The Gang Leaders Artist

Chapter Three

My head is pounding and the bed I am in is way too big to be mine. I open my eyes to darkness the only light, I see is from an alarm clock. Not my alarm clock, my heart begins beating rapidly.

The room is really dark even-though the alarm clock on the nightstand says noon. The scent of these clothes smells familiar. I don't remember anything after I ran after that man, maybe I found him and that's why I'm here. Maybe the sex was good and then he left me here and went to work.

My whole body is in pain so maybe we did fuck last night? Did we use a condom?

I throw away all of the thoughts, I am thinking and decide to go explore the bathroom. I look in the mirror and I look like have been hit by a train. My stomach begins to feel weird and I open the toilet lid.

I throw up and then grab a clean toothbrush that I always keep in my handbag. It was sitting on the nightstand.

I can find my phone, maybe it's in his car. I walk out of his room. His room is huge but it is grey and empty. I don't like being all alone in a place, I don't know.

I walk around a corner to find the girl a few years older than me sitting on the couch.

"I wish I could look as good as you after what happened last night."

"Yeah, he was way too rough. My head and body are killing me." She nods and doesn't look at me with disgust when I mention him being rough.

"Oh hey, I am Amber Rylan's older sister."

"Kennedy your brother's last victim." She smiles a sweet smile.

"Well, Kennedy would you like something to eat?" My stomach is running on nothing so I say a quick, "Yes."

She runs to the kitchen dragging me with her. I try not to wince in pain. In the kitchen, there is a painting of a man-I- mean-a-god.

The way he looks at me has my whole body humming to life. The strokes of paint define every inch of perfection. It looks like a senior photo, but this guy seems to be extra and got a senior painting. His face is so young, but with this man. I can see he will age fine.

"His best friend did that for him around 10 years ago. She's gone now, so he hung her art around the house. I don't understand why he keeps a photo like this in the kitchen. Like I want to see him like this every time I cook." So that is him, I would totally love to cook with him standing or even the painting like that. My kitchen may be small but who needs a stove when you have something that hot.

"Would you like a Salad or a Sandwich?"

"Salad," I answer even though, I want both.

"Sparkling or regular water?" She asks opening up the state of the art fridge.

Everything in this house is absolutely unbelievable. Now I know why he could afford to spend so much on my work. I still don't want all his money and I still have work tonight. I will have to call off as soon as I find my phone.

She makes a green salad and puts French dressing on it.

"Thanks so much," I say grabbing my fork.

Mmmm, this is the best dressing ever!

After about the tenth mouthful, I realize she is watching me eat like a pig. I take a swallow of my water and set it down a little too loudly. She glares at me for a second.

"My friend was supposed to take me to dinner last night before the gala but she came late. And I skipped lunch and breakfast, so I haven't eaten in over a day." She smiles warmly trying not to judge.

"So what do you do for a living?" She asks taking a sip of her water. "I'm an Artist." She spits out her water all over me and says a quick "I'm so sorry."

"Yeah, I know not an ideal career field to go into. I've just always liked the way art calms me, I even went to school for it, the best two years of my life." I explain.

"What about your family?" She asks, how am I supposed to tell her that my dad runs a gang and that my mom is still a stripper?

"My father runs a very strict business, it can be kind of cut-throat with what he does. My mother stayed at home, but she runs a small business now, that I would never want to take part in." She smiles as I finish up.

"My Father runs a cut-throat business too, my brother is a part of it but, I don't want to be a part of it. My sister, she's kind of been at a wild child phase, but sadly it's been going on since she was 16 sixteen and now she is eighteen now. We also have a few younger siblings, since we have a stepmom who is two years older than me." 

"Wow big family," I state matter-of-factly to her at least her mom isn't like mine.

"Do you have any siblings?" It's like pouring salt on a fresh wound. It hurts a little, my heart always hurts for him. I even take care of his 3-year-old daughter. He never even got a chance to meet her. The mother gave her up to a nice couple that lives here. She is a lot like him, but she deserves to be happy and I tried to get her, they said it was the mothers choice.

I had to fight just to be able to see her. His ex is dead now, she got with the wrong man and he ruined her. She died about 2 years ago.

"I did have one, he died 3 years ago." She looks at me with sorry eyes. I get that look a lot. These days I'm always alone I only have a few friends, but I like being alone.

"I'm so sorry for bringing him up." I don't understand why she would be?

"Don't be it's not like I walked into your house and said, 'oh my brother died 3 years ago.' You didn't know so there is no reason to be sorry for. I love my brother and sometimes it hurts to talk about him, but it is the only way I can keep him alive. Through my words and most of all my art."

I can hear the front door open.

"Oh, I understand." She mumbles more to herself than me.

I was right, he is drop dead gorgeous. He walks in his eyes pouring into mine. I look into them and they are almost black.
A shiver runs down my spine as I look at his busted knuckles covered in two different shades of red. The dried crusted blood and the fresh blood still oozing out of his hand. I run to him and drag him to the sink.

He does have beautiful hands and sadly the blood masks the beauty. I turn on the scolding hot water. I then begin to lather my hands in soap.

"Grab something with alcohol please?" This brings me back to the days I used to fix up my brother.

She brings back a white towel and a bottle of rubbing alcohol. He never looks away from me, I can feel the heat from his body, and the way he smells.

I begin to pour some on the towel, so I can clean it. Then I notice someone's tooth stuck to the skin of his knuckle. 

I pull it out and set it on the kitchen sponge. I may hardly know him, but I really want to know what happened for his hands to get this damaged. I'm surprised he's even letting me do this to him.

When I am done cleaning up his hands, I ask.

"How did this happen?"

His eyes search mine for a moment.