Hellion, a New Adult Romance Novel (The Rebel Series) (19 page)

“Oh, it’s a great story.
 
I saw his graffiti work downtown and tracked him down through some very questionable characters and harassed him until he caved.
 
You would not believe the people I had to interrogate to get that far.”
 
Her gaze sweeps the room as she keeps ahold of my hand in her cool boney one. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to duke that title of biggest fan out with a few people who are here tonight, though.”
 
She lets me go to squeeze Colin’s arm.
 
“Darling, you are a
hit
.
 
A hit!
 
I already have four pieces sold and the night is still way too young.”
 
She pulls on his forearm.
 
“Come with me.
 
I want to introduce you to a few people.”

I move to the left, thinking I’m going to let him go as I look at the paintings that are placed along the walls, but Colin has other ideas.
 
He grabs my hand and drags me along.
 
I try to look graceful getting back on balanced legs.

“What are you doing?” I ask, running on tiptoes to keep up.
 
My heels make clop-clop-clopping sounds on the marble-tiled floor.

He pauses to lean down and whisper in my ear.
 
“Do not leave me with these vultures!”

I’ve never heard him scared before.
 
It’s freaky.
 
“Fine.” I say under my breath. I’ll be a superhero if I must. I really wish I had my phone right now, though.
 
Not only would I text Teagan to tell her I’m okay, I’d also be taking some serious pictures and video.
 
There are several people standing around drinking champagne in front of Colin’s paintings.
 
All of the canvasses have lights shining from the ceiling on them, showing them off so well it’s like they’re alive or something.
 
Several of the onlookers are pointing and nodding heads as they discuss the work.

We arrive at a group of people standing in a circle and Barbara introduces Colin.
 
I am apparently dog meat, since I don’t get a mention.

And then the fawning begins.

They ask him questions, tentatively at first and then more enthusiastically as his answers come out in short, simple sentences devoid of emotion.
 
He’s playing the weirdo artist perfectly.
 
I know he and Rebel aren’t blood brothers, but obviously some of Rebel’s attitude about minimalist talking has worn off on him.
 
I think part of the attraction from this crowd is coming from the fact that his paintings have so much emotion, but he himself displays so little of it.
 
Still waters run deep and all that junk.

I squeeze his hand and step closer to him.
 
“Loosen up,” I whisper at the back of his head, before looking around the room again.
 
I feel him visibly relax against my arm.
 
Now his answers come more smoothly and he sounds not quite as uptight.

There’s a redheaded guy standing nearby on his phone.
 
Glancing at the side of Colin’s face, I see that he’s otherwise occupied, now at ease with this group of fans. I whisper something about getting some champagne and leave his side.
 
As soon as I’m close enough, I grab the ginger guy by the elbow.

“I need to use your phone,” I say, steering him away from Colin.
 
Looking over my shoulder, I verify that he’s not paying me any attention.

“Who are you?” the man asks, annoyed.

“Your worst nightmare if you don’t let me call my friend.”
 
I snatch the phone out of his hand.
 
There’s a photograph of one of Colin’s pantings on the screen.

“Hey,” I frown at him, “can’t you read?”
 
I point to the sign on the wall right next to his face.

NO PHOTOGRAPHS OF THE ARTWORK, PLEASE.

“Dick.” I give him another frown for good measure and delete the photo.
 
“I’m with gallery security.
 
I’m going to let you stay here tonight but only after I delete your photos.”

The guy looks around nervously and I have to work really hard to keep my smile inside.

When I’ve deleted five photos of Colin’s work and one really weird picture of a cat wearing a tiny mustache and sombrero that is wrong in more ways than I can count, I type out Teagan’s phone number.
 
Thank God I never figured out how to put it in my speed dial and memorized the damn thing.

She answers in one ring.
 
“Quin! Where are you? Mick is looking all over the place for your dumb ass.”

“Listen, I don’t have much time.
 
I’m at an art gallery downtown with Colin.”

“You’re
where
?
 
Doing
what
?
 
With
who
?”

“You heard me. I need you to come down here with Rebel.
 
Do
not
bring Mick.
 
I’ll deal with him later.”

“What the fuck, Quin!
 
He’s worried and now he’s going to be pissed.
 
What am I supposed to tell him?”

“Tell him I’m fine, that there was a bit of a misunderstanding, and that I’ll go out with him in just a little bit.
 
I just need to finish up here.”

“Where is here?”

I look around, trying to find some sort of identifier.
 
The ginger is staring at me. “Dude.
 
Stop looking at me like that.
 
Your white eyelashes are freaking me out.
 
Where are we?”

“Are you on drugs?” he asks.

“No.
 
Where are we?
 
What’s the address here?”

“You seriously don’t know where you are?
 
And you expect me to believe you’re not high?
 
You’re not security, are you?”

I roll my eyes at the man and leave him standing there.
 
At the front of the room by the door I find a stack of cards with the gallery’s address on it.
 
I rattle the number and street off as the ginger comes to my elbow.

“You’re not fooling me,” he says. “Don’t even think about running out that door with my phone.”

“Teagan, come now.
 
I’ll see you when you get here.”

“But! … I don’t get it!” she yells.

“Just come! And bring your muscle!”
 
I hang up as the ginger is reaching for my arm.

“Touch me and I’ll tie your dick in a knot,” I warn, stepping back while holding his phone out at arm’s length towards him.

He snatches it from my hand.
 
“You need to learn some manners.”

“And you need to learn how to match your clothes better.
 
Plaid and stripes do not match, okay? And redheads should not wear orange.
 
