“I don’t have any other weapons.” Dorian’s cool voice flows over me, raising goose bumps all over my body. A sob stalls in my throat.
“What’s this all about, Vane?” Dorian continues his slow pace toward the porch. “Why are you here?”
“In the house, now,” Vane orders. “And don’t try anything stupid, or Baz gets it.”
I stifle a hysterical, tearful giggle at that last bit. God, this guy has watched way too many movies.
Vane backs up, pulling me with him, until we’re back in the center of the studio setup, several feet away from Dorian’s painting. It’s angled toward us, a seeping, gory monstrosity, impossible to ignore.
When Dorian enters the room, my veins turn to ice at the sight of him, juxtaposed with his leaking, bilious portrait. He’s keenly, painfully beautiful, with his rain-darkened blond hair and his handsome features, pristine as if they were carved from pale stone.
He and the portrait share just enough similarity for the sight of them both to be deeply unsettling. Seeing them side by side in this gloomy old house is worse than seeing them in the bedroom back at the penthouse.
Dorian’s blue eyes meet mine for one aching second before he focuses on Vane again.
“What do you want, Vane?” he says softly. “I can give you anything, you know.”
Vane shifts the muzzle of the gun, tucking it beneath the corner of my jaw. “I want you to unlock that case. The one with the portrait inside.”
“Anything but that,” Dorian says smoothly. “You want money, Vane? Or a role in a play? I’ve tried to get you movie parts before… I can try again, though I can’t guarantee any better success unless you agree to do rehab first.”
“See this, right here?” Vane’s grip on my arm tightens. “This is what you do. You make someone feel like they’re the most important person in the world, fuck them and fawn over them—and then you ignore them. Use them as tools. When they get sickof it, you bribe or threaten them. Well, I’m done, Dorian.” His voice is shaking, but there’s a molten core in it that frightens me. “I’m done playing your games. I won’t listen to you talk or let you manipulate me. I won’t be threatened or bribed. You’re going to open that case for me, right now, or I will kill her. I don’t care what Lloyd said. Iwilldo it.”
Dorian’s eyebrows lift. “Lloyd? What do you mean?”
“Never mind that. Open it. Now.”
A muscle along Dorian’s jaw flexes. His mouth is a grim line, his eyes cold stars. “What are you going to do if I open it?”
“I’m going to destroy that painting,” Vane says hoarsely. “I’m going to end you so you can’t hurt anyone else. And then I’ll let Baz go. You open the case, she goes free. That’s the deal. Or you refuse, and she dies.”
“He won’t open it.” My voice is a broken whisper, sobs threading through it. “He can’t.”
If Dorian has communicated one truth about himself during the two weeks I’ve known him, it’s that this painting is his ultimate treasure. He gave up his one great love for it. And I’m not such a fool as to think he would choose me—not this man who fears death so fiercely.
He’s staring at me, a distant calm in his eyes.
“It’s all right, Dorian,” I gasp, hating the tears on my face. “You can’t, and I understand. It’s all right.”
“Do I need to prove I’m serious?” Vane grabs one of my hands and lifts it. “I’ll put a bullet through her hand. I will. I’ve always wanted to shoot someone with a prop gun. You know that. This is even better. Don’t think I won’t do it. Make your choice.”
“But it’s not a choice at all really.” Dorian holds my gaze, his eyes brilliant and soft. He gives me a wondering smile, as if he justdiscovered the best surprise of his life. “I think I will go gently into the night after all.”
He walks over to the acrylic case. Thebulletproofcase. And again a movie scene plays in my head. If he were Jason Bourne, he could spin around with that case and knock the gun from Vane’s hand. Dorian and I could hide behind it, shield ourselves from Vane’s bullets—but Dorian can’t do that, not from this distance, not without putting me in danger, and he doesn’t want to put me in danger, because he’s opening the locks. He’s applying his thumbprint, entering the code.
“I am sorry, Vane,” he says quietly. “Those are weak words, I know—useless in the light of everything that knowing me has done to you. I’ve ruined you. I’m not asking for mercy, but please know that I sincerely regret it.”
“Shut up,” Vane whispers. “Just do it.”
My brain can’t interpret this. Can’t make sense of what’s happening, because if Dorian opens that case, it means he loves me. He loves me, and he’s going to fucking die for me.
I can’t bear this. I can’t.
“Dorian, don’t,” I beg him, choking on sobs. “Don’t open it, please, please—”
A whir and then a click. A soft hiss of air as Dorian swings open the front of the case. “You told me once that I always have a choice. To be the person I think I am or someone better.” He looks over his shoulder at me. “This is how I become better.”
A sob cracks from my lips.
