like waves under his skin. The chain attached to my collar rattles faintly as I shift, my body stiffening at the sight.

“What’d you give her?” I ask, my voice sharp but quiet, trying to mask the unease clawing at my chest.

He pauses mid-motion, adjusting the cuff around her wrist with an almost tender precision. Then, without looking at me, he answers. “I gave her succinylcholine.” His tone is casual, as though he were discussing a recipe.

He resumes his work, locking the second cuff and securing her to the table. “I had an interesting day today,” he adds, his voice laced with a disturbing edge. “Your ex stopped by my office.”

My breath catches.

“How she found me, no clue,” he continues, now cutting away pieces of her clothing. The fabric falls in soft whispers to thefloor, leaving her naked and vulnerable under the dim light. “But she told me something very interesting.”

Ren turns to me, a wicked gleam in his eye as he winks. “Can you guess what she told me?”

My throat tightens as he slices away the last piece of fabric, exposing her completely. Her pussy is bare, save for a precise landing strip that runs down her mound. Her pierced nipples are erect from the cold of the room, glinting like tiny pieces of trapped light.

“Such a beautiful canvas,” he murmurs, cupping her breast with one hand. He rolls her nipple between his fingers, his touch slow, deliberate. The woman’s wide, tear-filled eyes dart to me, pleading silently. Her body remains motionless, but I can see her terror in the way her breaths hitch, shallow and erratic.

My body goes rigid, my heart hammering until the rushing of blood fills my ears. “What?” I say through gritted teeth, forcing my gaze away from the horrifying tableau before me.

Ren collects his tools, picking up a paintbrush and pointing it at me, his smile revealing a perfect row of white teeth. “You have such secrets,” he muses, his voice almost playful.

My stomach twists. “I was drunk,” I mutter, the words a pathetic shield against the truth clawing its way to the surface.

He shakes his head, the brush swirling lazily in the air. “Liar,” he breathes, his raven-black hair falling over one eye as he tilts his head, studying me like a predator would its prey. “Admit who you are, Byron. Step out of the shadows, or stay there—just claim your truth.”

He slices the woman’s wrist with practiced precision, the blood welling up and trailing down her arm in a dark, glistening line. Her eyes widen in panic, tears spilling over as she watches the crimson path carve its way to her elbow.

“Don’t worry,” Ren says softly, dipping his brush into the blood. “That cut won’t kill you.”

He sits beside her, collecting her blood like a master preparing his palette. With slow, deliberate strokes, he begins to paint.

“For every question you lie about or refuse to answer,” he says, his voice calm, almost hypnotic, “I’ll carve her up like a turkey. How quickly she dies is your choice.”

I swallow hard, forcing down the bile rising in my throat. “What do you want to know?” My voice shakes, betraying the shame curling around my heart. “You already know why he beat me.”

Ren looks up at me, his lips pursing before his teeth bite into his bottom lip. He tilts his head slightly, his gaze sharp. “Tell me about your little cheating scandal.”

My hesitation costs her.

He slices between her breasts, deeper this time, the blade biting into her skin with an audible wet sound. Her body twitches, and she groans—a faint, muffled sound that makes my skin crawl.

“I was drinking,” I begin, my fists clenching at my sides as I conjure the memory of Carlos on his knees for me.

Ren stops painting, his dark eyes narrowing as he leans forward. “Go on.”

“I was drinking, and I was alone,” I continued, my voice barely above a whisper. “Carlos...” I pause, watching for his reaction, the room falling silent except for the sound of my chain rattling against the floor. “He asked me if I ever,” I look down as the shame begins to pull me under. “He asked if I ever had a guy blow me?” My statement causes Ren to laugh a loud and mocking laugh that echoes through the room.

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