It’s just … wrong.
 
And so is dressing up your cat like a tiny Mexican musician, for the record.
 
Get a life dude.
 
One that doesn’t include torturing animals.”

“I don’t torture animals.
 
Ginger
likes
it!”

I bark out a laugh.
 
“Your cat’s name is Ginger?”

“Yes.
 
She’s named after Ginger Rogers if you must know.”

I don’t even know who that is, but I don’t need to.
 
This guy is a freak.
 
I leave him standing there and grab two flutes of champagne off a tray before going back to Colin’s side.

I feel like a total ninja with my undercover phone moves until he turns around and glares at me.
 
“Who did you call?”

My eyebrows go up.
 
“What?
 
Who?
 
What are you talking about?
 
Me?”

One of the women standing in front of him puts her hand on his forearm and steps closer, asking a question that seeks an answer she clearly could care less about.
 
All she wants is to get a whiff of his Colin-ness and honestly, it’s just kind of sad to watch.

“I’ll be over there looking at the paintings,” I say, rolling my eyes and leaving Colin to the cougars.

As I stroll across the floor and stop at the first piece, I’m struck by how light and happy it seems.
 
The one of Teagan was beautiful, but there was this tinge of darkness to it.
 
I thought it captured her perfectly and assumed it was his signature look, but this painting tells me otherwise.

“He’s very talented,” says a man’s voice behind me.

I turn around and find a guy in a black turtleneck and a matching eye patch behind me.
 
I believe it’s his partner next to him, judging by how close they’re standing to one another.

“Do you know him?” the other guy asks.
 
He’s wearing a similar outfit but without the eye patch.
 
“He’s just this big mystery. Came out of nowhere I hear.”

“Yeah, I know him.”
 
I smile, feeling all devious inside.
 
Time to bring home the bacon, baby. This is Colin’s ticket out of the garage and my little chance at a wisp of revenge for the kidnapping. “He’s ex special-ops.
 
Big time assassin.”
 
I nod several times, my serious eyebrows going strong.

“Whaaaat?”
 
The pirate patch guy hunkers down and whispers.
 
“Are you serious?
 
Oh my god, that is so sexy.” He looks at his friend and then over their combined shoulders to Colin and his group of admirers.
 
“Look at him.
 
The minute I laid eyes on him, I knew he was dangerous.”

“You mean eye,” says the second guy, sounding bored.
 
“The minute you laid an
eye
on him, not
eyes
.”

One-eye slaps his friend.
 
“Don’t be cruel.
 
I have a disability.”

“You poked yourself in the eye with an eyelash curler.
 
I’d hardly call that a disability.” He looks away and mumbles, “Although I might not argue about the disabled part…”

The pirate leans in towards me.
 
“Has he killed a lot of people?”

“Just a couple of somali pirates, a dictator, and a few serial killers.
 
He got out of the service and pulled a Dexter.
 
It’s the painting that finally got him away from all that violence.
 
Now he volunteers at the local no-kill shelter.”
 
I don’t know where any of this is coming from, but I’m not fighting it. Here, in this gallery, I am in a dream world where anything goes. Anything at all.
 
I am unstoppable.

I leave the pirate and his friend to contemplate that bit of awesome and move on to the next few paintings.
 
Two girls are looking at one and smiling.
 
They’re checking Colin out over their shoulders too as they sip champagne.

“Too much,” says one, as I walk up.

“I know,” I agree, giving them a knowing look.
 
“I can’t believe he was in the Olympics too.
 
I mean, so much talent in so many areas.”

“The Olympics?
 
Really?” asks one.
 
“What was his event?”

I freeze, my brain scrambling to pick a sport.
 
“Water polo.”

They frown at me.
 
“Water polo?
 
Is that even an Olympic sport?”

“Of course it is.
 
Don’t be silly.”
 
I go for the big distractor.
 
“And you should see him in that bathing suit.”
 
I wave my hand under my face.
 
“Seriously.
 
I mean, get out the fan, ladies, know what I mean?”

They both look over at him, no doubt imagining him in a Speedo, and then we’re all fanning ourselves.

“You are
so
lucky,” one of them says to me.

“Who, me? Nah, he’s not my boyfriend.
 
He’s totally free and available.”
 
I gesture in his direction.
 
“Tortured artist.
 
Have at him.”

Oh, revenge has never tasted so sweet.
 
Twenty minutes later when Teagan walks into the gallery with Rebel in tow, I have almost completed my mission.
 
The group standing around Colin could almost be termed a mob at this point.

“What in the holy hell on wheels …?”
 
Teagan is looking around the room, her face a mask of confusion.

Rebel is staring at the wall and then his brother, his face going red.

I walk over quickly to douse the flames.
 
“Before you freak out on him and whatever, I just want you to know that he’s very sensitive about his art and I’m pretty sure this is the first time he’s let anyone in the public see it, so you should be aware of that.”
 
I look at Rebel, giving him my serious eyebrow look.
 
“I mean it.
 
Do not make a scene in here.”

Teagan gives me a funny look.

“What?”

“Well … that might be unavoidable,” she says.

Rebel’s jaw twitches.

“Why?”
 
I look from one to the other.
 
They both look guilty.

“What did you do?” I ask, my voice wary.

Teagan looks towards the door.

My heart stops beating for a few seconds and then rushes to catch up. “Please tell me you didn’t say anything to Mick.”

“He might have followed us,” Teagan says, her head pulling into her shoulders like a damn turtle chicken.

I smack her on the arm.
 
“I told you not to say anything to him!”