Shooting Scars (The Artists Trilogy #2)
Karina Halle
For Bruce Willis MacKenzie
Acknowledgements
I knew once I’d finished Sins & Needles that following it up with an equally good sequel wasn’t going to be an easy task. Expectations were high, deadlines were looming and I had three volatile characters who were dying to take me on a wild and emotional journey. But, powered by energy drinks and The Bourne Trilogy soundtracks, Shooting Scars was completed and I couldn’t have done it without the following people: my wonderfully supportive parents; my hardworking and honest team of beta readers (Megan Simpson, Megan Ward O’Connell, Emily Franke, Claribel Contreras, Barbie Bohrman, Nina Decker, Brenna Weidner, Stephanie Brown, Taryn Celluci, Jamie Hall, Kayla Veres, Rebecca Espinoza, Shawna Vitale, Amanda Polito, Lucia Valov?íková, Natasha Tomic); EVERYONE at Halle’s Harlots; the badass fight clubber’s Madeline Sheehan, E.L. Montes, Gail McHugh, Cindy Brown, Trevlyn Tuitt and S.L. Jennings for their tireless patience with me; the talented Najla Qamber; Maryse Black; Kara Malinczak; my cool, calm, collected agent Scott Waxman; Samantha Howard; Farley Chase; my editor Latoya Smith for her passion and clarity; the whole team at Grand Central Publishing for taking a chance on me; Kelly St-Laurent for her encouragement and, last but not least, Scott MacKenzie for being there for me every single step of the way – I can’t wait to marry you.
CHAPTER ONE
ELLIE
“You wanted me to catch you, didn’t you?” Javier’s voice cut into my thoughts like a drill. I blinked at the dry, rough desert of Arizona as it flew past my window, trying to remember what was happening. This wasn’t a dream, this wasn’t a scenario; this was real. I was in the back of an SUV driven by a thuggish man and the ex-boyfriend of my nightmares was right beside me. I had given Camden a second chance at life, at love, at everything by taking a step backward with mine. I was Javier’s prisoner now, his six years of chasing after me having finally come to a close.
I was trapped with a man who would either love me or kill me. There was no middle ground with Javier Bernal.
“Didn’t you?” he repeated. I caught him wave his hand dismissively out of the corner of my eye, his watch catching the sun that streamed in through the tinted windows. “Oh, it doesn’t matter. I know.”
I didn’t want to take the bait. I wanted to keep looking out the window, pretending this didn’t exist. I wanted to ignore the anger that started to prick at my toes, rising up my limbs, and the disgust and defeat that was about to sink in my chest.
He had found me.
“You tracked my cell phone,” I said, my tongue sticking to the roof of my dry mouth.
He chuckled. The hair on my arms stood up.
“Seriously? Your cell phone. Angel, you aren’t Jason Bourne.”
I both wanted to laugh derisively at the way he pronounced Jason and sneer at the use of my old pet name, Angel. I was Angel six years ago. That angel had died on broken wings and with a broken heart.
He continued, “I can’t track your phone unless I have physical access to it.”
“Then you were tracking the car,” I said, still to the window.
Another chilling laugh. “Tracking that car all this time? I had people looking out for it – you took quite a big chance driving around in a flashing ‘find me’ sign. But no, there was no tracking device in the car. Why would I plant one in my own car?”
“Someone might steal it.”
“Only you, my dear.”
His voice lowered over that last phrase, twisting in a curiously compassionate way. I brought my eyes over to look at him and immediately regretted it. I realized that up until that moment, I’d been trying to see through him like he was a hologram.
Javier’s hair was longer now, but just as thick and dark. His face had thinned out a bit over the years and his build was somehow wider, stronger. He looked like a citron-eyed lion in a white linen suit, a creature that felt larger than the sum of his parts. The more I stared at him, the more the space around me became smaller.
He smiled at me, his eyes glinting. It wasn’t a kind smile and I quickly cast my eyes downward, feeling that the less eye contact we made, the better it was for me. I caught a glimpse of his Wish tattoo on his wrist, partially covered up by his watch.